Strindberg’s Miss Julie was first staged in 1889, and has always been a source of fresh theatrical material, crying out for new directors to have a stab at it, to keep it relevant and contemporary, and to play around with it to get something new out of it. In fact, it was only ten years ago that a new version by Rebecca Lenkiewicz was produced on the very same Minerva stage, preserving the structure and roles of the original play but with 21st century bite.
Now it’s Laura Lomas’ turn, with her version of the play now called The House Party, co-produced with two of the best production companies around, Headlong and Frantic Assembly, and directed by Holly Race Roughan with her usual feel for a quirky twist. Set in her father’s kitchen, Julie’s wishes dominate all domestic proceedings, including the house party that’s arranged for later that day – hence the title of the play. She’s besties with Christina, who has an interview at Cambridge University in the morning; her beloved and trusted boyfriend Jon is going to drive her there.
Christina and Jon have a good thing going, but Julie is never one to miss a chance to stir things, and when Jon confesses to Julie that he used to fancy her five years earlier when his mum used to come and clean for her dad, she doesn’t dissuade him from – if I may be so crude, gentle reader, thinking with his d*ck. Successfully having ruined the fairytale dreams of her friend, the usual Miss Julie tragic consequences ensue, with heartache, broken trust, livid arguments and a suicide attempt.
Unlike the original, Ms Lomas’ version bookends the classic one-act structure of the play with two extra scenes. In the first, we see Julie and Christina gearing up for the party, a pair of giggling girls preparing to have fun. This allows us to see deeper into the characters and assess for ourselves the extent of their friendship and the risks that either of them might be prepared to take in order to get their own way. The final scene offers us what you might consider to be an alternative ending to the traditional play, but to save the impact that the writer wants it to achieve, I’m not going to say any more about it – don’t want to spoil any surprises for you.
Loren Elstein’s set design is impressive; the stage is dominated by a superb, sleek, top-of-the-range kitchen island that includes concealed wine fridge, dishwasher, cupboards and so on. It emphasises beautifully just how rich Julie’s dad must be to have an enviable kitchen like this; all the best equipment, and a worktop to die for. Upstairs is a bathroom, all modern opaque window wall, like an ensuite in the finest Oberoi hotel bedroom. A statement-making lamp hovers over the plush white sofa (White? What were they thinking?!) and that’s all that’s necessary to suggest this ultra-privileged, ultra-modern lifestyle.
One of my favourite mantras about theatre is that I would prefer to see a brave failure more than a lazy success. It’s very subjective as to what constitutes both failure and success in those terms; there’s absolutely nothing lazy about this production at all, but it doesn’t work 100%. It is, however, very brave in its concept, and despite its failures (I think there are a couple) it’s extremely enjoyable and watchable. Here’s the first problem: this production has a gimmick, which is that audience members form part of the house party guests. Once the prologue is finished and the party gets underway these audience members emerge from behind a darkened screen where they have been watching and waiting like an eerie ghostly presence, filing out into a selection of sofas, seats, chairs and benches.
I must be honest; the on-stage seats look incredibly uncomfortable, as did the poor members of the public as they blundered about the stage trying to find spare seats. It’s a risky undertaking by the production to stage it this way; you fully rely on these audience members to play ball and behave. Bizarrely, it makes zero difference to how we appreciate the play anyway. The only effect it has is to raise a small accidental laugh when audience members have to budge up on the big sofa whilst actors try to squeeze themselves into whatever gap has appeared between them.
Admittedly, in Strindberg’s original, there is a ball taking place off-stage but it rarely intrudes upon the meat of the story. In this production, however, the party takes centre stage, with dynamic dancing and music and light effects, and the constant presence of the audience members who are party hangers-on reminds us all the way through of the fun and games that is happening elsewhere. But the whole notion of the party is completely irrelevant to the story and the dramas that emerge between the three main characters. The final scene, which constitutes a twenty-minute second act, causes those audience members to feel even more surplus to requirement; that party has long finished. Structuring the production on the party is frankly pointless, and although the party dancing is admirably and acrobatically performed, it has no place in the show at all. It’s just a distraction.
The second failure is the fact that the final scene exists at all. In the programme, Laura Lomas states that she wanted it to express her wish that the play shouldn’t “be making a judgment about what kind of life is a life worth living”. One of the strengths of Strindberg’s play is that the final outcome of what we’ve witnessed is left to the audience’s imagination; it’s a deliciously inconclusive ending. The final scene of The House Party, however, eliminates all possibility of doubt and recounts exactly what happened. There’s no room for any I wonder ifs at the end of this show. It is brave; it is bold. But I wish they hadn’t done it.
In the programme Laura Lomas also says she wants the play to remove some of Strindberg’s misogyny that’s inherent in the original. Does it succeed? There’s no doubt that Lomas’ Jon is much less ruthless in his dealings with Julie than Strindberg’s Jean. However, at the end of the day, Jon is still triumphant, getting everything he wants. Julie comes across as much more manipulative than Jon, who’s just led by the horns to do what she wants. Christina remains an under-achiever, accepting a lower position in life than she merits.
The show we saw was only its second preview, but I can’t imagine that the three central performances are going to get any better. This is not the first time I’ve seen the excellent Rachelle Diedericks work with Holly Race Roughan and they clearly have a brilliant understanding of each other. Ms Diedericks is spellbinding as the put-upon Christina, pussyfooting around the subject of Cambridge because it will mean she can’t go with Julie to Thailand, even though Julie puts a lot of pressure on her to cave in. When it’s revealed that Jon has been unfaithful and had sex with Julie, Ms D’s devastation at the news and the realisation that everything she held dearest has been destroyed is tangible. Simply brilliant.
Nadia Parkes is also superb as Julie; exuding power and privilege, you really feel she’s deliberately courting lowlier types with her relationships with both Christina and Jon. Flighty, self-absorbed and loving to lead people astray, she also conveys that wafer-thin balance between self-confidence and mental illness; the kind of person who is both entertaining and terrifying to know.
Josh Finan is terrific as Jon; an equal partner for Christina, and a bit of rough for Julie, displaying the strong class difference that attracts them both to each other. Mr Finan has a marvellous sincerity that makes you believe unquestioningly everything he says, as though Jon were an open book with no hidden agenda. Holly Race Roughan’s direction is tight and intimate despite the large acting area at her disposal, which is successfully sacrificed in the final scene to give an impression of cramped claustrophobia.
It’s a strong production with much to say which benefits from three stupendous performances. Despite any misgivings about the changes made to Strindberg’s original, it’s hugely entertaining and cleverly realised. Don’t buy the on-stage seats though.
Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!