Friedrich Durrenmatt’s adaptation may seem a bit uneven – arguably not his finest work compared to The Visit – but the performance does more than deliver. An adapted-to-bits play, originally composed by Strindberg, Durrenmatt’s version stretches the self-loathing of married couples – a Strindbergian staple if you will – to an absurd, 12 round boxing bout.
Dance of Death captures the verbal jabs, hooks and low blows between an ageing couple on the year of their silver wedding anniversary. Set at the turn of the twentieth century, on the tower of an island fortress (in Sweden we presume), Edgar (Jacek Koman), who is captain of the artillery battery and author of books on ballistics, lives with his wife Alice (Belinda McClory), an actress whose career was put begrudgingly on the backburner as a spouse and mother. Their stalemate, passive aggressive, cohabitation bound by holy matrimony and glued together by social conventions that keeps their children, domestic help and colleagues away is to be perturbed though by the visit of Gustav (David Paterson), a cousin and old flare of Alice’s.
The text itself has been adapted by Tom Holloway to support this almost counter-Ibsenesque attitude where by nothing is insinuated and hard truths are hurled at one another at all times, including memorable one liner insults that are thrown with reckless abandon.
The stage props were adroitly incorporated into the plot, the soundscape and cage stage design were effective but did not break away from clichéd conventions. The director may have intended to accentuate the performance of the actors but both the light and sound cues could have been subtler and more imaginative. That said, the performance of the actors more than made up for it.
The first minutes of this play should be seen by any aspiring actor in Melbourne as textbook execution of how to make the best use of pauses and keep the audience at the edge of their seats. Jacek Koman, after an eight year long hiatus, proved why he is hands-down one of the most exciting, larger-than-life actors to experience performing in Australia in 2013; he skilfully draws the audience in by exuding that monomaniacal, delusional and self-absorbed nature of a person of authority with the deep-seated control issues and emotionally crippled upbringing steeped in pitch black humour. The experienced thespian that he is does not go overboard though as he possesses a comic streak and a timing that makes you want to record it and run workshops with around the country.
Belinda McClory made me tap my feet and hum to the chorus from The Smashing Pumpkins’ Bullet with Buttefly Wings – ‘Despite all my rage, I’m still just a rat in my cage’. In this outstanding performance, this cage rat may be ever cornered and outmuscled but her claws have gotten sharper over the years of feuds and power struggles with her husband and her paws can still walk with swagger even when she admits to being born into a sex that does not leave her with a lot of options. The range of emotions she expresses throughout the play is impressive with admirable transitions and outbursts that reveal the scar tissue from years of fighting and friction.
David Paterson is initially flustered by the viciousness of these verbal exchanges between the couple and serves as that voice of common sense that comes to a term with a reality he chose to abstain from but ultimately comes to his senses and out-parries them to deliver a precision blow.
Performances aside though, the pace could use some work and that’s where the direction could have taken a less convoluted approach and be more radical especially with the second part of the play as it lost momentum in the championship rounds. This play got an extension for a good reason as it is confronting, brilliantly performed and despite some shortcomings in terms of the pace and direction, one of the most wholesome theatrical experiences in Melbourne this year. Fans of Strindberg and Durrenmatt will be conflicted, fans of Lutton are likely to get a tad disillusioned but Koman and McClory perform in all their glory and voice the cynic in all of us in a delightfully dark and ultimately cathartic manner.
BY NASH PETROPOULOS
