There is not a practical reason to review "After Miss Julie," now being produced by Gremlin Theatre. If you were among the 50 people (a half dozen or so standing) who crammed into the servants' kitchen of the James J. Hill House in St. Paul on Wednesday, you understand this point. Seating is limited and if word of mouth alone does not sell out the 10-show run, then the Twin Cities should stop boasting about its sophisticated and enthusiastic theater audience.
Start with the brilliant idea to stage this razor-sharp tragedy in a place where servants actually did prepare food, answer the master's bell, gossip and whisper about the family. A heavy exhaust hood looms over the oven and a long, rough scullery table dominates the room. It's not a set; it is an environment breathing with ghosts.
To this perfect crucible, director Leah Cooper brings the heat of Patrick Marber's adaptation of Strindberg's classic. Marber updates the work to 1945 London, as the Labor Party sweeps to victory. The parallel is not dramaturgically perfect -- modern London seeming more flexible than the stiff caste of 1880 Stockholm. Yet, the stark differences in class, status and gender still strike our 21st-century sensibilities with a naturalistic authenticity. Cooper beautifully articulates the shifting relationships among a young aristocrat bored with her existence, a chauffeur who aspires to climb above his class and a cook clinging to her religion.
As post-election celebrations break out, Anna Sundberg's Julie slums with the servants, flattering herself as a friend of Labor and flaunting her privilege. This contradiction marks Julie's zest toying with fire, a psychological flaw that informs Sundberg's performance -- which leaves not a single detail out of place. Peter Christian Hansen has the requisite toughness as John, Julie's plaything. Hansen appears a handsome man haughty and curious enough to believe he can reach a higher station, yet stung when Julie points out his ill-fitting suit and dirty fingernails -- hallmarks of a mere working man. Amanda Whisner wears well the lonely weariness of Christine, who devoutly wishes for only a simple life with John.
The chemistry between Hansen and Sundberg -- who brim with power when debasing each other and crumble in kindness -- smolders devilishly.
Rarely will you get a theatrical experience so immediate and palpable. In the best way, we are trapped by the reality of this genuine room, and it is impossible to escape the anxiety as these characters wreck each others' lives.
Do all you can to be one of the lucky few who get to see it.
