Nick Miller and Erik Hoover Photo by Dan Norman

Homer's Iliad is a chronicle of the Trojan war that dragged on for ten years between the warriors of Troy, fighting on their home turf, and the amassed warriors of a multitude of Mycenaean Greek city-states, pledged to mutual defense, who arrive by sea. The Greeks are there ostensibly to recapture Helen, the most beautiful woman in the known world and wife of Menelaus, king of Sparta. Helen was abducted (or seduced, depending on the version one reads) away from Sparta by Paris, a prince of Troy. I say ostensibly because, over the course of ten years, the vicious spree of bloodletting between the two sides takes on a life of its own, fighting because the other side has been named as the enemy, pure and simple. This study of the nature of war and its continued relevance across the millennia up to present day is both fascinating and gut-wrenching.

Peterson and O'Hare devised their variation of the epic–thus putting the "an" in the title–as a colloquial account of the war. Actually, they feature just a section of it, focusing on the Greek hero Achilles and the Trojan hero Hector, but there's plenty of action in that slice. The actor cast as the Poet (Hoover) delivers the story as if holding court in the corner table of a tavern or somebody's backyard party, recalling from memory these events for the edification of his buddies. As happens in such settings, he sometimes stumbles over a name or pauses, wincing his eyes as he does, to draw forth a particular detail that has momentarily slipped his mind. He chuckles at some of the bends in the story, aware of the irony or absurdity of what transpired, and sometimes laughs in advance of sharing a certain incident, as if he himself can't believe what he is about to say. This erases any sense that our Poet is telling us a dusty classical story, but rather something as raw as today's news.

The narrative is laden with gruesome accounts of violence committed under the banner of glory and patriotism, along with insights into the workings of men's minds as they commit such acts. There are passages of heartbreaking sorrow as well, such as Achilles' grief upon the death of his beloved friend Patroclus, and King Priam's desperate yearning to carry home the lifeless body of his son, Hector. There are also episodes of toxic pride, as when Agamemnon, given a chance to peacefully solve a dispute, responds time after time with a snide "No."

Hoover delivers all of this with great verisimilitude, miming the actions of the warriors in battle using props that are drawn from a pile of debris in the center of the stage, altering his voice when speaking for one of the characters, and using pauses in his narrative to silently convey his own emotional response, as the storyteller, to the tragic events that have become his responsibility to impart to the world. In addition to the props piled on stage, Hoover draws dresses out of a suitcase which he holds before him: a pearly white one suitable to represent Andromache, the virtuous wife of the Trojan warrior Hextor, the other blood red to represent the voluptuous Helen, cause of the mayhem.

Near the play's end, the Poet starts to refer to an act that did not occur in the Trojan War, but the subsequent war, which he names–then demurs, wondering if it wasn't the war after that. Or was it the next war after that, and so on, rattling off a litany of the wars of man, both infamous and obscure. As if in a trance that holds him in its powerful grip as thousands of years, millions of deaths inflicted by men to men, are unspooled, a mobius strip without beginning or end, until he cries in agony the most recent name on that roster: Gaza. This is the most obvious though not the only sign that Peterson and O'Hare meant for the play address the present as much as recount the past. Their play's structure allows it to easily tack on more recent conflagrations since its premiere in 2012.

The Poet is aided by a second character, the Muse (Nick Miller), who is onstage at the onset curled over with his back to us, so some in the audience may not have recognized him as a man. At a certain point–I admit to missing the trigger that brought the muse to life–he turns, revealing a cello, which provides music and other sound effects, and occasionally joins Hoover in recitations, creating the effect of a Greek chorus. As the play is written, Miller's part is decidedly in the shadow of Hoover's work, but his contributions nonetheless heighten and bring nuance to the experience. Lane Addison and James Bode's lighting design is another potent element in this production. The design elements, Hoover's use of motion and space, including a stepstool to create elevation, and of modulations in timing attests to a partnership between the actor and director (Longhi) for which the word exquisite was coined.

I can understand why, when I was introduced to these stories as a child, The Odyssey captured my attention rather than The Iliad. The Odyssey is the story of Odysseus's (just one of many warriors cited in The Iliad) long journey home. After being at war for ten years, his is thrown off course and detained by all manner of magical persons, beasts and conditions. It is a fantasy adventure story, clearly without truth in the real world, whereas The Iliad breathes with the horror that man, in his real-world form, inflicts on one another. Yes, those warriors are saddled with favoritism and interference by the gods, but those mythic gods function more like corporate moguls throwing their weight around international affairs than like moral authorities. While The Odyssey is a tale that can be embraced with delight, The Iliad horrifies.

Which is not to say that Peterson and O'Hare's An Iliad horrifies. Yes, the willful violence, and the strength of vanity, pride and ambition to override mercy, humility and generosity makes for a horrific narrative, but the play, and Combustible Theatre's blazing production of it, featuring a towering performance by Erik Hoover, is a galvanizing theatrical experience for anyone with the fortitude to endure the story it tells. Yes, it is grim, but no more so than the news of the world, which appears to be the direct descendent of Homer's account.

An Iliad, a co-production of Combustible Company and St. Croix Festival Theatre, ran through September 14, 2025, at the Southern Theater, 1420 Washington Avenue South, Minneapolis; and continues September 20-28 at the St. Croix Festival Theatre, 125 N. Washington St., St. Croix Falls, WI. For tickets and additional information go to www.combustiblecompany.org.

Playwrights: Lisa Peterson & Denis O'Hare; Director: Kym Longhi; Scenic Design: Walter Lab; Costume Design: Kym Longhi, Erik Hoover, Nick Miller; Lighting Design: Lane Addison, James Bode; Sound Design: Jake Davis; Vocal Coach: Lucinda Holshue; Stage Manager: Matthew Wilhelm; Producers: Isaac Bont, Kym Longhi.

Cast: Erik Hoover (The Poet), Nick Miller (The Muse).