Edgar and Alice are celebrating 25 years of marriage. But instead of the clinking of champagne glasses and the warm chatter of friends and family, there’s bitter wind seeping through the cracks and a thronging of impending doom.
It was a diabolical match from the beginning, and 25 years has given the couple plenty of time to discover new ways to torture each other. They live in isolation on an island off an unnamed mainland, hated by their neighbours and abandoned by their children. They only have each other to loathe and inflict pain upon. Then in walks Kurt.
This production, directed by Judy Davis, is a macabre, disturbing reimagination of Strindberg’s 1900 original work (literal translation by May-Brit Akerholt). But that’s not to say it’s without laughs – there’s a savage, dark comedy that cuts through the bleakness, and the cast maintain tremendous energy throughout.
Colin Friels is grotesquely magnetic as Edgar. He’s a raging tyrant, but Friels delivers a nuanced performance of a man full of anguish and pride. He is finds an exquisite match in Pamela Rabe. She’s a striking figure as the former radiant actress turned cruel, bitter wife. Rabe is theatrical and grandiose through her pain and spite.
Unfortunately, Toby Schmitz is no match for these two. It’s a clumsy, clunky performance that feels forced, and lacks the subtlety of the other two.
Visually the production is as dark as it is metaphorically. Set design by Brian Thomson is particularly fabulous. The moat of blood, seeping walls, ominous meat hooks, dilapidated stand-up piano, dusty chaise lounge – together they form a perfect setting and heighten the permeating feelings of unease.
This play is a bleak view of long-term intimate relationships and the damage caused by resentment and hate. It might just be possible that Stringberg was inspired by his own life for this play – he had endured two catastrophic marriages by the time he wrote this piece, and was probably already into his third (and final) wedlock disaster. And I still can’t help feeling he places most of the bitter blame on the wife…
Dance of Death is paying Upstairs at Belvoir until 23 December.
Alana Kaye – Theatre Now
