In summing up Soul Possession, Xena Warrior Podcast made an intriguing observation: they mentioned that someone pointed out if you arrange the entire series purely in chronological order, it ends with the final shot of Soul Possession (seen above), with the camera aimed at the C.H.A.K.R.A.M. Institute’s sign off-kilter, and the sound of Joxer breaking wind. That would be typical of an episode that is considered by many to be one of the most hated, if not the most hated, episode of the series.

It sounded promising at first: it billed itself as the episode that would finally tie together all the loose ends of the series, and fans thought they would get answers that would clear up numerous unresolved plot elements. But the actual result was an episode that seemed to mock the very idea of wanting serious resolutions to the show’s plot holes, and even made fun of the fanbase yet again, just a few episodes after Send in the Clones. To not a few it seemed like almost an act of contempt against its most dedicated viewers. At best, it’s considered a well-intentioned bit of unnecessary fan service that went completely out of control.

So what were they thinking when they put this episode together? Especially when they needed all the goodwill they could muster before a series finale that would frustrate many so fans’ expectations? Does this episode deserve the contempt it seems to have deliberately courted?

I think they must have understood what the fan reaction would be, but I think they were focused on something more important. The last half dozen episodes were bidding farewell to the show’s various elements, and perhaps we might think that Send in the Clones should have been the farewell to the comedic “uber” episode (“uber” meaning set in present day, outside the bounds of the show’s concept). It was that, but I think Soul Possession was the farewell to the “satyr play” pattern we see throughout the show, whether uber or no. Satyr play elements can be seen in both uber and regular episodes set in ancient Greece. We can think of this as the Satyr Play to end all Satyr plays.

I would even go further: Rob Tapert had said years later that he seriously considered ending the series with a comedy. We know that Soul Possession was heavily rewritten by director Josh Becker, taking it in a different direction. Could Soul Possession have been originally conceived as the series finale, to take place after A Friend in Need? Was the penultimate episode originally the ultimate episode?

Let’s consider the evidence.

The episode was rewritten by Becker because it wasn’t funny enough, according to him. We also know that the teleplay was credited to Melissa Blake, who had written several scripts for Jack of All Trades, all comedies (and which Becker also played a key role). The general feeling, then is that this was an episode in which show runner R.J. Stewart had very little hand in. No wonder we didn’t get any real answers, one might say. Except: we know that pretty much everyone who wrote a teleplay for Xena had a lot of notes from R.J. to work from, and the teleplay was often rewritten to a certain degree. We also know that Josh Becker usually became involved in episodes where heavy last-minute rewriting was called for. He could always be trusted by Rob and Sam to deliver the sensibility they wanted, namely a kind of satyr-like defiance of the audience’s expectations. If you recall Josh’s old discussion board on his website, you’ll know that going against fan expectations is exactly the thing to expect from him.

So what was R.J.’s original concept, and why was it changed?

I’m not so sure it was substantially changed. I think R.J. had a number of plot points that he wanted to address, in conjunction with Rob wanting certain loose ends addressed, and there may have been an attempt at some point to deal with these seriously…up to a point. I think the story about the scroll being hidden in an undersea cave was always there, and may even have been in mind for quite some time. The idea of a marriage contract between Ares and Xena, I think, was always in the back of R.J.’s mind as well, and would serve good purpose here. The general idea of having a scroll discovered was very likely part of the original idea as well, and that would bring up the whole idea of Xena’s legacy, and who could lay claim to it. Would it be the scholars, the fans, the press, her descendants, her immortal enemies? These are concepts that I think would likely appeal to R.J. Stewart’s sensibility. I think Melissa wrote the teleplay based on these ideas, but the resulting script didn’t have enough satyr-ic punch to it. It needed to distinguish itself from Paul Robert Coyle’s teleplay for Send in the Clones, and Josh was the perfect choice for that.

Why do I believe that R.J. contributed the basic structure for the episode (despite fan theories that he had little to do with it)? I think in addition to this episode being a farewell to satyr plays, it also was a farewell to the Greek play that most influenced R.J.’s approach to writing Xena (by his own testimony): Euripides’ Helen. 

Helen

This is a play whose influence can be seen throughout the show: the idea of two Cleopatras in Antony and Cleopatra, for one, and the unconventional portrait of Helen in Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts. There are even moments that evoke Destiny, and M’Lila’s song to the sea. Euripides’ version of Helen’s story is unique: he depicts her as having been in Egypt during the entire Trojan War, while a double took her place in Troy, unknown to her husband Menelaus, Paris, or anybody else. Helen’s reputation as a loyal wife suffered greatly as a result, according to Euripides. When Menelaus discovers his wife is actually in Egypt, he tries to rejoin her, but finds she is being forced into a marriage with the king of Egypt, enforced by the king’s sister, who has godlike powers. Helen escapes through an elaborate ruse: they convince the king that she can’t remarry until she buries her husband with a ritual, symbolic ceremony at sea. The false Helen, meanwhile, is hidden in a sea cave, and vanishes into mist, revealing her unreal nature. Helen and Menelaus, disguised as a shipwreck survivor, concoct a whole list of ingredients they need for their fictitious ceremony, which the Egyptian king supplies them, and while at sea, they make their escape back to Greece. The king tries to pursue them, but is prevented by the appearance of Helen’s twin demigod brothers, Castor and Polydeuces.

For those not familiar with Greek theater, or Euripides, this kind of wild plot doesn’t seem like something we’d expect from him. It was a quite daring portrayal of women then, and still strikes us as unconventional. There were rumors at the time that Euripides wrote this play for the secretive Women’s Festival, and in fact, Euripides’ contemporary, Aristophanes, wrote a play about how Euripides must have actually snuck into the Women’s Festival as a spy in order to write Helen (the Euripides we see in Athens Academy of Performing Bards isn’t really based on the actual Euripides, but on the satirical version of him portrayed in Aristophanes’ comedy, The Women’s Festival, which quotes a lot from Helen). We can see why R.J. Stewart would single out this play as his chief inspiration, given not only how Euripides portrayed women, but how it experimented with new creative ways of retelling the ancient myths. The scenes above could have been found in any Xena episode, and thanks to Soul Possession, actual plot elements found their way in right in the nick of time, just before the series’ end!

We can see how this play is reflected in Soul Possession: a forced marriage involving godlike powers, the marriage contract hidden in the sea cave, carefully orchestrated deceptions occurring at just the right time and place. We can even see how the list of burial rituals and ingredients is reflected in Soul Possession, when Joxer follows all the pre-nuptial rituals of the bachelor party and the something borrowed, something blue scene.

The Trackers

Grenfell and Hunt at the Oxyrhyncus dig
There’s another Greek play, however, that I believe plays an equally important role in R.J.’s thinking. I’ve mentioned in my post on Ulysses that only one “satyr” play survives from ancient Greece, Euripides’ The Cyclops, handed down by scribe after scribe for 2400 hundred years. But in the early 20th century, another satyr play was discovered: in 1907, two scholars, Grenfell and Hunt, professional scroll hunters, discovered in an ancient trash heap in Oxyrhyncus, Egypt an incomplete version of Sophocles’ The Trackers. This stunning discovery was announced at the General Meeting of the Egypt Exploration Society by Dr. Hunt to great fanfare. Decades later, in 1988, the play was “completed” by playwright Tony Harrison as The Trackers of Oxyrhyncus. He added “uber” scenes to the play as a way of expanding its themes to encompass how the play was discovered, and how ancient Greek theater has a surprising way of suddenly becoming relevant to us no matter how many centuries have passed.

Lyre, lyre … Tom Purbeck as Apollo, with James Rigby and Dannie Pye in The Trackers of Oxyrhyncus
Sophocles’ original version of The Trackers was based on the myth of a youthful Hermes’ invention of the lyre. Apollo believes Hermes had stole his cattle, so he sends a group of satyrs to steal them back (i.e., to track down the cattle). They not only discover the cattle, but hear Hermes playing the world’s first lyre, a sound that mesmerizes them. The play ends there, but we know how the rest of the story goes: Apollo jealously steals the lyre, and punishes the satyrs for daring to play it. Harrison completes the play his own way by having Grenfell and Hunt resurrect the story by combining the scroll pieces of The Trackers, while digging through the ancient rubbish pile. The satyrs are resurrected as well, a force of chaos wreaking havoc in the modern world, but they’re not nearly as dangerous as Apollo himself, when he’s resurrected. As Harrison portrays him, the god is very much like Ares in The Xena Scrolls, determined to bring his own idea of order to the modern world, an idea that terrifies the satyrs (and the rest of us):

“I foresee in ages yet to unfold
my statue in temples of marble and gold.
Palaces of culture with gold statues of me
will preside over music and poetry.
Where I’m on the pediment, where I preside,
no creatures with tails will set clog inside.
They tracked down my lyre and now that I’ve thanked ’em
their clogs aren’t allowed in my musical sanctum…”

This sounds very similar to Ares in The Xena Scrolls after his resurrection:

“The world’s become a glorious
place. The weapons more lethal. The people more
hateful. And there’s a new leader: A lot of vision, a lot
of potential. His name is Hitler. With my help, he’s
gonna make a lot of positive changes.”

[The playwright also comments that Hitler had planned a huge statue of Apollo in Berlin to celebrate his idea of cultural purity]

The lyre storyline was very likely the inspiration for Lyre Lyre Hearts on Fire. Both are stories about a fight over a lyre created by a god. The passage below, the “Xena rap,” has a similar feel to rhyming battles in Sophocles’ The Trackers (as reimagined by Harrison):

Draco:  “No, I’m the baddest rapper there is,
And you’re the saddest there is, and that’s the way it is.

Xena:  You’re just a copycat.  That’s where your head is at.
You chase the rhythm from a place you was never at.

Draco:  “Ain’t nobody told you that payback’s a mother?!

Xena:  Heads up, my brother, ’cause here comes another.

Draco:  “It’s time to face the funk blastin’ atcha!
You better give it up ’cause you ain’t gonna match my rhyme!

Xena:  Just like old times, when you be trippin’ in your own stuff,
didn’t know what.

Draco:  “I’m the number one warlord, king of the horde.
And I’m out to collect my reward.

Xena:  Let’s get it on ’cause I’m gettin’ bored.”

Compare this to a typical scene in The Trackers, a back and forth between Apollo, the satyrs and Hermes fighting over the lyre:

Satyr: This crappy little chappy we apprehended
She claims that he’s Zeus-descended.

Apollo: He’ll have to be quizzed this whiz-kid you’ve tracked
And you’ll be rewarded, as per our pact.
This bovver babe, this bovicidal maniac.
I’ll beat him black and blue to get my bulls back.

Hermes: Gerroff my lyre. I made it. It’s mine.

Apollo: But I’m older than you and a lot more divine.
Give me your gadget. Be a good boy!
I could give class to your trivial toy.

Hermes: It’s boring for a baby in his cradle all day.
I’d go proper potty with no lyre to play.

Apollo: Let me have your gadget or you’ll get a good slap.
That papyrus you’re wearing. It’s full of warm crap.

The Trackers was discovered in an ancient trash dump, and jokes on Xena Warrior Princess about the scrolls being used as toilet paper are very likely inspired by Harrison’s adaptation. Scrolls are constantly referred to in this way: Silenus, leader of the satyrs, at one point hands out pieces of the play’s scrolls, saying “Here take this little bit, it’ll come in handy after a shit….” We’ll see this throughout the show, in the comedies, and we’ll even see Sophocles himself as a satyr in The Play’s The Thing. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in the same episode featuring Sophocles in a comedy, Gabrielle also gets her big break when her play is discovered by an agent when it’s left in the bathroom: “There is so much garbage around but–when I saw your scrolls, well…!” This is exactly how Sophocles’ only surviving comedy was discovered! In that same episode, Joxer says something very satyr-like, when he comments on Gab’s lucky break: “To think that people could be touched by something left in a bathroom!”

Another comedic motif on the show is flatulence, usually associated with Joxer. On Soul Posession, it’s caused by “goat’s milk shakes”. The idea of milkshakes made of goat’s milk is rather odd, especially in an uber set in the modern era, so it’s appearance must signal the influence of the satyrs, specifically The Trackers. It’s fitting, then, that the last sound we hear comes from the goat part of the goatman!

What is the point of all these references? I think it centers the show on what it’s trying to achieve. In The Trackers, old goatman Silenus laments the cautious satyrs of today, fearful of attempting to play the lyre:

“They’re less accommodating the satyrs of today.
They wouldn’t condescend to be in a satyr play.
They’re joined the polis and they’ve learned its ways
but they despise its music and its plays.”

So if all this is was indeed part of Soul Possession’s development, it indicates that it was of fair significance to R.J., at least, and therefore perhaps for Rob too. Maybe this was the comedy he was thinking of ending the series on? The fact that Josh Becker didn’t find the original script that funny tells me it could have been more along the lines of other episodes he directed that were originally intended to make bigger statements, only to be rewritten as slapstick comedies once it was decided to go in a different direction. I am aware that Rob has been critical of this episode, in retrospect. He’s also been critical of Fins, Femmes and Gems, and Kindred Spirits. What do all these episodes have in common? They were directed and rewritten by Josh Becker, who was brought in to refurbish episodes that once had a much bigger and very different role to play on the show. For this reason, I think it would be a mistake to think that Rob’s criticism of these shows is for the same reason as ours. He knows better than we do what the intended version was versus what was eventually done. I think Josh delivered exactly the kind of show Rob expected, which is why he continued to bring him onto the show, and it’s clear from both their accounts he’s been a key influence on Rob’s thinking.

The working title of Soul Possession was “Missing Pieces”, obviously a reference to the tying up of loose ends, but also, I believe, of the pieces of the long lost Sophocles comedy in The Trackers of Oxyrhyncus. The change of the title to Soul Possession reflects the plot point of who will control Xena’s soul, but I think it also reflects the idea we saw in Lyre Lyre Hearts On Fire, with the battle over who will control the lyre. Will Xena’s soul be the property of Ares, the academics, the writers, or the fans who want a season seven by any means necessary? Just like in Lyre Lyre Hearts On Fire, the winner is author of the Xena rap, who finds a way to get out of her unbreakable Apollonian contract.

My guess is that the concept for Missing Pieces was meant to give us a first glimpse of the world of Xena after A Friend in Need, much like Deja Vu All Over Again ended up being a glimpse of hope for fans who watched both Xena and Gabrielle crucified in the penultimate episode of season four. The animating spirit of the satyrs, defiant to the end against the conventional demands of narrative, would thumb their noses at the very idea of an ending for Xena, and prove their point by tearing up the script and scattering it throughout history to the present day.  In a way, that’s what Soul Possession already accomplishes, and maybe it was felt that it would be more effective to end the series with Xena in a karmic cliffhanger, if their intention was to follow up with a movie or two. I believe Rob even said at one point that solving the mystery of how to bring Xena back would guarantee audience interest in a movie. But for a variety of reasons, that gamble did not work out at the time. Until that mystery is unlocked in a future movie, or reboot perhaps, we can take solace in the spirit of the satyrs who braved death for a chance to play the lyre of the gods.

 

Both Xena Warrior Podcast and Xena Warrior Business reviewed Xena Warrior Princess’s first season finale, Is There a Doctor in the House? and they both thought the episode was an odd choice for a season-ender. Why not end the first season with Callisto, with its introduction of Xena’s key foil, or Death Mask, with a plot that offered a logical book-end to the first episode by showing the man responsible for Xena’s dark path? Instead, we have an episode about healing, slightly silly guest shots of famous Greek physicians, a grotesque centaur baby, and the highly coincidental return of Amazon Ephiny out of the blue, in a seemingly haphazard plot turn from the previous two episodes. Both podcasts explain the apparent arbitrariness of this episode by pointing out that it originally was to have aired earlier, but due to editing issues, was postponed until the end.

No doubt, and in terms of story arcs, it does seem to be a left turn, but I think this is a more appropriate book-end for the first season when you take into account its “logic of aesthetics”, as Rob calls his storytelling method. Let’s take a closer look at this episode’s ingredients and where they came from, and see how it wraps up the first season using poetry, not prose.

First, a reminder: I’m not trying to build a case for some hidden meaning in the show; we can all see what it means. But the way it’s told, it’s “aesthetics”, as I’ve describe it, is not always so apparent. Allow me to repeat these three points from the last essay, about the show’s process:

1. Rob Tapert has stated that he used Robert Graves’ The Greek Myths as his unofficial show bible, and that the Xena staff was asked to be familiar with it as well. Graves believed that what we now know as Greek myth is actually the misunderstood remnants of an ancient matriarchal society whose history is now lost. This gave the show’s creative team a unified take on the myths they selected and how they were used.

2. Rob played a large role in the shaping of each episode; along with show runner R.J. Stewart, they came up with 90% of the episode ideas, and Rob often supplied a brief summary of each episode for the writing staff. He also supplied reference materials for each episode, including books and videotapes. This approach allowed for the possibility of a consistent aesthetic language to be developed and managed, regardless of who wrote the teleplay.

3. Showrunner R.J. Stewart, like Rob Tapert and Sam Raimi, is a writer experienced in using references and templates from movies, tv, and literature as a basis for his stories. He was story editor on Remington Steele, a show that shaped each episode around a classic Hollywood movie (since the main character was an actor posing as a detective). R.J. also grew up in Greece, and is familiar with Greek myth and theater, and used Greek plays as often as Greek myth on the show. He either wrote the teleplays, rewrote them, or gave extensive notes on all of them before they went to final draft.

Where does this episode take place?

We’re told Xena and Gaberielle are in a forest between Thessaly & Athens:

“Maybe we should take the southern route,” Gabrielle asks.  “This is the shortest way to Athens” says Xena. “This forest is the only way between Thessaly and Mitoa. Whoever controls it controls—“. Xena is interrupted. Was she going to say “the route to Athens”?

Probably few of us worried about the details of this exchange. It sounds vaguely urgent, without explaining why, and before we start to get really curious, they’re interrupted. Chris Sims of Xena Warrior Business actually tried looking up this information, and made what I thought was a revealing discovery: according to Google Maps, when you ask it for directions from Thessaly to Athens, you get a path from Thessaly in the U.S., to Athens in Greece. That’s because there is no Thessaly in Greece, in terms of an address of any kind. Thessaly is, and was, a region, not a town. It covers much of northern Greece. So where is Mitoa? Again, you will not find it on a map, because there is no such place, anywhere. Alison Stock of the same podcast accidentally refers to it as Minoa at one point, which is probably what the writers based the name on (Minoa was a Trojan-era settlement in Crete, nowhere near this area). This raises another question: why make up a name? Why not just pick some southern town facing Thessaly en route to Athens, like, say, Corinth? Or a region, like Sparta? After all, we’re never really told anything about Mitoa specifically that would contradict our knowledge of any other town.

I think the reason why is that, like Thessaly, Mitoa is also a region, not a town. We know that Euripides was a strong influence for R.J. Stewart, and the subtext of Euripides’ plays was the Peloponnesian War: he wrote about the Trojan War, but he actually lived through the Greek civil war, which is what his plays were really about. This war between Mitoa and Thessaly is also described as a civil war, and I believe this episode is the closest the show ever gets to depicting the Peloponnesian War. We even have a clue that this is the case, when we’re told about a little boy named Piraeus: he never actually appears onscreen, but his name is one of the most famous locations in the Peloponnesian War,  the port of Athens. It’s seven miles from Piraeus to Athens, inland, and during the Peloponnesian War this distance was protected by the Long Walls, whose construction was considered by Sparta to be a hostile act. The war ended when Sparta captured Piraeus, and they quickly demolished the Long Walls. This little boy has another significance as well, which I’ll discuss in a moment.

What is this war about?

Gabrielle asks this question as well, and Xena’s answer is cut off. We’ll be told later it’s a religious war, but we only see one religion: the Thessalians’ worship of Asclepius, whose name in English means “unceasingly gentle.” This episode is set in his temple of healing, and it’s odd that his religion would be the cause of all this senseless strife. If we look in Robert Graves’ The Greek Myths, we’ll learn that it’s a bit more complicated than that:

In chapter 50, we learn that Asclepius is from Thessally. His mother, Coronis, was impregnated by Apollo, who killed her when he suspected her of infidelity. Gazing at her corpse, he immediately regretted his action, but did not know how to restore her to life again. He called on Hermes to perform a Caesarean section on Coronis, saving the life of her boy, whom Apollo named Asclepius. He was taken to the cave of Cheiron the Centaur, who taught him the arts of medicine and the chase. He became so skilled in surgery and the use of drugs that he is revered as the founder of medicine.

Does this sound familiar? Of course! We have here the main ingredients of Is There a Doctor in the House?! It’s a perfect fit for a medical drama, by dramatizing the mythic origins of medicine. We can see the inspiration for Gabrielle’s being raised from the dead, and the presence of the centaur storyline, including the birth of a centaur by a human, which would necessitate such a procedure. It makes sense, then, that Ephiny would reappear in this episode.

There’s more to this myth: we’re told that Athena made two drugs from Medusa’s blood: one with the power to raise the dead, the other the power to instantly destroy. She gave Asclepius the power to raise the dead, while keeping for herself the power to destroy, and she used it to instigate wars. 

Athena is part of the “Greek Subtext” of Xena’s story, and in a way, Xena has her attributes in this story: she’s used her knowledge in the past to destroy, and now uses it to give life. In my previous post, we saw Xena stand in for Athena in the story of Ulysses, and in my next post, we’ll see her do it again, in The Price.

So this is the mythical background for Asclepius, but Robert Graves doesn’t stop there. He provides his own socio-political explanation of the truth behind the myth, which is relevant here. He interprets this myth as a depiction of ecclesiastical politics in northern Greece, an actual religious war between two colleges of healing:

“Apollo’s Hellenic priests were helped by their Magnesian allies the Centaurs, who were hereditary enemies of the Lapiths, to take over a Thessalian crow-oracle, hero and all, expelling the college of Moon Priestesses and suppressing the worship of the goddess. Apollo retained the stolen crow, or raven, as an emblem of divination, but his priests found dream-interpretation a simpler and more effective means of diagnosing their patients’ ailments than the birds enigmatic croaking.”

This is all rather involved, and may seem a bit to esoteric for a Xena episode, but let’s not forget that Rob Tapert was fascinated with religious history, and how religions evolved. Graves’ book lays out an interesting way to basically dramatize Greek myth without having to rely solely on its fantastic elements. He has said that Xena relied more on religious history than Greek myth, as Hercules did, and I think this means, in part, that he relied more on Graves’ interpretations of myth. In this case, the idea of a religious war, as opposed to merely depicting a battle between the gods.

You might ask: did the writer, a freelancer, do all this research for her one Xena episode? I think it was unnecessary. R.J. Stewart, in a 1999 interview for Cinefantastique, said:

“As far as a freelancer goes, we generally give them the idea. We work and develop the idea with them and then when we get to the point where we think the story is right we send them off to do the script. Some of them hit pretty close so there isn’t a lot of rewriting to do. Others miss by a mile and we have to do a pretty big rewrite. That’s really not much of a reflection on the writer, whether they’re good or not. It’s whether they’re a good marriage to the show.”

Patricia Manney, this episode’s writer, very likely didn’t know the underlying sources involved beyond what was supplied, but I think she was a good fit for this assignment. Her focus as a writer, then and now, are the themes of empathy, healing, and the relation between storytelling and science.

What is this episode about? And does Greek myth play a key role in it?

There are two main themes to Is There a Doctor in the House?: freedom and compassion, and they’re dramatized in the role they play in storytelling and medicine in finding a solution to war.

Galen the priest is trapped in ignorance and fear, and his temple to Asclepius is ground zero of the war between the Thessallians and the Mitoans. He can’t yield to rival dogma, for he has no experience to ground any such compromise. Marmax the general, on the other hand, though he fights the religious war and oversaw the atrocities we see, does have a practical understanding of the war he fights: he appreciates the practicalities of war, and respects Xena’s command of the healing room, as a fellow professional. He’s capable of learning from experience, and his humanity shows through as he watches both Xena and Gabrielle getting real results in uncompromising fashion.

He fights against Galen and the Thessalians in the name of freedom, and while he’s their prisoner, he explains that his quest for freedom justifies his atrocities. The equation starts to change for him, however, when Gabrielle tells him a story about freedom: the myth of the hunter Acteon, punished by the goddess Artemis by being turned into a deer and torn apart by his own dogs. Except she changes the story: instead of being torn apart, he learns compassion and peace as a deer—in other words, he learns to see the world through the eyes of those he was trying to kill. Marmax smiles indulgently when he hears this version, telling Gabrielle “It’s a pretty story. Too bad it has nothing to do with real life.”

Marmax actually hears two version of the Acteon myth: the second version is not a pretty story, told by Ephiny as she’s about to give birth to a centaur, but it is a tragic, all-too-real version of the Acteon myth. Her husband, a centaur, is in effect a combination of man and animal, like Acteon became. And like Acteon gazing on Artemis, he did what was forbidden to his race: he fell in love with an Amazon. Both he and Ephiny learned the lesson of compassion, but he was to suffer Acteon’s fate anyway: to be torn apart by the dogs of Mitoans, as they laughed. Marmax is stunned, and begins to see himself from his victim’s eyes at last.

Who is LIberius?

There is no Liberius in Greek myth; it’s a Roman name, and the closest Roman god to this name is the God Liber, the Roman Dionysus.

 I had mentioned that one of the themes of this episode was freedom. On Xena Warrior Princess, the concept of freedom is usually associated with Dionysus. The god makes a presence here, in the form of Acteon himself! In Gabrielle’s version of the myth, she substitutes the name of Liberius for Acteon.  Liber is not only the Roman name for Dionysus, it’s the root word for Liberty, and can be found in Ovid, in his telling of the story of the Bacchae. The main character of The Bacchae story (also Euripides’ final play) is The Stranger (in Greek, a female stranger is “xena”—Lucy Lawless has said this was the meaning of her character’s name).

There are numerous instances throughout the series where a character is named or renamed after a word signifying Dionysus. We can see this in Altered States: the character of Abraham is renamed Anteus, which, according to Robert Graves (The Greek Myths, ch. 85), is the surname of Dionysus in his sacrificial aspect. The myth of Narcissus and his death by dagger, according to Graves, was actually based on a Dionysiac ritual. Since Altared States is about sacrifice by dagger, it’s an appropriate name. Another example is Xena’s daughter, Eve. In the original drafts, her character Livia was originally named Lydia. The very first thing we see, in Euripides’ The Bacchae, is Dionysus introducing himself to the audience as the Stranger From Lydia. The name Eve very likely comes from the same play, as well as from another big influence from the show, Aristophanes. Dionysus’s worshippers in the play The Women’s Festival sing of “Evius, Evivus, Evoe,” the bacchae’s names for Dionysus, and sounding very much like Xena calling her baby “Evie”. Like mother, like daughter, they are both “xena,” the Stranger.

How do Centaurs procreate?

Xena Warrior Business wondered about the mechanics of centaur/human procreation, and whether Ephiny was the first human to give birth to a centaur. The Dan Scrolls author Dan Cassino mentioned that even in ancient Greece the idea of a centaur was not taken seriously as a literal idea, given the impracticality of a human-horse hybrid baby being a viable creature, and of course, Xena goes ahead and embraces the most impossible aspect of this myth! That said, longtime fans will remember Steven Sears’ explanation back in the day for how centaurs procreated on the show: briefly, all centaurs on the show were male because of a dominant gene (I don’t remember all the genetic mechanics he mentioned, but they were quite involved), and because there were no female centaurs, they naturally mated with female humans. However, Ephiny would be the first *Amazon* to give birth to a centaur, given their rivalry as described in Hooves and Harlots. 

What I find most revealing about Sears’ explanation of centaur procreation, which was his own rationalization, is not its details, but that he gave this explanation during the run of the show, and after he had left it, not having watched any episodes made since he left (for all I know, this is still the case). In other words, he was confident that there are indeed no female centaurs, and knew he wouldn’t be contradicted by a show that the fans were watching, but he wasn’t. This tells me that the staff were instructed that male-only centaurs were an established rule. This raises a big question: Why? Wouldn’t it be dramatic enough to have a Centaur-Amazon relationship, even with female centaurs in existence? Wouldn’t it in fact provide even more dramatic tension? Obviously there’s no biological need to come up with such a reason, especially a show that had its own unique take on the myths. But they clearly felt it was important to establish this early on, well before the first season of Xena. So what aesthetic logic is this male-only centaur concept based on? To answer this, we turn to this episode’s chief cinematic inspiration.

Walking and Talking with RedBeard

Xena Warrior Podcast noted that there were similarities between certain scenes in this episode and The West Wing, in which the characters would have a “walk and talk” (i.e., conversational plot exposition while the characters walk through the scene they’re talking about). They also read off a quote by the episode’s director, T.J. Scott, how he wanted to emulate the realism of the medical drama E.R.

Now, E.R. certainly had a lot of “walk and talks”, but it’s very likely that in this case, Xena really did do it first, since it was conceived in 1993, before E.R. aired. What did it do? It drew its inspiration from the same place that Michael Crichton probably did: the Akira Kurosawa film, Redbeard. 

The majority, if not the entirety, of Xena’s episode have some kind of Greek myth tie-in, but equally, they have some kind of cinematic tie-in as well. It’s already well known that James Cameron’s The Abyss influenced Gabrielle’s resuscitation scene. But the film references don’t end there. If I’m certain of anything, it’s that RedBeard was a model for Xena Warrior Princess: not just this episode, but the entire series. It’s the one cinematic source that I believe is required viewing for Xena fans. Rob Tapert never mentioned it, as far as I know, and I’d never seen it myself until well after I finished watching Xena. So how did I deduce this? While watching the series finale, A Friend in Need, and listening to its commentary, it was clear there were a number of Asian film influences that Rob Tapert paid homage to in return for the inspiration he drew from them: among others, the Chinese Ghost Story trilogy and Snow Falling On Cedars, about the Japanese internment during World War II.

I became curious about the character Akemi: was her name some kind of homage as well? I searched IMDb for Akemi, and came across Akemi Negishi, who starred in a wide range of Japanese films—one of them, Lady Snowblood, seemed very promising: it inspired Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill. But there wasn’t anything about it that really struck me as being uniquely inspiring to Xena. However, after reading an article in which Hudson Leick named RedBeard as her favorite film, which starred Akemi Negishi (one of Akira Kurosawa’s favorite actresses), I decided to give it a look. I was immediately struck by the obvious influence it had on Xena Warrior Princess. For a show that wears its film references on its sleeve, it should come as no surprise that there’s a film that inspires the series as a whole.

The original title of A Friend in Need was to be Mentors, and its the theme of RedBeard as well. The final scene of RedBeard clearly influenced the final scene of Sins of the Past, and with the appearance of Akemi in the series finale, this film reference comes full circle. The relationship of the fierce, samurai-like doctor, RedBeard, and his intern who has big ambitions to become a well-regarded doctor to wealthy patrons, but learns compassion while serving the needs of the city’s poor, mirrors the relationship of Xena and Gabrielle. The intern is introduced to life in a clinic when he’s given a “walk and talk” through its hallways, as it slowly dawns on him the challenge he faces:

The film is a series of stories, much like in a medical drama, about the physical and psychological challenges of their patients. The doctors need to understand both in order to heal them. There’s two such patients who tie the film together: Otoyo, the poor young orphan girl who’s being raised in a brothel, and Chobo, a boy thief that she befriends. Otoyo is difficult to reach at first, given her abandonment to a brothel at a young age. She dares everyone she meets to give up and abandon her, since she believes they will eventually anyway. The young intern indeed wants to give up after Otoyo keeps throwing her bowl of gruel at him, but RedBeard teaches him the secret: patience and unconditional forgiveness, no matter how many times she pushes him away. When Otoyo finally displays her first act of gratitude to the intern, he understands at last, and begs her forgiveness:

Xena Warrior Podcast made an excellent point during their coverage of Livia, Xena’s daughter: “Forgive me” is the show’s recurring note, and unconditional acceptance and forgiveness, its healing power. We can see many examples of it, in addition to Xena and Gabrielle’s own relationship (their own rift is healed in The Bitter Suite to the words “Forgive me”).

We see a close parallel to RedBeard in Forgiven: the young girl, Tara, wanting to become Xena’s “intern,” seeks acceptance, but can’t help provoking Gabrielle. She seems impossible to forgive, and Gabrielle, like Redbeard’s intern, sees no point in doing so, but Xena knows better: she was once that incorrigible, and knows how valuable genuine acceptance is. Like Redbeard, she shows patience and confidence in Tara, until it overcomes Tara’s lifetime of rejection and abandonment.

We’ll see a similar story of forgiveness, told in a very different way, in season five’s Little Problems, The Acteon myth is also present here, in a sense. The idea of learning compassion by becoming something else is seen when Xena, about to become a mother for the first time since Solon, whom she never raised, finds herself in the form of a little girl, Daphne. Daphne blames herself for her mother’s death, and assumes her father does too. Xena grew up in similar circumstances: she’s able to help Daphne forgive herself, and in turn, accept the difficult emotions of her own growing up.

Chobo the boy thief is also difficult to reach, at first: when he meets Otoyo, he declares he wants to be a horse. Here we have the secret cinematic origin of the centaurs and the amazons, in the form of a boy horse and a girl “harlot”: 

We can see how this would influence Hooves and Harlots: the Amazons, called “harlots”, are represented here by Otoyo, the girl from the brothel, and the Hooves are represented here by Chobo, the boy who wishes he was a horse.  Queen Melosa complains the centaurs want the Amazons hunting grounds; like Chobo, who steals food from the clinic, they are merely thieves in their eyes.

Otoyo takes pity on him, having learned compassion from RedBeard and the intern, and when Chobo gets sick, and shames his family, Otoyo shouts his name into a well, to call his soul back to life. She and the kitchen cooks scream “Chobo! Chobo!” until it seems to work, as Chobo recovers. Here, then, is the connection between Hooves and Harlots and Is There a Doctor in the House. We can see clues in this episode: Gabrielle is injured while looking for a little boy, Piraeus, and Xena must find a way to call her soul back to her body. It makes aesthetic sense, then to have Ephiny return to this episode in need of medical help, pregnant with a centaur. And Xena is also a fellow “Harlot”, having been called that name by Galen.

This RedBeard influence doesn’t begin with these episodes, or Sins of the Past. The first clear reference to it is nearly a year earlier, on the third episode of Hercules, The Road to Calydon. In that episode, we meet two orphans: Jana, a girl raised in a brothel (!) and Ixion, a boy named after a centaur (!). A clearer parallel to RedBeard couldn’t be found! Their story involves a healing that’s very similar to Otoyo’s in RedBeard, and has Jana calling his name like Otoyo calls Chobo’s into the well.

By the way, does the name “Chobo” ring a bell? In Hooves and Harlots, Xena chooses “Chobo sticks” to fight the Amazon queen. Now, I’m well aware of the story behind how these were named: Steve Sears says he was writing that scene when, stumped for a weapon name, looked out a window and saw someone with a churro stick, and somehow “chobo” popped into his head as a good placeholder name, until something better could be thought of. I’ve no doubt that story is true, but I’m fairly certain that RedBeard was recommended viewing by Rob for the staff, and my belief is that Steve watched it (along with tons of other reference material), forgot the name, then channelled it again when he saw the churro. It felt right to him, and to everyone else who watched the film, naturally, so it stayed in.

Once Upon a Time in China

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that this episode is about a religious war, but that we only see one side of it: the worship of Ascleplius. We do get a glimpse of what this war could be about, though, when we see the conflict between Galen,the priest of Asclepius, and Xena, about proper healing methods. Galen believes healing is the result of his intercession with Ascleplius, while Xena relies on her actual experience healing injuries on the battlefield. Galen isn’t entirely deluded about the limitations of her methods , by the way. At one point, Xena loses a patient; and Galen points out her medical skills alone can’t solve everything, something that weighs heavily on Xena’s mind, and will need to confront in the final scenes of this episode.

Both podcasts list the healing techniques she employs as examples of her inventing new medical techniques, but I’m not so sure. Remember, we’re in a temple that forbids this kind of healing, so it’s all new to them, but probably not to anyone else (though obviously Xena is more proficient at it than anyone else). Galen describes her methods as “antiquated” and “impure”. “Impure” we can understand, if he believes that only prayer is effective, but “antiquated”? In other words, he seems to be aware of her approach, but considers it inferior. Does the word “antiquated” strike anyone as an odd choice, though? An odd turn of phrase like that makes me curious why they thought of it, and I believe this is another film reference, to the Once Upon a Time in China series in the 90s, starring Jet Li. The films explores 19th century China after opening up to the west, and the cultural clashes between Chinese traditions and western technology. The second film deals with western medicine and Chinese acupuncture. There’s a great deal of competition between the two, which is put aside during a battle, when a western-trained doctor runs out of anesthesia and calls in the acupuncturist who’s been banned by the hospital for his antiquated ways, in order to help remove the patients’ pain using his needles. The two doctors work side by side quite effectively, augmenting each others’ skills:

Xena also uses a kind of acupuncture in this episode, when she employs her pinch to numb the patient while removing his leg. This is also another connection to RedBeard: we don’t know the details of RedBeard’s tough background, but we get a sense of it when he visits the brothel to treat the orphan girl Otoyo. He’s confronted by the pimps who don’t like him taking their girl away, and he responds with highly efficient and clinical blows, doing as little harm as possible, including using a pinch to disable a man, then undoing the pinch and letting him go after he’s subdued. We’ll see a similar scene in this episode, when Galen calls in the temple guards to apprehend Xena, and she fights them off while operating on a patient!

RedBeard is not the source for Xena’s pinch (it’s taken from the Swordsman series starring the original inspiration for Xena, Brigitte Lin), but its medical applications, as part of treating patients and finding a way around killing people, is likely taken from RedBeard.

The sources I mention here are used in the series as motifs, and in one form or another can be found in other episodes.

 

It’s been ten years since I first started writing essays on Xena, Warrior Princess, analyzing the show’s elusive aesthetic approach, and I’ve been out of the fandom since, but I had recently stumbled on the possible solution of a fifteen-year-old mystery about one of the Xena episodes. While researching it, I thought I’d  look around and see what the Xena fandom was up to these days. As it happens, there’s renewed interest in the show by several podcasters, thanks to a possible reboot. Two of them I’ve begun listening to with interest:

Xena Warrior Podcast is hosted by three film school graduates, and they bring a keen eye to the technical accomplishments of each episode. They can spot the writing and directing techniques that would be important to the people making the show, but which may not be obvious to the rest of us. They watch each episode several times while taking notes, and I make a point of taking notes during their podcasts because they catch things I’ve missed, or never knew in the first place. When they don’t know something, they raise very good questions, which I’ve found are good to follow up on (some of which I’ve tried to, below).

They also do a very good job of tracking character development, and because they’ve studied screenwriting, they can spot how the writers strive for consistency among all the seeming chaos of this unpredictable show. They have a good eye for story framing and foreshadowing, and they’ve talked about the show’s remarkable consistency, with which I very much agree! Whether or not you find my own take below convincing, they make a compelling case for taking Xena seriously as an underestimated, well-crafted series.

Xena Warrior Business is a lively podcast hosted by Chris Sims, comics writer, and Alison Stock, and include a variety of guests in their line-up for different points of view, and they’ve called out some interesting things on the show I’ve overlooked. Not long ago they had Javier Grillo-Marxuach himself, who had been involved in the most recent Xena reboot project, discussing his own approach to reimagining the Warrior Princess (I’ll talk more about that in another post). A frequent guest is Dan Cassino, who writes The Dan Scrolls for their Patreon account, an informative and surprising look at the mythological foundations for the show’s stories. From what I’ve heard so far, he’s provided an intriguing take on how the show’s version of Greek myth compares to actual Greek myth, and provides suggestions on how the myths can be used to help understand and enhance the stories, and even suggests ways to augment the stories using rationales from the original myths. This is the sort of thing I love! Dan has also talked about how the show is actually far more consistent in its use of myth than we would otherwise think. I agree wholeheartedly!

I’ve been catching up with both podcasts, and not long ago, heard them discuss two Xena episodes that are not considered among the show’s best: Blind Faith, and Ulysses. One of these is based on myth, though not the way we’re used to, and the other doesn’t seem to be based on any Greek myth at all. They both seem to work against our expectations not only of ancient Greece, but how Xena should relate to them. In my experience, it’s where the show seems to go off its game like this that you can discover a lot about its process (I’d say this is true of any work). As good a job as both these podcasts do, it’s difficult to understand fully how these two episodes work without understanding their “logic of aesthetics,” as Rob Tapert would say. Once we do, we’ll see that both episodes actually are derived from the same myth, one which is repeated throughout the series!

Before we begin: Please keep in mind the following is not about the “secret meaning” of Xena,Warrior Princess. Everybody knows what the show’s about. It’s very accessible, by design. But the way it’s told, it’s “aesthetics”, as I’ve describe it, is not so easy to figure out. Again, that’s true of any creative work].

We can’t talk about the show’s aesthetics unless we’re willing to consider there’s some kind of strategy at work, at least to a certain degree. To do this, let’s keep a few points in mind:

1. Rob Tapert has stated that he used Robert Graves’ The Greek Myths as his unofficial show bible, and that the Xena staff was asked to be familiar with it as well. Graves believed that what we now know as Greek myth is actually the misunderstood remnants of an ancient matriarchal society whose history is now lost. This gave the show’s creative team a unified take on the myths they selected and how they were used.

2. Rob played a large role in the shaping of each episode; along with show runner R.J. Stewart, they came up with 90% of the episode ideas, and Rob often supplied a brief summary of each episode for the writing staff. He also supplied reference materials for each episode, including books and videotapes. This approach allowed for the possibility of a consistent aesthetic language to be developed and managed, regardless of who wrote the teleplay.

3. Showrunner R.J. Stewart, like Rob Tapert and Sam Raimi, is a writer experienced in using references and templates from movies, tv, and literature as a basis for his stories. He was story editor on Remington Steele, a show that shaped each episode around a classic Hollywood movie (since the main character was an actor posing as a detective). R.J. also grew up in Greece, and is familiar with Greek myth and theater, and used Greek plays as often as Greek myth on the show. He either wrote the teleplays, rewrote them, or gave extensive notes on all of them before they went to final draft.

Both podcasts mentioned confusing or problematic (!) issues with the show that I believe can be addressed by examining the show’s highly referential aesthetic approach. Here are some issues they raised in their podcasts featuring Blind Faith and Ulysses:

Blind Faith: Why is the boy called “Palaemon”?

Consulting the show’s chief source, Robert Graves’ The Greek Myths, we’ll see that Palaemon was Hercules’ name before he became famous. In the myths, the hero formerly known as “Palaemon” took the name Hercules after he did penance for killing his family, with his friend Theseus’s help. This is a key point for this show, because it’s a reflection of the overall mentor theme in Hercules and Xena. Again, consulting The Greek Myths, this idea of a young awkward upstart idolizing a hero appears to be based on the story of young Theseus, who idolized Hercules and sought to emulate him. As a child he instinctively tried to attack Hercules’ lionskin, thinking it a real lion. References to this can be found throughout Hercules (in Centaur Mentor Journey), Xena (in Adventures in the Sin Trade), and Young Hercules, to name a few. You might remember Otere as a child improbably challenging Xena in Adventures in the Sin Trade, causing Xena some alarm, since she was told Otere would inherit her powers one day:

In fact, Xena Warrior Podcast mentioned what I think is a good example of this in Xena‘s first season episode, Prometheus. During a fight scene, both Gabrielle and Hercules pick up rakes to protect themselves. Hercules swings his like a mallet, while Gabrielle looks on from the sidelines with hers, living vicariously through him and Xena, not yet able to fight herself. R.J. Stewart wrote this episode, so if this was indeed a minor motif, he would have likely wanted to incorporate this visual reference with Hercules guest-starring:

Palaemon is aptly named because, like both young Hercules and Young Theseus, he seeks fame, and is brash enough to take on anyone. There is something that separates him from those heroes, though. His blindness. This is an important clue to the episode’s source. I’ll talk more about this in the Greek Myth section below.

Is Blind Faith about “toxic fandom”?

Palaemon’s interest in Xena, and his vast knowledge of her background, is interpreted by both podcasts (particularly Javir Grillo-Marxuach) as a portrait of “toxic fandom.” This is understandable, because the show does occasionally depict fans as a bit unhinged in their devotion. Not in this case, in my opinion. Part of this is explained above, but there’s something more:

Xena Warrior Podcast mentions how this episode seems to contain Western tropes, and Palaemon in particular resembles the classic young gunslinger who wants to become the best by taking down the best in a duel. Exactly!

But this episode isn’t merely borrowing a trope in general; it’s inspired by a specific use of this trope in a film that is focused on reexaminations of Western Tropes, starring Clint Eastwood: Unforgiven.

Eastwood, famous for his spaghetti western character, The Man With No Name, is an inspiration for Lucy’s portrayal of Xena, no doubt, but this episode borrows another character from this particular film: the Schofield Kid.

Jeremy Callaghan as Palaemon; Jaimz Woolvett as The Schofield Kid

A boyish gunslinger who tags along with Eastwood’s character in Unforgiven, he boasts he’s better than any of them, and has little patience with his more experienced traveling companions, whose gentle demeanor disgusts him. It turns out the Schofield Kid is sight-impaired. He can’t see anything unless it’s right in front of him. He’s all talk, and when he discovers just how ruthless Eastwood can be, he wants no part of the gunslinger mythos.

If the title, Unforgiven, rings a bell, it should: next season there will be another Western-inspired episode, Forgiven, also involving a young person who wants to supplant one of the principle characters, this time Gabrielle. This episode will much more clearly signal its Western influence by ending with a shot inspired by the ending of one of the most iconic shots in a Western film, The Searchers: Xena framed by the doorway, unable to enter the house of forgiveness, just as John Wayne, the uncompromising frontier scout, was unable to join in the reunion of the family he brought together. We will see The Searchers referenced again, later in season four, in the sequel to The Price, Daughter of Pomira, which features yet another young gunslinger scenario. And there’s a link to another episode of Hercules, towards the end season 5, in Fade Out: Hercules says: ”We are who we perceive ourselves to be.” This recalls what Xena says in Blind Faith: “We all eventually become what we pretend we are.”

Are there any Greek myths used in this episode?

I think there’s no doubt, and blindness is the clue to the myth being used. It is the story of the Cyclops, and not just any version, but specifically, Euripides’ play, The Cyclops. This play is the only extant ancient Greek comedy to survive, and it combines many of the major metaphors for both Hercules and Xena. Any time you see the idea of blindness (metaphorical or real), sight, eyes, megalomania, Cyclops (including any single-eyed or third-eyed characters), pirates, caves, intoxication, or silly characters resembling satyrs in spirit, you’ll find The Cyclops is the underlying influence and organizing principle. Indeed, this episode is tied in with the following episode, Ulysses, both in story and theme.

Using Euripides’ The Cyclops proves a highly unifying writing tool for a show that often seems to be all over the map, given its unconventional remix of myth and history. It combines comedy, tragedy, and epic drama, and they can often be used in ways that are not immediately recognizable. Looking at Forgiven, once again, we’ll see the pirates of The Cyclops appearing in the form of the Cilician traders looking to buy the stolen Urn of Apollo (The Whoosh transcript says “Silesian” traders, but I assume this is an error: Silesia is a medieval German district; Cilicia is the land of pirates in the ancient world, and we see Xena playing a Cilician pirate in Destiny, not to mention their appearance in Spartacus, referenced numerous times on the show). Forgiven is another story about blindness, escape and finding one’s place in the world.

We have visual evidence that Palaemon is playing the role of the single-eyed, single-minded braggart, because he wears the mark of the Cyclops for all to see, a slash across his right eye that has just nearly missed leaving him with one eye. We can see on his boyish face everything we need to know about his backstory, why he’s so determined to be the best, and why he’d want to make sure nobody ever got that close to him again. This is a frequent visual motif on both Xena and Hercules: we’ll often see characters with unique eye-patches or make-up involving one eye.

Ulysses: Why was Ulysses called Ulysses, not Odysseus, in this episode?

And while we’re at it, why did they portray him the way they did, and not like the hero of the Odyssey as we remember it? Was he simply miscast?

We can find the answer, once again, in The Greek Myths. Robert Graves ends his two-volume series with his unusual interpretation of The Odyssey. He cites the theory of nineteenth century author Samuel Butler (author of Newhon), in which he speculates that Homer did not actually write The Odyssey; it was instead written by a Sicilian princess, who appears in her own work as the character of Nausicaa (both podcasts talk about how the Homeric epics are now being reinterpreted with feminist retellings, but Xena was the first to do so. In fact, Samuel Butler and Robert Grave beat them all by 100 years–Xena was the first to pick up on their ideas, though). Graves believes that the original Odyssey tales (possibly written by Homer) was rewritten into the epic we now know by an author Graves refers to as “Nausicaa,” a noblewoman who incorporated local Sicilian matriarchal myths in order to make Odysseus more of a gentleman, more respectful of the matriarchy, and less like the sort of fellow we see in The Iliad, not to mention, the way he’s portrayed by Euripides in his plays, as a ruthless schemer. The version we now regard as The Odyssey has all sorts of scenes that would never appear in The Iliad, such as Odysseus being unusually deferential to the ladies.

In other words, Graves says, there are not one, but two main characters in The Odyssey, to which he gives two different names: the first is “Odysseus,” the version written by Homer, and the second is “Ulysses,” the character that Nausicaa (i.e., the actual female author) turned into a gentleman more to her liking. Therefore, the character we see in the episode Ulysses is Nausicaa’s version, “Ulysses,” the nice guy. Indeed, the version Xena meets is not the hero of the Iliad, but a much safer, more presentable version, perhaps too sanitized for someone like Xena. For this reason, it’s been said the actor was miscast, because the romance between him and Xena does not seem credible (especially compared to the bad boys she seems to prefer). I wouldn’t blame the actor, though: the concept is to blame, and I’m fine with that. It works for me. This Ulysses is much more Gabrielle’s style (at this stage, anyway), and why not? According to Rob Tapert, there were plans to establish her as the real author of The Odyssey—like Nausicaa, she appears in her own epic work (i.e., the Xena scrolls)!

Both she and Xena meet Ulysses on the beach, which is where Nausicaa (the character) met him as well, in The Odyssey, and he seems a little too perfect for words. A great fighter, a great guy, self-assured, knows all the right moves, respectful, domesticated, and no baggage (or so he thinks)!

But The Odyssey isn’t the only source, here. We are once again under the influence of Euripides’ The Cyclops: blindness (or single-mindedness, in the form of Ulysses’s newfound obsession for Xena), a satyr-like figure (Gabrielle vomiting like a drunkard), and if you’re wondering why there’s pirates menacing Penelope, instead of suitors, it’s because pirates are the ill-doers in Euripides’ play: the play begins after Dionysus had been captured by them, a scene we will see replayed in season two’s Destiny.

The final reference to The Cyclops is at the very end: Xena tells Gabrielle: “This is Ulysses’ story.  And for years the people of Ithaca will talk about how he bent that bow.  It’s the way it should be.” The Cyclops’ name is Polyphemus, which means “fame.” In the play (and The Odyssey), Odysseus had told the Cylcops his name was “NoMan.” Xena (again channelling Clint Eastwood’s “Man With No Name”) takes Ulysses’ role as “NoMan” as well! This idea of fame will be a recurring one on the show.

Other myths can be found here, too, though they are not clearly labelled: The encounter with the Sirens is not just from The Odyssey, but from the story of Jason and the Argonauts (The Argonautica) as well. The Sirens are in both stories, but they overlap here, when Xena sings like a siren to distract Ulysses from their seductive power—that’s from The Argonautica, not The Odyssey. Dan Cassino mentions that the Sirens are not trying to seduce him, they are telling him his future, i.e. telling him the story of The Odyssey. This is how it happens in the epic poem, but in this episode Ulysses has an interesting response to them, not in the original story: He says: “They are calling me—to ecstasy!” We might at first think in terms of sexual seduction, but I think it is more likely he is describing the shaman’s ecstatic out-of-body experience:

Shamanism is part of the show’s interest in the evolution of religion (as was stated on the show’s dvd commentary for Adventures in the Sin Trade, which featured shamanism), and we can find numerous examples of this in the series. Indeed, the same connection between shamanism, The Odyssey, and Jason and the Argonauts can be found again later on, in season five’s Them Bones, Them Bones (a sequel to Adventures in the Sin Trade): There are shamanic rituals aplenty on that episode, and the cave lair of Ch’iah, the Northern Amazon mystic, is located in the “Scherian caves”. This isn’t mentioned in the dialogue, but it’s in the script, and was part of the press release when the show was first aired. The name of these caves has no other origin than Scheria, which is another name for the land of Nausicaa, where Odysseus (Ulysses), first came to shore after escaping from Calypso. This episode also references the film Jason and the Argonauts, by borrowing from its skeleton fight, brought on by Xena’s shamanic traveling as a shaman and encountering Alti.

To put it more simply: Them Bones, Them Bones takes the same ingredients of Ulysses and rearranges them to tell another story of a perilous return home: this time, it’s Amarice finding a home with the Northern Amazon tribe, and Xena, Gabrielle, and Eve fleeing the wrath of the gods, as Ulysses did. It’s a brand new myth woven out of existing ones.

John D’Aquino as Ulysses; Rachel Blakely as Penelope

There’s another brief moment at the end of Ulysses which possibly ties in with Blind Faith: Gabrielle had been taught how to wave like a royal in Blind Faith, and we now see Ulysses stoically embracing his responsibilities as king, tilting his hand delicately just like Gabrielle did, along with his queen, Penelope (who, just as stoically, had to run the kingdom for the past twenty years). Like Xena, he’s fulfilling his destiny, not his desire.

Epilogue: Lost Mariner & A Comedy of Eros 

Ulysses is the first of three water-related episodes, and of three which have Xena standing in for Athena (Ulysses, The Price, Lost Mariner), all of these sharing themes and influences. The next one, The Price, shares attributes with this episodes, which I’ll talk about in a later post, but I want to mention Lost Mariner here because Xena Warrior Podcast makes a very good point: they see Lost Mariner as almost a remake of Ulysses. The story has many of the same elements; they even point out that there’s almost a Greek “subtext” to the episode. Yes! Greek myth subtext exists throughout the series: sometimes it’s maintext, but just as often the elements are recombined and reused consistently to give the story of Xena the feeling of a genuine Greek myth, as well as a structure that otherwise would not hold together as well in the absence of a coherent chronology.They also suggest that Lost Mariner does a much better job in portraying the Odysseus we remember from of The Odyssey, so perhaps Lost Mariner is meant to fix the mistakes of Ulysses? No, I think we’re just seeing the other side of the coin:

You’ll recall I mentioned that Graves’ Greek Myths describes two sides to Odysseus’s character: (1) “Ulysses,” the gentler, polite, matriarchal version created by “Princess Nausicaa,” authoress of The Odyssey, and (2) “Odysseus,” the original patriarchal figure of myth. In Lost Mariner, we are now seeing the other one, Cecrops, who is modeled on “Odysseus.” He’s dangerous, worldly, crafty (he is now with the pirates), and also cursed by Poseidon to wander the seas. We see a number of elements from The Odyssey, such as Charybdis (which has no business being in the myth of Cecrops), but we also see elements from the Euripides play, The Cyclops: there are the pirates, and the comedic presence of Silenus, once again in the form of Gabrielle’s seasickness. There is also the blindness motif associated with the Cyclops: the answer to Cecrops’ dilemma was before him all the time, but he failed to see it. As Xena says: “I guess Poseidon gave it away when he said that Cecrops didn’t know where to look.” What saves Cecrops is the same thing that saved Hercules (in his first episode, The Wrong Path) and Xena (in both Unchained Heart and Sins of the Past) from the wrong path: the no-strings offer of friendship by someone who believes in them (in Cecrops’ case, offered by Hidsim’s sacrifice), and, more importantly, followed by the ability to express it (with his own sacrifice to save his crew).

Finally, season two ends with A Comedy of Eros, which may seem like an odd way to end the season, especially after these three episodes. There is necessity to it, since the season had been shortened to 22 episodes, but there is also a legitimate Greek context to view it in: Euripides’ The Cyclops is known as a “satyr” play, a short comedy intended to be viewed after a trilogy of tragedies on the same theme. Perhaps this story about how love is blind can be seen as a kind of satyr play to the three preceding episodes about Cyclops, searching, and blindness in all its forms, in Ulysses, The Price, and Lost Mariner)? Xena Warrior Podcast does mention the possibility, in a later podcast, that the tragic-trilogy-plus-satyr-play comedy pattern of ancient Greek drama may have influence this show’s pattern of drama followed by abrupt comedic tonal shifts. They are correct! Showrunner R.J. Stewart has said that the Greek plays were an influential source for him, and the internal evidence speaks for itself. The Greeks knew the wisdom of ending on a lighter note, and Rob has said he had considered ending the entire series that way.

This is the first of three posts—the next will cover Is There a Doctor in the House?