Review: "The Ladder" Deconstructs Theseus's Climb to Hero Status

The Ladder

Written by Isaac Byrne

Directed by Haley Rice

Presented by Haley Rice in association with Messy Stars Productions at IRT Theater

154 West Christopher St., 3B, Manhattan, NYC

January 31-February 15, 2026

James Jelkin and Ken Orman. Photo by Mikhail Lipyanskiy  @lipyanskiy_photo

Isaac Byrne's The Ladder begins in darkness, with the voice of Theseus (James Jelkin), as yet unseen, offering a story from somewhere down the theater aisle. If the dark here evokes the Labyrinth in which Theseus describes having been lost, it also recurs throughout the production both as as aesthetic–part of David Aab's potently atmospheric lighting design, which also at times bathes the stage in color, reveals the play's Minotaur (Ken Orman) in lightning-quick flashes, or denaturalizes the action with strobe lighting–and a thematic motif, pointing to obscured truth(s), the murkiness of life paths and narratives, and the ethical darkness of choices made by presumptive heroes. As a hero, Theseus has a vested interest and takes a role in how stories about him are told, but all of the characters in The Ladder are part of and subject to flows of varyingly accurate storytelling and mythologizing. This captivating, keenly crafted production prompts us to think about which versions of stories (and thus of persons) become dominant and why; and its portrait of self-aggrandizement, misinformation, and competing narratives, entangled with competing desires, holds as much relevance now as when the Minotaur devoured his first sacrificial victim (as the story goes, anyway).

James Jelkin (bottom) and Justin Senense (top). Photo by Mikhail Lipyanskiy  @lipyanskiy_photo

Pirithous (Justin Senense), another Greek king, is impressed by Thesus's story but wants to hear it from his own mouth, leading him to steal cattle from Theseus as a catalyst for what unfolds onstage like a wrestling match-cum-meet cute. During this often funny encounter, it emerges that discussion of Ariadne (Lucy Turner), who helped Theseus emerge alive from the Labyrinth and his encounter with the Minotaur, represents a sore spot for the hero. Ariadne herself will draw the audience's attention to the differing versions of her life and death–by no means an uncommon feature of Greek mythology: Medea, who also appears in The Ladder, is similarly the subject of a number of divergent narratives–and the audience bears witness to Ariadne’s versions of both her preparation of Theseus and her later encounter with Dionysus (Justin Senense), also in the market for a good story, and her parting from Theseus. Dionysus's description of his own status as an "unwanted god" born of a betrayed mother not only echoes his description of his women followers, the Bacchae, but also evokes both Ariadne and the aforementioned Medea. Medea (Rebekah Rawhouser), marked as a foreign Other by her accent, is by this time married to the aging, insecure Aegeus (Ken Orman), king of Athens and father of Theseus; and while Aegeus provides our entry point into a scene that pits his wife against his (bastard) son, the version of events that we see certainly leans towards sympathy with Medea's perspective. When Pirithous gets Theseus to agree to pursuing worthy wives to shake things up in their lives, it is Persephone (Rebekah Rawhouser)–one of their two inadvisable choices of women to attempt to appropriate–who, having disabused the pair of what she says are inaccurate stories about her, forces Theseus to tell several truths or risk being trapped in Hades–and jeopardizing his close companion.

 L to R: Lucy Turner, Justin Senense, and James Jelkin. Photo by Mikhail Lipyanskiy  @lipyanskiy_photo

While pleasingly steeped in the details of classical mythology, the language and rhythms of The Ladder are thoroughly contemporary. Pirithous, for instance, calls the death of Theseus's "dad" a "Bummer," and Theseus likes to be called, or imagine that people call him, "Big T," a risible nickname that calls to mind, among other things, supplement commercials catering to masculine anxieties about "low T." The play's characterological critiques feel extremely contemporary as well. When Pirithous (or Pirry) is trying to convince Theseus that they need wives, it becomes clear that the latter wants the glories of rule without the responsibility of actually ruling, much like some current politicians one could name. And if questions of how far one would go and whom one would hurt to garner and maintain fame and power are evergreen, it's hard not to see current capacities in tech and government to shape narratives, to designate heroes and villains or even monsters, as supercharging them.

James Jelkin (front) & Ken Orman (rear). Photo by Mikhail Lipyanskiy

Jelkin's excellent performance makes it clear that Theseus's charming bravado rests on some shaky foundations, and Senense brings a sharp sense of comedy to both his ultimately sympathetic Pirithous and his rather more menacing Dionysus. Orman similarly in contrasting roles, invests the audience in the pathos of Aegeus's end while also making an imposing Minotaur (aided in that regard by Caycee Black's costume design, which includes red-lit eyes and mouth). Turner skillfully shepherds Ariadne through a full emotional journey in only a pair of scenes; and Rawhouser, a witchy, agentic Medea, memorably manifests a dominatrix-inspired Persephone who wields her mocking, teasing sensuality as an unpredictable weapon in the same way that she does her riding crop. The cracks made by that crop fit right in with Joshua Kobak's often ominous sound design, which includes whispering voices and uncanny amplifications. The titular ladder is the only real piece of set dressing; like darkness, it is an element with multiple symbolic resonances, and relatedly, the only time we see it actually used, it is not oriented the way that one would expect. That moment returns us to the question of stories. Who tells the Minotaur's tale, and what tale do they tell? The Ladder might just reorient what you think you know.

-John R. Ziegler and Leah Richards