Miss Julie was written by August Strindberg in 1888, and Lidless Theatre are mounting their revival with Michael Meyer’s translation of nearly sixty years ago.
It’s a heady brew of passion, position and power in which two damaged people, Julie (Katie Eldred), the woman of the house and Jean (Freddie Wise), her father’s servant, seek to change their station in life.
To modern eyes, the one event that causes such distress and disquiet may seem inconsequential, almost ridiculous. It centres on reputation, which is cheap currency in the 21st century.
Miss Julie is what one may politely call a flirt, or more prosaically a cockteaser. She commands and orders while stepping on the edge of impropriety. It’s the fairytale of a little girl in a woman’s body.
Jean, a man of the common people who steals the good wine from the cellar and has an understanding with Christine (Adeline Waby), the cook of the house, carries an enormous chip on his shoulder.
Max Harrison’s production could be a little tighter, the scene changes quicker. Things happen so swiftly, so catastrophically, in one simple act of touch. Once or twice, the stage was left empty a couple of seconds too long.
Kit Hinchcliffe’s set is the rustic kitchen dominated by a table ripe for the everyday and the dramatic; the play unfolds in the round with much pacing to give an audience their money’s worth.
Strindberg’s plays include The Dance of Death, The Crediitors, and The Ghost Sonata. The themes include heredity, convention, and contempt for both. They are highly dramatic, often blackly funny.
In Miss Julie, the young woman is on her way down, the young man clawing his way up. Neither are stupid, but they are weak, and both take risks and actions they can’t forget.
Often described as Sweden’s greatest dramatist, Strindberg works today because he is angry, pessimistic, and original. Miss Julie is deeply expressionist but has humanity right through it.
There is violence in both word and action in this play. Even Christine, who is more observer than participant, has an early scene where she simply simmers against the poor behaviour of both servants and mistress at a Midsummer’s Eve ball.
In the richness of Meyer’s translation, words can be savoured even if they are spoken quickly and desperately. Yet modern versions of this play, such as Polly Stenham’s Julie and Patrick Marber’s After Miss Julie, have attempted to add a layer of contemporary relevance.
Lidless Theatre has kept this revival true to its core, a power play between the sexes. Jean could be rougher, but in Wise’s portrayal, we believe he belongs in his station for life even if we don’t quite believe his earthiness.
Eldred’s Julie is just a tad too knowing for us to really feel her predicament. This Julie might walk upstairs, head held high, and hang it all. And yet, she does show us the sliver of doom, which comes from being her mother’s daughter.
This is a fine small-scale revival that flickers with occasional sparks, but like Christine’s attempts to light the candle early in the play, it doesn’t quite burn as brightly as it could.
I’m giving it ***.5.
Miss Julie continues at Park Theatre 90 until 6 Jul. Tickets here.
Image credit: Mark Senior