We endlessly revive Strindberg’s 90-minute tragedy, presumably because of its very British obsession with class and sex. While I sometimes wish we would look at other plays by the Swedish master such as Creditors, this new adaptation by Howard Brenton (from a literal translation by Agnes Broomé) is given a very classy production by Tom Littler. You know it will strike the right note of intimate realism when you smell the kidneys cooking on the kitchen stove.
Everything hinges on the fatal Midsummer’s Eve collision between the aristocratic Julie and her father’s valet, Jean. Charlotte Hamblin’s Julie, in white muslin, has just the right mix of hauteur, coquettishness and frenzy.
Sniffing the bouquet of a vintage wine stolen from his master, James Sheldon as Jean also reveals both the arrogance and aspirations of the lowly valet. Jean’s fiancee, Kristin, all too often played as a domestic frump, is here endowed by Izabella Urbanowicz with a proper awareness of her own attractiveness: left alone, she curls her fringe with ostentatious care.
What both Brenton’s version and Littler’s production heighten is Strindberg’s vision of sexual relationships as constantly poised between love and hate. The early scenes are delicately erotic as Julie lifts the hem of her dress while Jean kisses her foot and calf. In the post-coital scenes, they both seem torn between animalistic attraction and vehement abuse. “Do you think I’ll stay in this house as your tart, your bit of upper-class fluff?” inquires Julie. Jean retaliates by crying: “Shut your mouth, you servant’s screw, lackey’s whore.” For all his supposed misogyny, Strindberg implies that the woman is the real victim here. Julie is driven to suicidal despair while Jean slots back into his designated role as boot-cleaning servant.
The theatre’s resources don’t allow for the intrusion of a group of drunken peasants. Otherwise, this is Strindberg played with absolute fidelity. Max Pappenheim’s score and sound design evoke the off-stage revelry of a Swedish midsummer night and Louie Whitemore’s set blends practical pots, pans and kitchen implements with festive lilac. But the power of the evening lies in the resentful passion and ferocity displayed by Hamblin and Sheldon, which rescue the play from a sense of over-familiarity.
- At Jermyn Street theatre, London, until 2 December. Box office: 020-7287 2875.
