Tag Archives: Strindberg

Mies Julie at the Shakespeare Theatre

                Yael Farber’s Mies Julie is a hard but worthwhile night in the theater. Based on Strindberg’s Miss Julie, Farber’s rewrite tracks the original fairly closely, diverging in two fundamental ways: It is set in South Africa nearly two decades after the end of apartheid, and the character of Jean (or “John” in Farber’s adaptation) is more of a victim than a trickster and thus more sympathetic than the manipulative servant in Strindberg’s play. The update is often brutal and difficult to watch, but it honors its inspiration by refreshing the social context in which the thwarted love affair between the privileged Julie and the socially ambitious Jean takes place. And yet at times history overwhelms the basic trajectory of the earlier play: The violence and dead-end cultural dysfunction of contemporary South Africa becomes the subject of the drama, more than the interaction of the two characters. John and Julie are reduced to puppets in a larger narrative of hopelessness and despair.

                    Translating the drama into South African terms also makes it difficult for Farber to negotiate the occasional lyrical interludes in the Strindberg text. At the end, with everything having turned horribly bloody and sad, Julie tries to jump to the lyric plane. The effect is operatic, in a bad way. Poetry can’t be woven into this world, which is too harsh and too honest accommodate a final aria.

                And yet it’s powerful drama, and it makes one take the Strindberg more seriously. Few productions of Miss Julie will hit you as hard as Mies Julie.

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