Boal's New Play Raises Questions About Truth From Antiquity

Resonance Ensemble’s production of Christopher Boal’s 23 Knives is the Roman Empire meets House, with a splash of Disney. Set in 44 BC, the play follows its protagonist—persistent physician Antistius (Patrick Melville)—in his attempt to unravel the mystery of Julius Caesar’s death by performing the world’s first autopsy.

As the toga-clad characters hit the scene of the crime, the show amuses, alternating between playful and suspenseful. Unfortunately, however, it never lives up to its claims of sophisticated intellectual value. The actors comically handle pools of blood, a dead body, and a few sharp one-liners with panache, but the playwright’s attempt at philosophy does not make much of a cut.

The performance begins with a prologue by Antistius exploring the question, “What is the value of truth?” He lists a set of some rather insightful precautions—that love is the most dangerous kind of truth, as it always insists upon its own correctness. As the plot unfolds, we see the question reinforced at least a dozen times as friends and enemies challenge Antistius’ concept of truth.

The play’s repetitive and circulatory handling of this theme reflects in the knife-scraping sound effects we continually hear in between scenes. The production makes its subject matter excessively clear. Nevertheless, the play does not lead this question into climactic revelatory evolution, but—in a twist of an ending—leaves one feeling cheated.

Though the story is told in contemporary English to increase accessibility, when combined with limited content, the effect is a bit cartoon-like. A fault of the script, the characters read as two-dimensional archetypes despite the actors’ best attempt to keep the lines fresh.

In spite of the play’s mantra—the definition of truth is ambiguous in nature—Boal presents his characters in a concrete binary fashion. Throughout the play, there is no doubt that Antistius and his slave Janus (Todd Alan Crain) are charming, loyal, and honest at heart, while the powerful, brutal Marc Antony (Ryan Tramont) distorts the truth to serve his own purposes.

Perhaps the introduction of the sly, treacherous Musa (Brian D. Coats)—a slave/physician who offers Antistius clues—is meant to offer a diversion from the conventional archetypes. In response to Antistius’ question, “Whose side are you on?” Musa cagily replies, “The winning side.” He defies the binary system of allegiance in favor of individual gain.

By the end of the second act, Musa does not fully develop into a morally ambiguous character, but merely remains another personification of deceit. Musa’s motivations are never revealed, leading one to question the significance of his actions. The play’s inconsistency lies in its attempt to pair the concept of uncertainty with a simplistic, doubtless treatment, making its decision to give no answers appear as more of a cop-out than a statement. After all, we never discover the murderer’s identity.

The most compelling aspect of the show settles in the emotional central relationship between Antistius and Janus. Smirking cheekily and quirking an eyebrow with perfect comic timing, Janus surfaces as the relief of the production. In one case, he gleefully interjects that a demonstration involving an eggplant was “Quite illuminating!” Yet he sensitively shifts gears to intensity: “We’re flies,” he warns Antistius, with helpless urgency, in a last-minute attempt to protect his friend from the manipulations and betrayals of the powerful.

The production makes good use of tastefully simple set pieces and costumes as well as strong direction by Eric Parness, who keeps the performance lively and well paced. Though equipped with a balanced and vivid palette of colors, the picture of 23 Knives translates simply as a paint-by-number.