Getty Villa

NO matter if Herakles has fallen off your holiday card list. Never mind if you don't know an \o7alabastron\f7 from a \o7loutrophoros\f7. Odds are you will soon find yourself at the Getty Villa on the edge of Malibu, maybe trailing a loved one, maybe squiring out-of-towners. After an eight-year closure for renovation and litigation, the villa finally reopens Saturday. But where do you start? Here's what you need to know. First, Herakles is dead, so no worries there.

The Chimaera of Arezzo has arrived at the Getty Villa on the edge of Malibu, the first time the famous ancient Etruscan sculpture has traveled to the United States. When you see it, you'll know immediately why the magnificent bronze is regarded as a textbook work of art (Page 181 of my tattered copy of Gardner's introductory "Art Through the Ages," to be precise). The Chimaera grabs your attention and won't let go. Not bad for a mythological monster that's more than 2,400 years old. The sculpture shows how one masterpiece can be enough to anchor a thoroughly satisfying exhibition.

When Luis Alfaro (pictured) decided to update Sophocles' classic play "Oedipus Rex," the playwright assumed he would do something about Freud's well-known theory, the Oedipus complex. But after studying the Greek tragedy, Alfaro opted to forgo the doctor's couch and take on an equally disturbing topic -- the California prison system. His new work, "Oedipus El Rey," which follows a parolee trying to escape his fate, runs for four performances at the Getty Villa beginning Friday.

Sir Humphry Wakefield, 72, on the phone from Chillingham Castle in England, was eager to talk about his role as a proud member of the Society of Dilettanti, an exclusive men's club founded in 1734. But first he needed to check on one of the horses, which he thought might have sustained an injury earlier in the day. "We have several. They come and they go," Wakefield said, unable to remember the exact horse count at his castle upon calling back to report that this one had turned out to be fine.

"IT seems to me that disturbing people's final resting place is an impolite thing to do," says artist Jim Morphesis. But he's curious about "Greeks on the Black Sea: Ancient Art From the Hermitage," an exhibition at the Getty Villa featuring 190 objects unearthed from tombs. He agrees to take a look.

The most dramatic outcome of Wednesday's eagerly anticipated news of a deal between Italy and the Getty Museum over looted antiquities concerned the fate of Aphrodite. The monumental 5th century BC goddess, believed by many to be from the ancient Greek city of Morgantina on the island of Sicily, is easily among the greatest ancient sculptures in an American museum collection. Now it is among 40 works the Getty has agreed to return to Italy.

Italian authorities persuaded the J. Paul Getty Museum this week to return 40 disputed works of art, including one of the most striking antiquities found in any American museum: a 2,400-year-old statue of a goddess believed to be Aphrodite, the Greek epitome of love and beauty. The agreement is a multimillion-dollar setback for the Getty and visitors to the Getty Villa, where most of the works were on permanent display. But for the Getty Trust, the deal also brings relief.

As Meryl Friedman plowed through ancient comedy's greatest hits, looking for 21st century AD laughs in 3rd century BC material, she began to wonder whether funny things really did happen on the way to the Forum. This was not what the veteran stage director, who has made a cottage industry of adapting literary texts into play-able form, was hoping for as she plumbed an assortment of translations.

The hills are alive with the sound of slapstick. The Getty Villa has acquired another priceless artifact for its antiquities collection, namely, "Tug of War," at the Villa's outdoor amphitheater near Malibu. Based on Plautus' 2,200-year-old Roman comedy, "Rudens," the play has been newly translated by UCLA classics professor Amy Richlin. Scholars and sticklers alike should be advised: This production is no huge bronze Herakles, unearthed from the ruins of an ancient temple.

J. PAUL GETTY'S favorite statue of Hercules dominates a breathtaking space -- as usual. Clenching a lion skin in one hand and hefting a club over the opposite shoulder, the life-size marble figure presides over a round, shrine-like gallery inspired by a room in an Italian seaside estate that perished when Mt. Vesuvius erupted.