Closing the curtain on The Frogs (spoilers below)

The Frogs concludes with quite a twist.

Early in the play, Dionysus states clearly that he is going to Hades to free Euripides. But in the end it is Aeschylus whom the god brings back to advise Athens and guide her choral games.

After the contests between Euripides and Aeschylus, why Dionysus made the choice he did is clear.

For starters, this sequence takes up most of the play. It also includes the literal weighing in a scale of each's poetic wit. As you might guess, the play maintains its comedic strain throughout this poetic competition. Aeschylus' demonstrating that many of Euripides' prologues can be concluded with the sentence "Lost his bottle of oil," also damns the deity's initial pick.

The shifting of Dionysus' choice from Euripides to Aeschylus also reflects Aristophanes' own conservative philosophy. Presented with an older, more august Aeschylus it should be obvious that the younger, shallower Euripides won't be going back to the land of the living with Dionysus. Yet, because of his constant waffling and his stated interest in Euripides, Dionysus' final choice still came as a surprise to me.

If you have interest in (ancient Greek) drama, definitely do give The Frogs a read.

Although, even at the end of the play, I'm not so sure about its title. Why was it called The Frogs if a group of them have only a small role near the beginning of the play? Because it's about rescuing a dramatist and poet (someone intricately tied with public presentations) are those frogs supposed to be identified with the audience and vice versa?

Near Flyting in The Frogs

Though the farce remains, The Frogs has taken a serious turn. The contest between Euripides and Aeschylus for the position of greatest tragedian has commenced, and it's brought the play's tone some gravity.

If it weren't for the measured arguments, the two poets could be said to be flyting. But there's just too much order and decorum present for that to be the sort of argument at this play's center.

So, what the contest has come down to so far is that Aeschylus brought honour and nobility to the stage. In turn, his works inspired people to act similarly. On the other hand, however, it is argued that Euripides has corrupted people in featuring corruption in his plays.

That's not to say that the heat of the poets' argument is entirely serious. Part of the jab against Euripides is that he helped to usher in a period wherein people are unfit, lazy, and selfish. To illustrate this point, [] mentions a portly man participating in the Athenian Pentathalon and lagging behind the rest. The imagery used here is a sort of proto-slapstick.

Also, Dionysus is supposed to be the moderator and judge of this debate, but is switching back and forth between the two with every point. There's some humour in a god being so indecisive, even if it is a god associated with passion rather than reason.

In a way then, the farce detected earlier in the play continues through the debate section. It is, however, of a much quieter sort.

Figuring out The Frogs

I finally understand what makes The Frogs so special. It's a farce.

The idea of Dionysus going to the underworld in the middle of a celebration of the tragic form while he himself is the god honoured at this celebration is altogether overwhelming. The situation it puts forth is nothing short of what you get in a comedy like It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.

On top of that, Euripides has challenged Aeschylus for the honour of sitting beside Hades at the feast, and Dionysus is sure to be entangled in the contest.

What's got me chuckling though, is the enthusiasm I read in scenes like the one between Xanthias and Aeacus. These two slaves bond over learning their masters' foibles and betraying them behind their backs and it's all worth a good guffaw.

What had me close to outright laughter, is the scene where Dionysus and Xanthias keep switching clothes between knocks, as Dionysus tries to avoid the trouble that seems to be happening within Hades' hall.

Along with coming to enjoy the plays comedy more, I also find myself appreciating B.B. Rogers' translation anew. I know very little about ancient Greek poetry aside from its having lines longer than most English poetry. But Rogers manages to move the Chorus' rhyming sections into English with some skill, even while keeping the lines long.

It's definitely growing on me, this play.

What does comedy plus time equal?

Something that's tragic a few millennia ago is likely still something considered tragic. War tearing a family apart (either directly or indirectly), for example, was a terrible thing in ancient Greece and is a terrible thing now. 

Comedy, on the other hand, does not have such a long shelf life. Especially referential comedy. This fact is painfully obvious in Aristophanes' The Frogs.

Twenty pages into the play (about half way through the mystic bands' procession for Iacchus (a.k.a. Dionysus)), almost all of the jokes have been references to other plays or playwrights. If we still had copies of the latter and full biographies of the former, maybe these jokes would still work. But most of them miss their mark entirely.

That said, I can see where a few of these referential jokes are going and do get a smirk out of them, but for the most part they're lost on me.

However, one style of joke that never seems to get old is the laugh at the audience's expense. I'm reading this play in its "Digireads.com Classic" edition (a few minor typos make this text's being in the public domain quite clear), so the joke in question is on page 21. It runs thusly:

"DIONYSUS: [asking his slave about the spirits the ferryman Charon says inhabit the perimeter of the lake of the damned.]: But tell me, did you see the parricides and perjured folk he mentioned? 

XANTHIAS: Didn't you? 

DIONYSUS: Poseidon, yes. Why look! (pointing to the audience.) I see them now."

Reading it didn't get me to chuckle, but I did crack what I imagine is a wry smile.

Hopefully I'll find something that's got even more kick left in it over the next sixty pages, and get a really good laugh.