We read the Oedipus plays at Delphi a couple of years back as light afternoon entertainment, a diversion from Plato and Plotinus.
My performance as a guard escorting a character from the stage was panned by the tutor. “Look, Britni, it’s a tragedy, not a comedy,” she said, and I was never invited back.
But I could see the echoes of the Greek myths in the plays. Jocasta was as doomed as Icarus, forgetting the warning, for getting too close to the sun.