• The 1-3 actor rule made masks necessary
• Actors playing more than one role were able to change masks in order to change character
• Actors having to express extreme emotional changes could also utilize mask changes
• Inside masks, there was a funnel-shaped object that sat behind the mouth hole. This funnel worked like a megaphone to amplify actors' voices
• Masks were large and had these built-in megaphones due to the massive size of the audiences (remember: no microphones)

We now call these flats.

A pinake is a wooden frame with

stretched fabric over one

side and painted like a canvas

for scenery.

A periaktoi consisted of

three painted flats

that were hinged together.

This allowed for the whole piece

to rotate to three different painted scenes.

The larger the scenes,

the more periaktois could be used.

They were stood up and

arranged side by side, to be

turned seperately or

together.

The mechane is

a crane used

to raise or lower

actors playing gods or

goddesses onto the stage.

Occasionally,

characters who were

mortals were raised

into or lowered from

‘the heavens’.

Later, the Latin term

deus ex machine developed,

which means

"god from a machine."

Violence that occurred offstage and resulted in a character’s death was revealed to the audience through the use of the Ekkyklema, or death cart.

No actual acts of physical violence were presented in Greek theatre--only the aftermath of violence. This made devices like the Ekkyklema necessary.

Since acts of violence did not occur on stage, poets frequently utilized messengers to communicate actions that had occurred off stage (such as a murders, suicides, etc.) to other characters and to the audience.

Messenger

The moment your sons with their father
entered his bride's house, all of us,
who once served you and who mourned
your fate, were heartened. A shout went up
that you and Jason had called a truce.
This was like music to our ears. Suddenly,
we wanted to kiss the children, touch their
lovely hair. Overwhelmed by happiness
I followed them inside the princess's chambers.
Understand, she's the woman we must serve
instead of you.
At first she saw only Jason
but when the children came into view,
she veiled her eyes, and turned away.
Impatient with this display,
your husband scolded her, saying:
"Look at us. Don't revile your friends.
Your job is to love those your husband loves.
They've brought gifts. Accept them graciously
and for my sake ask your father to release
these children from their exile."

The gifts astonished her with their beauty.
She agreed to what her husband asked.
So eager was she to wear the treasures,
even before Jason and the boys had reached
the road, she put on the colorful dress,
set the gold crown on her head,
and in a bright mirror arranged her hair.
She laughed with pleasure at the beautiful
but lifeless image. Then as if the gifts
had cast a spell, she stood up, traipsing
through her rooms, giddy with the feel of the gown

or pitch sloughed off her bones.
All of this because the viperous poison
had locked her in its invisible jaws.

Schooled by what we'd witnessed, none of us
would touch the body, but her father
rushed to her side, not knowing what he'd find.
Nothing could prepare him for his daughter's
corpse. Misery broke from his voice.
He embraced and kissed her, lamenting,
"Unhappy child, murdered so shamefully,
why do the gods torture an old man like me?
Daughter, let me die with you."
But when his sobbing ceased
and old Creon wanted to rise, he found
he was woven to the fatal dress, stitched
to it like ivy to laurel, unable
even as he wrestled furiously
to free himself. The living father
who felt his flesh ripping from his bones,
could not match the strength of his dead daughter
and so he gave up and died, a victim
of her hideous fortune. Together now they lie
an old man and his daughter. Who wouldn't weep.

As for you, Medea, and your fate,
hear my silence. From it will come your punishment,
swift and sure. As for our brief lives, I've learned
once more we are mere shadows. No longer
do I fear to say the truth: fine words
and clever plans breed folly.