Dance of Death

by August Strindberg

seen at the Orange Tree Theatre Richmond on 4 March 2026

Richard Eyre adapted Strindberg's bleak play Dance of Death and directs Will Keen as Edgar, Lisa Dillon as his wife Alice and Geoffrey Streatfeild as Kurt her cousin in an intense and yet at times darkly comic production.

Edgar and Alice have been married for almost twenty-five years; he is a captain on an island which is enduring quarantine due to an epidemic (in this version, the 1918/19 flu epidemic, though the play was written in 1900, and in the original the couple's social isolation is entirely of their own making). The marriage is miserable, though one senses a weary sort of camaraderie beneath the constant sniping and bickering. It's all very well playing games of that sort (and it has become a sturdy theatrical tradition with echoes in the work of Albee, Pinter and others), but there is always a risk of overplaying one's hand, or of losing control due to unforeseen circumstances.

Cue the arrival of Kurt, whom Edgar purports to hold responsible for "trapping" him into marrying Alice, and who is uneasily drawn into the toxic atmosphere through sympathising with his cousin, unaware that his own now dissolved marriage has also been contaminated by Edgar's meddling. And furthermore, Edgar is actually unwell, though it is hard to tell whether he is using his illness as ammunition, or is genuinely running the risk of incapacitation. In this production Will Keen gives a mesmeric performance of draining physicality as he spasms with heart failure and veers between fighting for control with all his military experience of fierce disciple, and succumbing to the terror of dying. His grunts and facial tics are astonishing manifestations of years of repression as much as of physical decline, and it turns out to be foolish of Alice to imagine that now is the time to gain the upper hand.

Lisa Dillon's Alice, fluttering with self-deprecation but usually able to hold her own, exhibits mounting desperation while at the same time revealing a morbid dependence. At one level this is the classic dilemma of the victim of an abusive relationship, but paradoxically here she remains unbowed and in a strange way unbeaten. Kurt's stolid diffidence finally fails to protect him from the fireworks, but after he has left Alice and Edgar are still contemplating their approaching silver wedding anniversary.

At such close quarters the play could have been stultifying and melodramatic, but in the hands of these actors, and with Richard Eyre's inspired realisation that there is a disquieting vein of comedy running through the misery, it was thrilling to watch and horribly fascinating. 

Creditors

by August Strindberg adapted by Howard Brenton

seen at the Orange Tree Theatre Richmond on 16 September 2025

Tom Littler directs Charles Dance as Gustaf, Geraldine James as Tekla and Nicholas Farrell as Adolf in Strindberg's 1889 acute psychological drama about a strained marriage (Tekla's and Adolf's) and the disruptive influence of a third party.

In a set of aseptic creams and blues designed by Louie Whitemore representing a hotel at a Swedish sea-side resort Gustaf has befriended Adolf and persuaded him to shift from painting to sculpture to revive his flagging inspiration. Despite a short friendship - barely more than a week - they start to discuss Adolf's marriage. Gustaf's probing and apparently authoritative manner soon expose Adolf's insecurities while none-too-subtly denigrating the absent Tekla. Since Tekla had left her first husband to take up with Adolf there is fertile ground for undermining Adolf's confidence in her current fidelity. Clearly a man so easily persuaded to change the medium of his artistic expression is also suggestible in other areas of his life.

On Tekla's return Gustaf retreats to a room from where he can eavesdrop while husband and wife confront one another, moving rapidly from kittenish playfulness to lacerating criticism, and finally, in a surprising twist, Gustaf and Tekla cross swords. The play therefore is a series of dialogues; apart from a final brief tableau there are only ever two characters on stage at a time, and the intense encounters are thus tightly wound, sometimes resembling (to modern eyes and ears) informal therapy sessions made unhealthy by the ulterior motives of the participants.

One can see here the precursor to the styles and preoccupations of many subsequent dramatists: the veiled threat of insinuation so expertly wielded by Pinter; the backstory of long-simmering tensions precipitating a crisis often used by Eugene O'Neill; the unexpected twist forcing a late re-evaluation beloved by Edward Albee; even the barbs underlying social niceties which give some of Noel Coward's plays their unexpected bite amidst uneasy humour. In the hands of these three masterful actors the dynamics fizz and the acuity of Strindberg's dissection of an unsatisfactory marriage is brilliantly explored.

The drawcard of this particular cast - apart from their obvious expertise and long theatrical experience - is that the three actors have not been seen together since they appeared in the famed TV series The Jewel in the Crown more than forty years ago. However, such an extraneous frisson pales into insignificance once the performance starts: we are simply witnesses to an incisive theatrical experience.