I never really thought about August Strindberg being played for laughs. Until now, that is.
Steppenwolf Theatre Company’s production of the prolific Swedish playwright’s “The Dance of Death” comes across as a sometimes hilarious black comedy with a contemporary sensibility, even though it was written in 1900 and retains the period setting.
Some of the gallows humor undoubtedly stems from Conor McPherson’s 2012 adaptation, which taps into the absurdity of the situation and of life — and death — in general. It also comes from ensemble member Yasen Peyankov’s well-paced direction, which gives every actor a chance to shine.
But the real lynchpin is Jeff Perry’s over-the-top performance as an aging military man on the brink of self-destruction, who is in an unhappy 25-year-old marriage, complicated by the unexpected arrival of his wife’s cousin, with whom he has a fraught history. Careening between frenetic and catatonic, and touching on almost everything in between, he often resembles someone suffering from cognitive decline and may, in fact, be mentally ill.
Perry plays Captain Edgar, a seemingly retired naval commander living on a remote island outpost in coastal Sweden. He and his considerably younger wife, Alice (Kathryn Erbe), a former actress, share a gloomy tower (terrific scenic design by Collette Pollard and lighting by Lee Fiskness) that was formerly part of a prison nicknamed “Little Hell.”
Locked in a marriage neither is capable of escaping, they’ve turned their personal prison into a battleground that makes George and Martha’s fights in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” look like foreplay.
Abrasive and frequently belligerent, Perry’s Edgar drinks heavily, denies his failing health, alienates his men, offends everyone, is always broke and brutalizes Alice. Erbe’s sneakier, equally sarcastic Alice matches him for insults and biting ironies, and they denigrate each other at every turn.
They’re also pathological liars, a penchant that gets them into trouble. It’s no wonder they have no friends, and their estranged children, who they use as weapons against each other, have decamped to the mainland, although Edgar insists he loves his daughter despite the fact that she won’t talk to him.
As their silver anniversary approaches, they have no money, their last servant has quit and they’re running out of food. That’s when Alice’s cousin Kurt (Cliff Chamberlain) arrives. He’s been sent to the island to oversee a new medical quarantine facility.
Although he introduced the couple to each other 25 years ago, on Edgar’s instigation, he hasn’t seen them for 15 years. In that time, he’s undergone a messy divorce and his parental rights have been revoked, so he can’t even see his children. He suspects Edgar is involved but, having found religion, he comes seeking reconciliation.
Instead, Kurt becomes an unwilling pawn in the war between Edgar and Alice, sucked in by his feelings for her and the lies each of them tells to win him to their side. His presence exposes their toxicity but also destroys him, showing how manipulation and meanness can undo even the most decent person.
At the same time, oddly, it solidifies the bond between Edgar and Alice, who recognize that they are doomed to go on together until death.
Steppenwolf’s production is thoroughly engrossing, yet somehow left me wanting more. I’m not sure what, exactly.
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