‘Beowulf’ captivates modern-day audience

Long before hobbits, orcs and multimillion-dollar digital effects, people gathered around flickering lights to experience long tales about heroes, monsters and kings. The text of “Beowulf,” written down by an unknown scholar in the early 11th century, is so often associated with undergraduate term papers that it is easy to forget the epic poem was to medieval thrill-seekers what “The Lord of the Rings” is to audiences today.

With the third film from J.R.R. Tolkien’s epic saga favored to capture contemporary entertainment’s holy grail -- the Academy Award for best picture -- in two weeks, it seems fitting that performer Benjamin Bagby was in Los Angeles on Wednesday evening to present “Beowulf” as it would have been performed more than 1,000 years ago.

The Da Camera Society borrowed the Sealy warehouse in Glendale, where a near-capacity crowd witnessed Bagby recite 852 lines of “Beowulf” -- roughly the first quarter -- in its original Old English, accompanying himself on a six-stringed lyre.

Sporting a faint goatee and dressed in black slacks, a French-cuffed shirt and a velvet vest, Bagby looked more like a member of a wedding than a medieval bard (or “singer of tales”), but once he opened his mouth, the audience was quickly transported to the time of warriors, mead halls and hell demons.

Besides a few candles for atmosphere, Bagby relied mainly on his voice to re-create the Nordic adventures of centuries past. Rather than simply take on unique accents and voices for each character (a la Patrick Stewart’s one-man “Christmas Carol”), Bagby used different styles and cadences depending on the scene.

Sure, he dipped into a deep bass register when speaking or singing of King Hrothgar, but the variations of his baritone voice were tailored more to situations and moods than to simple character delineation.

Bagby was seated for most of the performance, so his physical acting consisted mainly of widened eyes, pronounced nods and broad gestures. This rarely made for subtle theatrical moments, but it was striking how -- when underscored by the lyre’s simple melodies -- the events and emotions of the centuries-old story emerged so clearly.

Although the lyre music was never particularly pleasing to the ear, it was the most persuasive dramatic element of the evening. A translation in modern English was projected above the stage, but the period music could be counted on to clarify the action. When recounting the passage of time, Bagby played soft, repetitive arpeggios. Describing soldiers suiting up, he strummed in distinct march tempo, banging his foot for emphasis. The valiant fighter Beowulf’s entrances tended to be backed by a simple, upbeat tune -- a sort of 7th century equivalent of Bill Conti’s “Rocky” theme.

Besides providing a glimpse of the past, Bagby’s “Beowulf” shows that the conventions human beings use to tell stories haven’t changed much in a millennium. Whether the audience is gathered in a medieval village or a suburban multiplex, the traditions are the same: brave heroes, nasty villains, action signified by frenzied music and loss or death implied by gentle tones and silence.