Dance of Death Review: Strindberg's Marital Battle Gets Comic Relief
August Strindberg's Dance of Death presents a brutally bleak portrait of marriage, featuring a couple so entrenched in mutual disdain that they find each other's very existence offensive. In this unrelenting drama, the wife wishes her husband dead, while he pretends to rise above the hostility, all while biding his time for retaliation. Their relationship thrives on co-dependent hatred rather than love, creating a chilling narrative that might seem too grim for a British mid-winter evening.
A Surprising Adaptation with Heart and Humour
However, Richard Eyre's candescent adaptation at the Orange Tree theatre in London brings a welcome surprise, infusing the original savagery with comedy and tenderness. Strindberg's characters are transformed from merely horrible to humorously and movingly horrible, making the play both awful and entertaining. Set against Ashley Martin-Davis's drawing room design, which exudes long-faded grandeur, the couple's fierce battles unfold with a tragicomic depth that echoes influences like Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf.
Directed by Eyre, the production is elevated by two astonishing lead actors: Will Keen as the ailing army captain, Edgar, and Lisa Dillon as his thwarted wife, Alice, a former actor who constantly reminds him of her lost stardom due to their marriage. They stew in a pool of mutual regret and irascibility, engaging in power games reminiscent of Samuel Beckett's Endgame and the absurdist isolation of Ionesco's The Chairs. Geoffrey Streatfeild delivers a capable performance as Alice's cousin, Kurt, though he is somewhat overshadowed as a pawn in their marital strife.
Spark and Mischief in a Two-Hander Drama
This production truly shines as a two-hander in spirit, skillfully balancing the question of who is the protagonist and antagonist within the marriage and the drama itself. Keen and Dillon bring remarkable spark and mischief to their roles, eliciting laughter and empathy from the audience. Keen exudes pursed-lipped stoicism until his moments of lashing out, while Dillon portrays a childlike spite that hints at her being the real victim of their toxic dynamic.
Eyre's decision to move the setting from 1900 to 1918, during the Spanish flu pandemic, is an inspired touch. This change imposes a compulsory closeness on the couple, resonating with modern reports of domestic disharmony and rising divorce rates during the Covid pandemic. The set intermittently opens to azure strips of sea waves, suggesting a world beyond their terrible claustrophobia, yet it underscores anxieties around isolation, absent children, and the fear of nothingness beyond mortality.
Exploring Mortality and Marital Void
The play delves deep into existential themes, with Edgar not so much terrified of death as haunted by the spectre of no afterlife in a Godless universe. This raises poignant questions: Is Dance of Death a play about mortality disguised as a marital drama? Do the characters tear pieces out of each other to fill their void? These reflections add layers of meaning that expand the production beyond a mere marital misery-fest.
In conclusion, this adaptation offers a terrible tango to the death, yet it brings a rare and captivating pathos. For a play that risks shrinking into joyless desolation, Eyre's version expands into something much larger and more engaging. Not to be missed, Dance of Death runs at the Orange Tree theatre in London until 7 March.
