The Amelia Project - Episode 90 - Aeschylus (456 BC)

Episode Date: June 27, 2025

"Behold! Aeschylus! Father of Tragedy!" Arthur and Kozlowski find themselves in Athens, in the midst of the Dionysia, a great theatre competition. Socrates, Euripides and Aeschylus are all competing for the prestigious prize of... a goat! But The Brotherhood of the Phoenix have come to Athens for more than just watching plays. Why does Aeschylus, wildly successful author of The Oresteia, Prometheus Unbound and Agamemnon want to fake his death? The episode is written by Philip Thorne and Oystein Brager, with dialogue editing by Philip Thorne and sound design by Paul Kraner. It features Alan Burgon as the Interviewer, Dino Kelly as Aeschylus, Hemi Yeroham as Kozlowski, Tim Meredith, Rhys Lawton, Adam Courting and Nathan Peter Grassi as the chorus, and Felix Trench as the Chorus Leader. The chorus was recorded at Soho Sonic in London, with engineering by Beth Grainger. Website: https://ameliapodcast.com/  Transcripts: https://ameliapodcast.com/season-5  Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/ameliapodcast Donations: https://ameliapodcast.com/support Merch: https://www.teepublic.com/stores/the-amelia-project?ref_id=6148 Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/theameliaproject.bsky.social Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ameliapodcast/ Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ameliapodcast X: https://twitter.com/amelia_podcast Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Unspoken. Between the living and the dead. Between the gods who have forgotten us and the mortals who no longer believe in them. I'm Damian, writer and showrunner for Red Fathom Entertainment, creator of Han Apocalypse and Cybernautica. And this is Scarlett, Reliquary of Souls, an audio drama currently funding on Kickstarter. Scarlett Velasco, mortal daughter of Hades, stands at the edge of the world, fighting to keep the abyss from claiming what's left. Scarlett Velasco, mortal daughter of Hades, stands at the edge of the world, fighting

to keep the abyss from claiming what's left. Set in the haunted streets of mid-2000s Toronto, the living offer their flesh to the departed in forbidden ritual, in worship, and in so doing they draw our world closer to the embrace of oblivion. This isn't a story about heroes. There are no chosen ones, just fate and the ones who choose to fight on anyway. Persistence through trial and grief. Scarlet Reliquary of Souls, a high production, 8 episode gothic noir thriller anchored in modern myth and tragedy. Featuring music by Chelsea Wolf, Emma Ruth Rundle, and Succession Studios.

Join the ritual. Make your offering today by finding Scarlet Reliquary of Souls on Kickstarter, or by following the trail at www.redfathom.com. With your help, we might summon this story from the shadows, and present it upon the altar of your reverie. This episode is dedicated to Jason Woods, who was the first person to successfully upload themselves to a personal computer. Unfortunately, this breakthrough could not be celebrated, as the computer swiftly crashed

and Jason could not be retrieved. Or so it seems. We actually made him reappear as a linguist working with NASA to facilitate communication between humans and extraterrestrial life forms. Thank you Jason, and thank you to all our patrons who chip in to allow us to keep telling stories. Enjoy the episode. Why cover me in snakes and call me a gorgon?

Where have you brought me? Athens! I know we're in Athens. I mean, what is all this? Keep up or you will be trampled by the goat men. Someone just poured wine over my head. They did. Oh!

Ah! Ha ha ha! Did she just? Hit you over the head with a giant phallus? Yes! Ah! Ah! I'm not sure I like this.

Ah. Ah. Ah. Ah. Ah. I have always wanted to see this. What? Me being trampled by a crowd in goat masks and pummeled to death by a dozen fake penises? You mean peen-eye. That sounds like the kind of death you thrive on inventing, by the way.

Is that what we're here for? To meet a client? Yes. Who? We'll get to that. Why don't you tell me? Because we are in the process of witnessing one of the greatest festivals in the world. Oh look, here it comes. That statue is huge!

And the people carrying it are very intoxicated. Maybe we should move back a little. That is the statue of Dionysus. And this celebration is the Dionysia. I'm surprised the authorities allow such debauchery. They have no choice. How so? Well, when the Eleutherians gifted the statue to the Athenians, they initially rejected

it. Dionysus punished them with a plague affecting the male genitalia. Goodness. On accepting the cult of Dionysus, their genitals were cured. So that explains the giant phalluses. Indeed! And why goats? A symbol for Dionysus, come on!

What? We should join the end of the procession. I thought there's a client for me to meet. First we have some theatre to see. Theatre? Dionysus is not only the god of wine, festivity and mayhem, but also the god of theatre. I love theatre! The procession leads to the great theatre of Dionysus on the southern slope of the Acropolis Hill.

What play are we seeing? We are seeing twelve plays. Twelve? All this is merely the prelude to a giant theatre contest. Three tragedians will each present a trilogy of tragedies, followed by a satire play. I hope you're ready for this. I told you I love theatre.

Oh, but these tragedians will make you weep and fill your heart with pain. That sounds horrible. Why would anyone watch that? They say it cleanses the heart, purging us of our petty concerns, making us aware that there can be nobility in suffering. Hmm. Then, after all the pity and fear and purgation,

we will be treated to a satir play to cheer us up. What's a satir play? Not unlike what we are experiencing now. A roulkous spectacle performed by men with enormous... Don't say it! ...fallacies! Of course. And the whole thing is a competition?

Yes! And what is the prize? Well... It better be something good. Do you know what tragedy means? No. Song of the Goat. So the prize for the Master Tragedian is...

A goat? A goat. So the prize for the master tragedy is... A goat? A goat. Come on! Well, alright. Oh, hello. We cry the news aloud of a great new play. A tale of murder, of royal revenge, of reckoning and love, lust and betrayal,

of birthright, duty, sacrifice and treachery. Behold, Iskallus, father of tragedy. Your words are daggers. You aim for the heart. We bear our chests so you may strike us. You elevate suffering with soaring song. You cleanse our souls with burning tears. You light the flame of scorching truth. But Iskallus, beware. Though tragedy be your daughter, born of your blazing mind, May tragedy be your daughter, born of your blazing mind. Alas! Take heed!

She is also the mother of your eternal undoing. Your own demise will mirror the deaths of greatest drama. The Oracle of Delphi did speak. Your days are numbered. The greatest of tragedians will meet his inescapable and clearly tragic fate. The The Amelia Project. Created by Philip Thorne and Oester Ulsberg Braga. With music and sound direction by Frederik Barden. And sound design by Paul Kraner.

Episode 90. Aeschylus. 456 BC. Hello? Mr. Aeschylus? Anyone here? No, he's not back yet. I should have known. Everyone wants a piece of him today. The celebrations have no end.

Well, I'll just wait. Oh, good Lord! Why am I so nervous? I have met artists before. But no one like him. What a mind! Those plays! It is like my soul has been torn out of my body and turned inside out and then tied around my heart in a Gordian knot. How do I greet him? Hello, I'm from the Brotherhood. Loved your plays.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, don't do that. Maybe I'll bow. No, oh no, that's too much. Um, do I shake his hand? Hm, Iskulus, sir, I'm at your disposal. No, no, that's just weird. Why would you say that? Oh, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, oh, oh, phew! Why is that amphora on the floor? I almost

kicked it over. That would have been a great first impression. Hello, Mr. Dramatist. Sorry your floor is now wine mud. I'd better put it somewhere safe up on a shelf. Good Lord. What? There are no shelves. I'll put it down again then. Good Lord, I haven't lifted anything that heavy since Kozlowski passed out in a ditch. Oh, my back.

Come to think of it, there is a lot of courage in a wee goblet of wine. Should I? No, maybe he'll be offended that I just helped myself. On the other hand, today is the Dionysia. There were amphoras of wine everywhere. People sharing and pouring and drinking out of any goblet they could see. Oh, he won't mind. Oh, good lord, this is heavy. There we are.

Halt! Oh, oh, oh, good Lord. This wine is made from grapes picked by the great Aeschylus himself. I'll leave it then. In the fertile vineyards of Attica, where Dionysus did appear to him, whispered and sang in his ear, bestowed on him a terrible gift. The blessing and burden of tragedy. and sang in his ear, bestowed on him a terrible gift. The blessing and burden of tragedy.

Suddenly got crowded in here, didn't it? I'll put the wine over on that ledge so no one kicks it over. Halt! What now? The amphora must stand where it was found. This heavy clay upon the ground must rest. Oooooookay.

Ah, where did you come from? I didn't know I was sharing the room with twelve masked men. We are everywhere. See everything. Hear everything. That's a bit terrifying. Did you see me earlier when I picked my notes? We see everything.

Oh my, um, wait. I know who you are. You're the chorus from the Orestia. You are fantastic! You're the chorus from the Orestia. You were fantastic! You're so nice! Yes, I mean, when you persuaded Orestes to go through with the killing of his mother, that was very powerful. Yes, we are very persuasive.

It's an honor to make your acquaintance. Hail, fair stranger! We salute you! Oh no, no, stop. Oh, actually, you might be able to help me. You see, I have an appointment... But Hark! What footsteps do we hear? Iskallus? Iskallus! That must be him! Steps heavy with pain and woe, shoulders bent with fear and strife. Oh, I'm a bit nervous about meeting such a great dramatist.

Till the gate burned with torment! Torment? Really? But he just won an award! Heavy is the heart that weeps, tender is the soul that sees. I suppose writing devastating plays does require a tragic disposition. His eyes have met the sun, his gaze shies not away From the blistering furnace of truth.

That sounds... intense. Behold, Aeschylus! We bear our chests for you. Behold, Ysgolus! So you may stab our hearts. Behold, Ysgolus! So you may open our eyes. Behold, Ysgolus! So you may cleanse our souls.

Behold, Ysgolus! With the fearsome force of tragedy. Oh, Dionysus, what a day. Behold, Iseschylus! Ugh, are you still here? Oh, you asked me to come. No, not you, them. Hail, mighty Aeschylus!

We salute you! Sorry, there's no getting rid of them. Yes. We are everywhere. See everything. Hear everything! Hi, I'm Eescalus. I know. I mean, a pleasure to... I mean, well, I'm honoured. I mean, pleasure's all mine, really.

Congratulations on the goat! Oh, goat. I'm doomed. Sorry? Behold it! Arshtorns! Behold it! Arshed horns! Behold it! Cloven hooves! Behold it! Woolly beards! Behold it!

Stinky feces! Smells like a goat! A noble animal, virile and proud! O sacred goat, we salute you! Behold it! Arshed horns! Behold it! Cloven hooves!

Behold it! Woolly beards! Behold it! Stinky feces! Smells like a goat! A noble animal, virile and proud! O sacred goat, we salute you! Behold it!

Arshed horns! Behold it! Cloven hooves! Behold it! Woolly beards! A noble animal, virile and proud. O sacred goat, we salute you. Do you want it? Who? Me? Who? Him? Yes. You want to give me your goat? Yes. Goats. I thought this goat was a big deal. Was mighty Zeus himself not fasted by a goat?

Did the infant god not suckle on Almethia's tender teet? Zeus? Really? Yes. I didn't know that. I've always thought of goats. Please, everyone, stop talking about goats! Behold, Aeschylus!

His rage is worthy of Ares. His temper is fierce as fire, befitting for a man whose life pulsates to the heartbeat of drama. I just don't want to be reminded of goats, please. Ah! Oh, for... Oh, we can open a window, get some fresh air in here. Not because of the stink. Although it does smell...

bad. Bad, bad, bad. I've done something terrible. Oh. Tell me your story and I will do my best to help you. You are from the Brotherhood, yes? Yes, yes. It's...

It's... Yes? It's the play. Your play? Oh, I thought it was very poignant. Yes, the way you contrast revenge with justice, personal vendetta with public trials, and by showing us the harrowing murder of Agamemnon, I mean... O King, my King, how shall I weep for you? What can I say out of my heart of pity? Caught in this spider's web you lie,

your life gasped out in indecent death. Oh, shut up! Quiet! We must protest! These words are from your play! Yes, but I don't mean that play. I don't mean the Auristaya. Not the Auristaya? Oh, are you talking about your satire? It was great. I mean, it's fifteen minutes of fart jokes, but that's what it's meant to be, isn't it? And at the end of a long day of tragedy, I mean, it's just...

No, I don't mean the satire. Oh, then what do you... I mean... A new play. Oh! Suits be praised! A new play by great Iskandos, father of tragedy, messenger of Dionysus!

No! You are worried about this new play? Yes. Why? Because I gave it to Theodorus to read. Oh, who's Theodorus? A childhood friend. We both grew up wanting to be dramatists.

He is a fellow writer? Oh no, no. His plays stink more than this goat. Poor man. It's a terrible fate to have an artistic temperament, but no talent. Yet you still can find your place to him? Why? Because his reactions tell me whether they are working. How?

Well, he weeps, he screams, and shakes his fists without restraint. When he read Agamemnon, he bit his knuckles so hard they bled. When he read the Libation Bearers, he tore out fistfuls of hair. When he read the Humanities, he whapped for two days straight. And what happened when he read your new play? What is it called, by the way? The… The… yes? What is it called, by the way? The... The... yes? The... the goats. The... the goats?

Huh. Ahhhhh! Quite. Um... So how did Theodorus react when he read, The Goats? Well, he, uh... Yes? He, uh...

Yes, yes. He, uh... Like Oedipus, king of Thebes, a dagger he did raise, and plunge with mighty force the blade into his eye. The searing words to flee, the terror and the pain unleashed upon the page by the master tragedian's hand. Oh, really? I am certain it was so.

But that's just... No! No? No! No. Oh, thank God. Aren't you supposed to see everything? It's a perfect order. It's a perfect order.

Sometimes we look away. What happened was... Yes? Worse. Worse? What happened, Aeschylus? I... Yes?

I can't. Oh, but you can. He... he killed himself? No. Oh, but you can. He... he killed himself? No. Oh, thank the gods. Worse. Worse yet? Oh, the impact of your play made him... kill somebody else?

No, no, no, no. Nothing like that. He... Ah, yes. Now I think I understand. But... Yes, you see, we have think I understand. But… Yes, you see, we have something in common. What's that? Well, I'm not a writer, but I am, or I used to be, a performer. Really? An actor.

A storyteller. Tell me more. Oh, I've travelled far and wide. Told my stories on public squares, in ports, palaces and prisons. I held a rapt audience. But sometimes... Yes? Well, you know how it is. I mean, although I was very good at my craft, very good, sometimes my stories fell flat.

Sometimes they did not elicit the gasps, shrieks and applause to which I had become accustomed. You must not let this discourage you. Every artist, no matter how great experiences setbacks... We must protest! Oh? Why? Hubris! Hubris! Vanity and hubris! No, no, I... You compare yourself to Aeschylus? No! No, no, not at all. Aeschylus is a great tragedian.

The father of tragedy! And I was just... How dare you insult the great man so... No, no, I was just a travelling story to... All the man... I was just trying to say... Messenger of Dionysus! Oh, yes, I know!

Every line of his verse stirs the soul. Every stroke of his pen pierces the heart. Every thought from his mind sings with inspiration. Yes, thank you, that's enough. I am sorry, Iskallus. Oh, don't worry, I'm not offended. Oh. But they are right.

Thank you. My new play is not bad. It's not? In fact, I think it might be a masterpiece. Oh. Then why did your friend's reaction disturb you so? Because... Yes? He...

Yes? He... Oh, Escalus, if I'm to help you, you must tell me. I'm scared. Of me? This would be easier without them. The chorus? Yes, I must say I think that would make things easier.

Um, would you mind? Fine, fine. His word is our command. With Hermes's speed we leave. Great Aeschylus and his guest. So in somber solemn secret his story he may tell. Right, come on boys, meet tonight. What? What? Wine?

Is it lamb? Is it lamb? Pick up that towel. Oh, right. Sorry. What? Spells better now that they've gone, doesn't it? Does it?

Oh yes, it does. Oh, I think you owe the goat an apology. I suppose flailing your arms and declaiming all day must make you very sweaty. Yes, quite. But speaking of goats… Oh, you'll have him. Who? The goat.

Him? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Too much headbutting. No, I meant, will you finally tell me how Theodorus reacted to your new play? He... he... Go on! He wept. That is to be expected.

With laughter! Where am I? Welcome to desert skies, traveler. Where am I? Welcome to Desert Skies, traveler. Your journey through the physical plane has come to an end. I am the attendant. My colleague here is the mechanic. This is your last stop on your way to the great beyond. It's our job to make sure you're prepared for the ride.

Now, before hitting the road, we have an impressive selection of over 34 varieties of microwavable burritos. Um, what's going on? There's gotta be a better afterlife than this. I mean, come on! That's offensive. Something seems to be wrong. You left something major undone.

I have a life outside of this gas station, you know. You quite literally do not. Any hobbies? Nope. Ever travel? Nope. Love interests? Are you kidding?

Oh my god. You're like the human version of a plain bagel. Cash register. How can I help you, attendant? Play some music? You got it. It's kind of funny though. What I needed wasn't back there.

It was here, waiting for me. I wonder what it feels like, Mech. To miss the physical plane, the people you left behind. You know I had a wife who died three years ago. Wish I could go back. No, you don't need to go back. You just need to be here. And a new traveler approaches.

Ready team? Ready! Good. Let's do this. Find desert skies wherever you listen to podcasts. Laughter. Laughter. Fell off his chair, rolled around on the floor, tears streaming down his face.

But, but, but you said the play is great. And I believe it is. And you said you trust Theodorus' reactions. I do. But he laughed at your play. He was mocking you. No, no, not mocking. He thought your play was ridiculous. Ridiculous, yes. That was the word he used.

I don't understand. He said it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever read. And the most true. Right, um... What is this play about? A world in which everyone who lies sprouts horns and begins to bleat. Ha! Oh, no, no, no, now you're doing it.

I mean, that's good. I'm sorry, I'll stop. It is a very serious subject. The main characters are based on Athenian aristocrats and philosophers. I wanted to write about how headstrong and stubborn they are, and this led me to depict them as... Goats! Yes.

Sorry, it's an excellent premise for a satire. But that is the problem. What? It isn't a satire. No? No. No! Good Lord, where did you come from?

You just left. We are everywhere. See everything. Hear everything. Oh, for the love of the gods! Then explain to me, please, what is wrong with this new satyr? I just told you, it is not a satyr. Yes, I know you said it's not a satyr, but if it makes you laugh, then surely it is a satyr.

A satyr's a mere accompaniment to rinse the terror-stricken soul, to cleanse with mirth and laughter the shaken nerves and tortured mind, to restore balance, calm and serenity after the harrowing spectacle of tragedy. Right. Whereas The Goats is... It's a full-length play. A play about serious themes. It is no mere palate cleanser. Ah, but like a satire, it uses jokes and absurdity? I suppose it does.

You suppose? Fine, it does. And it uses them very effectively. Yes, as Theodorus' reaction proved. But I wasn't intending to write a satire. I was intending to write about truth and lies and pomposity. I followed the voice of Dionysus and I ended up writing a... I don't know what it is, but it must never be performed. What? Why ever not?

Expectations and duty. Excuse me? Aeschylus is the father of tragedy. I am the founder of drama. I gave tragedy its form. Sophocles, Euripides, or the otheres, they follow the structures that I created. Yes, yes, I mean, that is a great achievement, but...

This new play, it is a perversion of those rules. We must agree! We cannot be silent! We cannot be idle! We cannot let Iskylas... Tarnish his name! Embarrass his art! Soil his legacy! I think you're wrong. Why can't you try something new? It would be a betrayal.

A betrayal of whom? Of the form that I have invented. And that form is now keeping you hostage? You don't think you can... transcend it? There is nothing to transcend. It is perfect. The Oristaya is its pinnacle. But you said yourself, this new play you have written, it is a great play. But it is not a tragedy. No, it is not. But you were following your

inspiration. Yes, yes, I follow the voice of Dionysus. I follow it wherever it leads. But Dionysus has played a prank on me. Dionysus, I am on to you, you drunken dragster. The play must never see the light of day. Nay. Lest poor Aeschylus is mocked and shamed. Nay.

His sanity questioned, his life's work sullied. Oh, whoa! It is too late for that. How so? Theodorus refuses to give back the manuscript. Oh no! Why? So he can blackmail me.

What does he want? He wants me to write a new tragic trilogy based on his ideas and those ideas... Stink. Yes. So what are these ideas? He wants to write a trilogy about nothing. I'm sorry. Nothing?

Yes, nothing. He says it would be a mirror for the real life. That it would be relatable. A slice of life, he calls it. About nothing? Oh, that sounds so boring. Yes, as tedious as Theodorus' tedious, puny little life. But if you refuse to ghost-write his plays… He will show the world that Aeschylus has turned his back on his art form, negated everything he stood for. I cannot live with the threat of this play's exposure hanging over me, and I cannot bear

to write Theodorus's drab plays. Which is why you want to die. Yes. I need to solidify my legacy before it can be tarnished. The Orestia must be my final work. But what if Theodorus releases the goats after your death? Oh, they will think he wrote it himself and is trying to pass it off as a great tragedian's last play. But nobody will believe him. Hmm. What about your new life? What new identity would you adopt?

Oh, I must continue as a tragedian. Telling stories is all I have ever wanted to do. A soldier of tragedy, a warrior of words, a martyr to art! Um, well, I've... What? Well, you cannot simply continue your old life. Why ever not? Because you will be dead. Yes, but it as a fake death.

Even fake death causes a rupture. You cannot simply continue where you left off. What do you mean? Alright, um, now let's just say we bring you back as a Tragedian. Yes. It will take years, maybe decades before you achieve the status you have now. Before you can make a living, are respected, invited to the Dionysia. You will no longer be the father of tragedy.

You will simply be a newcomer imitating the great man's style. Oh, I'm not worried. The voice of Dionysus rings clear in my head. You mean you already have an idea for a future play? Many ideas. I will quickly prove myself. Well, tell me about your ideas. All right.

A play about man imitating the gods. It is called The Birds. Behold the master at work. Have you ever heard of bird flu? It sounds a bit humorous. Good work. Right, yes, The Birds. It is a story about Pesteterus,

a middle-aged Athenian who persuades the birds to stop flying about, like simpletons, and instead build a great city in the sky. A city called Cloud Cuckoo Land that lies between Earth and Mount Olympus. This way the birds can control all communications between men and gods. Bitheteris transforms into a bird-like god figure, attempting to replace Zeus himself. Alright, but I'm not wearing a beak. A wonderful idea. You think?

Yes, funny and fantastical. Funny... fantastical? Yes. Yes, I suppose. Yes, but most certainly not a tragedy. You are right. I know. What about this? A play about the justice system. It is called The Wasps. You are right. I know. What about this?

A play about the justice system. It is called The Wasps. The Wasps? It is about a man who is so addicted to jury service that his son builds a court of law in his house and fills it with household objects. Witnesses for the defence include a bowl, a pestle, a cheese grater, a brazier and a pot. And why the wasps?

A metaphor for the acrimonious, stinging temper of Athenian society. Clever. Oh, and also because the chorus will be dressed up as wasps. What? We must protest! I do not wear animal dicks. As must I. Aeschylus, this play sounds great, but it is hardly a tragedy. You are right.

You are right. Well, what about this? The frogs. No, no, no, let him continue. A play about Dionysus himself? The frogs. We must vote! No, no, no, let him continue. A play about Dionysus himself. He travels to the underworld while a chorus of frogs croaks. We must vote!

Fair enough. Yes, fair enough. Aeschylus, do you have any ideas for plays that are... not animal related? Well? Yes. Oh. Yes, yes, there is an idea. An idea that has been singing in my mind for some time.

Wonderful, let's hear it. A play about war and peace, about sexual relations in a male-dominated society. Oh, big themes indeed. It is called Lysistrata. Lysistrata! Lysistrata? A promising title. Tell us, O Iskallos, tell us of Lysistrata.

What tragic fate awaits this fearsome woman-hero? As Antigone she defies her uncle Creon's decree? As cunning Clytemnestra, her husband she does kill? As murderous Medea, her children she does stab? She ends a war. Oh noble Lysistrata! How does she end this war? By denying all men of the land sex.

What? What? Lysistrata persuades all the women of two warring cities to withhold sex from their husbands and lovers until the men manage to negotiate peace. Aeschylus! What? and lovers until the men managed to negotiate peace. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's not a tragedy, is it? No!

But it's funny. I mean, even the chorus laughed. We did not! Now, look, it's a great premise. And topical, too. I do believe it contains the seeds for a true masterpiece. This tale of Lysistrata, amusing as may be, is a perfidious perversion of the laws of tragedy. I agree. It is not a tragedy. But it is not a satire either.

It is not a satire either. Then... what is it? Something new. Boo! Now stop it! Listen, Isculus, I have a theory. Tell me.

Tell me what is it? You said that with the Orestiah you had reached the pinnacle of the tragic form. Is that not so? Yes, indeed. It is my greatest work. Yes, it was a devastating show. Thank you. You have honed the blade of tragedy It is my greatest work. Yes, it was a devastating show. Thank you.

You have honed the Blade of Tragedy to a razor sharp point, and now there is nowhere left to go. Go on. Which is why the voice of Dionysus is leading you down new paths. New paths? Yes. Interesting. Yes, you mustn't think of this as a failure, but as an achievement. It doesn't demonstrate a weakness in the tragic form,

but rather you have taken that form to its conclusion, to the peak of its powers. And now it is time to invent a new form of drama.a new form of drama. A new form of drama? We must protest! Oh, do be quiet! But...

I'm thinking! I can't do it. Aeschylus is the father of tragedy! Aeschylus is the founder of drama and must follow his inner voice wherever it leads. You are both right. Huh? Aeschylus must stay true to the form he has invented. If Aeschylus breaks the form, audiences will

be confused. The judges of the Dionysia will think I have lost my marbles and exclude me from the future competitions. Maybe they are not as narrow-minded as you think. And even if they do appreciate the new plays, what if this makes them reassess my old work? What if they think I was trying to be funny all along? I hardly think that they'll… Aeschylus must always remain the father of tragedy. Hooray!

But after you have faked my death... What? We must protest! I will become... Yes? The father of... Comedie. Comedie? Never catch on. The father of... Comedy. Comedy? Comedy? Never catch on.

The father of... Comedy? Comedy? Huh. I like it. Tell me more about this new form, this Comedy. You know what tragedy means? I do.

It means the song of the goat. Oh, yes, yes, but Comedy will be the song of the Comos. Comos? It means festival. The Comody will be the song of revels and celebrations. In Comody I will talk about serious subjects, but in a light and entertaining way. Comodies will contain everything. Bafoonery, puns, invented words, obscenities, absurd plots. All told in a strict dramatic structure and in a disciplined verse with haunting beautiful

lyrics. In comedy, the heroes will devise fanciful escapes from their intolerable predicaments. I will let the voice of Dionysus flow through me unrestrained. I will ignore impossibilities and bring fantastical situations to their absurd conclusions. Well, twist my tunic, I am excited. Oh, it will be a great new art form. I am excited too. What should my new name be? Ahem, yes. Now, we should give the people the immediate feeling that you're good at what you do. Even before you've written a word, that will make it easier to enter the contests and get to know the right crowd.

You must hit the ground running. Ah, hmm, a name, a name. Tricky. He who appears best. What? He who appears best. He who appears best. Oh, thank who appears best. He who appears best. Oh, thank you for the input, but that's not a name. Actually, in Greek it is.

What? Aristos fanis. Huh. Aristos fanis. Aristofanis. Aristophanis. The birds by Aristophanis. The wasps by Aristophanes. The birds by Aristophanes. The wasps by Aristophanes. The frogs by Aristophanes. Lysistrata by Aristophanes. Yes, yes, by the gods it works. Aristophanes.

Aristophanes. Nice. Thank you, Chorus, that was actually very helpful. We're not saying we approve. So now we just have to decide on a death. Any requests? Man does not decide the means of death. Oh, but I do. The destiny of man is determined by fate. They're right. Again. What?

My death has been preordained. Excuse me? It was predicted by the Oracle of Delphi. Everyone in Athens knows about it. We must stick to fate's template. So what did the Oracle say? How will you die? An object will come crashing

with terrible speed and force on the great tragedian's head, robbing us forever more of his cruel cathartic words. Interesting. What kind of object? The oracle didn't say. She likes to keep things vague. But everyone in Athens knows about it, you said? Well, yes. You see, after visiting the Oracle of Delphi, I was really spooked. Understandable. And I developed some rather peculiar habits. Oh yes, you see, after visiting the Oracle of Delphi, I was really spooked.

Understandable. And I developed some rather peculiar habits. What kind of habits? Oh, it's a bit silly really. Oh, go on. Well, I was terrified of being killed by a falling vase or a piece of ceiling coming loose. So for months I lived outdoors, refused to cross a single threshold. Rode outdoors, ate outdoors, slept outdoors.

I avoided trees and steep cliffs, stayed only in open landscapes. Right. And when did this all change? I mean, you agreed to meet me in this room after all. Well, one night shivering in the muddy field, I decided that this was ridiculous. Trying to avoid a falling object, I was on the verge of killing myself with a flu. So I went inside, lit a fire, and I haven't looked back since. Though I do notice you keep your Amphora on the floor, and have no shelves on the walls. Well, better be prudent. Quite.

Anyway, this is wonderful. It is? Yes. We can use the oracle's prediction. A death should always mean something, don't you agree? Yet most deaths don't. But yours can. This death, it gives us the opportunity to combine the tragic and the comic. To mark your passing from one form to another. Hmm, you have something in mind?

Yes! We will spread the word that the prophecy haunts you once again. That you have returned to frequenting only open spaces. But fate will send an object falling from the sky. From the sky? From the sky, yes! Fulfilling the prophecy. Because as we know, man cannot escape his fate. A most fitting death for a tragedian.

Certainly. But you said my death should combine the tragic AND the comic. Yes. You see, the thing that kills you is something entirely ridiculous. Something befitting a man of jokes and absurdity. A double death? Or rather, a single death with double meaning. An ironic death. I like it. So what falls on me? Well, I mean, that is the question, isn't it? Yes. Aeschylus, we implore you, do not go down this path.

Did Zeus not warn us once, when he struck to impotence Asclepius, who in truth charmed back the dead men? The gods have so ordained that fate stands against fate To check any man's excess. Oh, do be quiet. We're thinking and you're not helping. Now, what could fall on you? What could fall on you? Um, an, uh... Oh! A pegasus! A pegasus? A flying horse?

Yes, a horse is huge! Short to kill you. Well, do you know where to find one? Well, I mean, my partner could make one. Unless they already exist. Do they exist? I don't think so. Why would a pegasus fall out of the sky?

Well, I mean, because, um, it would, um, with the feathers, no, I mean, it knows how to use those. A kraken came fron- no, never mind. Yes, it would require a really long backstory. No, no, no, forget it. I think we need to choose something else. A stroke of lightning, perhaps? No, not that funny. And lightning doesn't really fall, does it? I mean, it, no. No.

No, it doesn't fulfill the prophecy. An apple? Wouldn't kill me. A phallus. A phallus? Wouldn't kill me either. A four-foot phallus? A four-foot phallus?

Where would you find one? Might kill me, but why is it falling out of the sky? Right. How about an albatross? Oh, this is ridiculous! Yes, yes! A great big albatross flopping down on your head. What a sight! Exactly. Oh, but again, we need to find out why it's falling. Maybe it's been. Er, erm…

Maybe it's been shot with an arrow. Maybe. Or… or… Oh, got it! Yes? I have found a death for you. What? Have you ever seen an eagle eat a tortoise? What? Eagles eat tortoises?

Isn't the shell too hard? Indeed! Which is why they carry the tortoise as high as they can, then drop it on a stone for the shell to shatter. Alright. Only this eagle... Yes? ...mistakes your head for a rock.

Hahahaha! That's great! I couldn't have written it better myself. Oh, you're too kind. We must protest! No! What is it now? You would sacrifice an innocent tortoise your godless ends to meet. The tortoise won't die. Hitting Aeschylus' head will soften the landing. I mean... Absolutely true. One of the greatest and kindest of all. The tortoise won't die. Hitting Aeschylus' head will soften the landing.

Oh, well. That's alright then. So, we have a plan. Death by falling tortoise. Then we bring you back as a new dramatist. Ah, a co-median. Indeed, yes. Aristophanes, a great co-median? Indeed, yes! Aristophanes, a great co-median whose plays will tickle and delight. Well, this has been a pleasure.

Um, well, we haven't discussed payment. I assume your services are not free? Oh, death by nose-diving reptile had me so excited that I completely forgot. What do you have in way of means? Er, well, very little. Writing plays for a living is a blessing, but does not make you rich. Right. I spend all year writing a single trilogy. Oh. Then comes the competition to make it all worthwhile, but the prize…

Right. yes. I make goat's cheese. I drink goat's milk. My clothes are woven from goat's hair. Itchy. So all you can offer me is... 13 goats. 13? My. That's how many times I've won the contest. Um, well, I mean, I suppose I could start a goat farm. Or ask somebody to start it for me. Can't bear the smell, really. They're good goats. Yes, I'm sure. Yes, I'm sure.

Right, um, I will take the goats. Excellent. Look out for Sophocles. Sophocles? Sophocles will have his way with anything that moves. I once saw him running after a leaf trying to fornicate. Sophocles? Really? Oh, no, no, no. I mean the goat. I've named them after my competitors. Oh, oh, right. Yes, oh, clever. Yes.

And you're sure you won't need your goats for inspiration? Well, if I run out of ideas, I'll come visit your goat farm. Oh, yes, wonderful. Yes, yes, you'd be more than welcome. Right, well, I mean, we should seal the deal, shouldn't we? Time to empty that amphora, I think. But of course! Yes! It's pretty heavy, actually.

If you take the other side. Thank you. To fulfilling fates. Yes, to tragedy. To comedy. To great drama. Oh, that hits the spot. Very nice.

Could we have some? Yes, I suppose we might come in. That's enough. Let me help you. Sorry, lots of you aren't here. Good Lord. That's why I like coming on. That's enough of this. I'm driving. Good Lord. I'm not sure we have enough. There's another one.

The little one to the back there. Yes. I don't know. Stay tuned for the epilogue, but first the credits. The Amelia Project is a production of imploding fictions. This episode featured Alan Bergen as the interviewer, Dino Kelly as Aeschallas, Hemi Yidoham as Kozlovsky, Tim Meredith, Rhys Lawton, Adam Courting and Nathan Peter Grassi as the chorus, and Felix Trench as the chorus leader. The episode was written by Einstein Braga and Philip Thorne, with dialogue editing by

Philip Thorne, sound design by Paul Kraner, music by Frederik Barden, graphic design by Anders Pedersen and production Assistance by Marty Patsipal The Chorus was recorded at Soho Sonic in London with Engineering by Beth Granger We are indebted to our patrons, whose generosity keeps this show alive. If you'd like to join their magnanimous ranks by chipping in with a few pounds or euros or dollars or gold doubloons, we'd be really grateful. It also means you'll be able to get all episodes, ad-free, new episodes a month early, and there's a bunch of bonus content. For example, we've just published our first bonus graphic novel short story, Ruby Mariner. For all that,

go to EmiliaPodcast.com and click on Support the Show. Thanks to all our current patrons, and a shout out to our super patrons. That's Michaela Sullivan, Celeste Joes, Heat312, Auburn, Asant, Amelie, and Allison Stephanie Weidniller, Raphael, Eduardo Vifas, Verastaki, Allison Thro, Patricia Bornwagner, Bryce Godmer, Cliff Heisinger,er Michael West Tim McMackin Mr. Squiggles Tony Fisher Tibby Florian Byers Kirtney Mays Rinson Boo Astra Kim Olivia Dodson Philip Hansen Michael David Smith Alicia Hall LG Ryan Burnett Supercalifragilisticexpialix Nickel Timotheus Doctimus Miss Nixie Mystic Sybil Tiffany Duffy Jason Woods Ryan O'Mara Christine Bayuga Stefan Thank you all so much. Without you,

this podcast would disappear and reappear as a how-to YouTube series, where we teach you how to fake your death by buying useless cosmetics. And now, the epilogue. Hark! What footsteps do we hear? Behold! The footsteps of a man with lightness in his gait. Behold!

Aeschylus! No, it's not Aeschylus any more. Oh, sorry, we got that wrong. Behold! Aristophanes! His forehead joyfully refashioned, cheeks rosy with happiness, eyes filled with relief. Isch-Christoph-anes, father of comedy, we salute you! Like ointment are your words, delighting our senses, soothing our soul, invigorating our hearts, making our diaphragms shake with laughter.

Behold Isk'at Arastophanes! Your name strikes the discant to the plain song of the gods. Though Comedie is your daughter, she is also the mother of your joyous rebirth. Behold Arastophanes! You got it right that time. Rejoice! It came to be as it was prophesied. The great tragedian met unyielding fate,

yet with the help of a brotherhood, wielding the power of the firebird, the fate of Aeschylus was refashioned and repurposed. There is no end. That cannot be a new beginning. The Fable and Falling Network, where fiction producers flourish. Once upon a time,

a few weeks ago, Joe said to Finley, Hey, isn't it crazy about this crowd strike business? The whole nation is kind of paralyzed and no one can get on a plane. To which Finley replied, I don't know what you're talking about. And thus, a show was born. A show wherein Sho updates his workaholic girlfriend on all the cool stuff that she missed last week. Welcome to... on all the cool stuff that she missed last week. Welcome to What Weekly. Welcome to What Weekly, where an I, Jo, wait for Finley to emerge from her work hole

so that I may update her on the things that happened this past week. Hello, honey, hi, how are you? What's up? Hi. Honey, there's a new bacteria out there and I wanna tell you all about this new bacteria, okay? Okay, is it gonna kill me?

There's a celebrity, there's a new hot celebrity out there setting the world on fire, okay? Wow, all right. She's from Thailand. Okay. Her name is Mudang. Mudang is a hippopotamus. Ah!

They discovered something actually really interesting about earthquakes and that is honey, they make gold. Animals in Australia fall into two particular categories. Category one, incredibly dangerous animals that will kill you instantly. Terrifying, yes, absolutely. Terrifying dangerous animals. Category two, something that looks so ridiculous

you can't believe that exists on the planet Earth. Honey, birds. So, Switzerland. So so phonemes. We're going to the Netherlands. I want to take you to the Netherlands right now. I would love to go to the Netherlands. I mean, I'm not literally taking you to the Netherlands. I'm saying the news is taking us to the Netherlands.

One day Netherlands. So that led me, of course, down the rabbit hole of 17th century Icelandic sorcery. Nice. Scientists make living mice's skin transparent with simple food dye, honey. No! New research. What Weekly, a weekly show for the way too busy. Just look for What Weekly, that's HWAT Weekly, in your favorite podcasting app.