The Greek Chorus

Geeking out over a literary device I love

Photo by Thanos Gkirinis on Unsplash

We, the residents of 303 West Elm, lay entombed, cocooned, asleep. 

~ Me, “Calamity Catchers” Hotch Potch Volume 3, Issue 1

In the latest issue of Hotch Potch, I published a fantasy short story called “Calamity Catchers.” I wrote using an unusual structure—standard third person singular interspersed with short scenes narrated by the “we” of a Greek chorus. 

While I wrote those interstitial scenes, an abstract and highly idealized version of a Greek chorus intoned nonstop in my head. Some of that rhythmic, verse-like quality is reflected in my writing. More importantly, the Greek chorus formed the backbone of the story structure.

I like the fantasy story that resulted. Now that the story is finished and out in the world, I’m burning with curiosity to hone my understanding of what a historical Greek chorus was actually like: its form and function; what it looked like, how it sounded, how it physically interacted with the main actors and audience. 

It’s so fun to see how my use of the form compared with those of the ancient greats. At times, the results of my research reinforced my assumptions about the Greek chorus. At other times, I was delighted by completely unexpected revelations and connections.

Here’s what I learned! 

Form and function

First off, let’s be clear: the Greek chorus was a structure used by a variety of playwrights over time. Some of the big ones were Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, and Aristophanes. The exact character and use of the chorus shifted as different dramatists deployed and developed it. The version I had in mind while writing my story was the one from Medea by Euripides. 

In a Euripides play, the Greek chorus sang and danced the introduction and conclusion to the play. They also appeared between acts. I was right in line with Euripides, using my chorus to narrate the first and final scenes of my story, as well as having them pop in between each scene.

One essential role performed by most versions of the Greek chorus, was practical storytelling assistance: aka, feeding information to the audience. The chorus may also be privy to info the characters are not. When I wrote “Calamity Catchers,” I took full advantage of both these characteristics.

In Euripides’ Medea, the chorus expresses sympathy for Medea’s plight. Yet, the Greek Chorus is no pack of cheerleaders. They’re willing to cluck tongues over her shortcomings and mistakes. Looking back on my Greek chorus, I’m so glad they both loved and judged my protagonist.

Euripedes did some other cool things with his Greek Chorus I did not, such as using the chorus to comment on social issues. In my story, I left most opinions of that sort to my protagonist or other “actor” characters. Euripides also used his chorus to dive more deeply into discussions of morality.

Euripides was building on the Greek chorus tradition that came before him. Other playwrights gave the chorus influence to directly offer advice to characters or to beg the gods for help. I sort of loved making my chorus helpless to act and watching them squirm.

What it looked like

For Euripides, a Greek chorus was comprised of about a dozen people—anonymous, unnamed members who roughly reflected the gender, age, and social station of the protagonist. Each member wore the same costume and identical masks, which would have portrayed their demographics.

My lean-and-mean chorus had only six members and were of mixed demographics. Now, here’s where I played and had some fun: each of my six members doubled as characters in flashbacks. Once the magic spell that turned them into a chorus was in place (I cocooned them in leaves, my version of a robe and mask) they completely lost their individual identities. It was such a delight to write flashback scenes uncovering how each member of the chorus interacted in their small community before being reduced to one of the anonymous, intoning voices.

Learning how those intoning voices were heard by live audiences was one of my favorite parts of this whole research.

How it sounded

Greek actors—both those in the chorus and those playing main characters on stage—all wore masks. I’ve already mentioned how the masks combined with basic costuming to provide demographic similarity and anonymity among chorus members. They served another vital purpose as well—helping the audience hear their voices.

Remember, actors were performing on an open-air stage to an audience that might number in the thousands. They didn’t have microphones pinned in their collars or computer-designed acoustic sound stages. Instead, their masks covered their entire faces and acted like funnels to project sound. Masks were made of lightwieght, stiff materials and had built-in mouthpieces. These mouthpiece masks were designed to perform a stunning number of projection purposes: amplification, focus, and clarity of speech. The idea was there would be no bad seat in the house. Everyone in the audience could hear what was being said. Pretty amazing considering the layout of an Ancient Greek theatron. 

Mediation between the actors and the audience 

I had a basic idea of a theatron, or open-air Greek theater: rows of stone seats around a stage. I’d forgotten that the stage, itself, was comprised of two parts: the proskenion and the orchestra.

The proskenion is what I think of as a stage: a rectangular area for main actors to walk on, with a painted scene behind it. 

The orchestra was the realm of the chorus. It was a circular area between the main stage and the audience. The orchestra is where the Greek chorus danced and sang. In fact, the etymology of the word “orchestra” quite literally means: dancing place. 

As a musician, learning the origin of the word orchestra—and not an origin I’d at all expected—was a true delight. As a writer, I’m struck by the layout of the orchestra between the audience and the main actors. This places chorus members between the audience and the story. At times the chorus may speak to the actors, at other times, to the audience. This physical position portrays the connective role of a Greek chorus, joining audience and characters. I felt this connection as I was writing “Calamity Catchers,” but seeing that connection laid bare in the bones of an Ancient Greek open-air theater is beyond cool. 

On the shoulders of giants

When I wrote my story, I leaned on the memory of the shivers I got years ago when I studied a few classic Greek plays in school. I fear that if I’d gone down the research rabbit hole on the history of the Greek chorus—or if I’d grown anxious to exactly match its form and function, look and sound—I might have never written the story I did. Now the creative process is complete, I’m completely free to revel in research. Thanks so much for geeking out with me as I learned more about the history of this engaging and evocative literary device. 

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You can find “Calamity Catchers” and a bunch of other fantastic stories in Hotch Potch Volume 3, Issue 1. Now available on Amazon and Book Funnel.