July 26 1945. War is over and Churchill’s government have just been defeated in the polls. The chauffeur of a socialist aristocrat returns to his servant fiancée, Christine, only for the young lady of the house, Miss Julie, to arrive demanding to continue the evening’s celebrations.
So begins Patrick Marber’s reworking of August Strindberg’s Miss Julie. The setting, following a Labour ‘landslide,’ should probably not be seen as an attempt to draw parallels, first performed, as it was, more than two years before Tony Blair was swept to power. Instead the setting evokes a time in which social structures had been broken down by war and it was unclear to what extent they would ever be restored, particularly under the auspices of a socialist government.
When Christine goes to bed, Miss Julie and the chauffeur, John, under the influence of both optimism and alcohol, find themselves circling one another, testing whether their desires can overcome the boundaries of class. And, as can so often be the case with drinking and flirtation, there are questions to be asked and a price to be paid in the morning.
This production, perhaps because its source material was originally written for the confined schedules of television, gives the audience little time to consider the increasingly vicious and barbed dialogue of the morning after’s recriminations, but a sense of tension does develop.
Jonathan Rhodes’ performance as John was the most assured of a slightly jittery first night, doing his best to convey the frustrations of a man yearning for something more but acutely aware of the confines of his position in society. Liz Bowling plays the headstrong but naïve little rich girl Miss Julie, used to ordering people around and getting what she wants. Bowling flirts and seduces more convincingly than she falls to pieces, when it becomes apparent that the whole world can’t and won’t bend to her whims. Sophie Pinn’s Christine, meanwhile doesn’t get to do much beyond acting as a reminder that there’s a world outside to answer to.
As in Marber’s more famous work, Closer, (which he adapted into a film from his own play), none of the characters is particularly likeable. Instead, they are unpleasantly human, alternately angry and self-pitying, proud and insecure. And never really capable of looking beyond their own dreams and desires.
So begins Patrick Marber’s reworking of August Strindberg’s Miss Julie. The setting, following a Labour ‘landslide,’ should probably not be seen as an attempt to draw parallels, first performed, as it was, more than two years before Tony Blair was swept to power. Instead the setting evokes a time in which social structures had been broken down by war and it was unclear to what extent they would ever be restored, particularly under the auspices of a socialist government.
When Christine goes to bed, Miss Julie and the chauffeur, John, under the influence of both optimism and alcohol, find themselves circling one another, testing whether their desires can overcome the boundaries of class. And, as can so often be the case with drinking and flirtation, there are questions to be asked and a price to be paid in the morning.
This production, perhaps because its source material was originally written for the confined schedules of television, gives the audience little time to consider the increasingly vicious and barbed dialogue of the morning after’s recriminations, but a sense of tension does develop.
Jonathan Rhodes’ performance as John was the most assured of a slightly jittery first night, doing his best to convey the frustrations of a man yearning for something more but acutely aware of the confines of his position in society. Liz Bowling plays the headstrong but naïve little rich girl Miss Julie, used to ordering people around and getting what she wants. Bowling flirts and seduces more convincingly than she falls to pieces, when it becomes apparent that the whole world can’t and won’t bend to her whims. Sophie Pinn’s Christine, meanwhile doesn’t get to do much beyond acting as a reminder that there’s a world outside to answer to.
As in Marber’s more famous work, Closer, (which he adapted into a film from his own play), none of the characters is particularly likeable. Instead, they are unpleasantly human, alternately angry and self-pitying, proud and insecure. And never really capable of looking beyond their own dreams and desires.