Miss Julie’s tale of lust, class and gender was controversial when it was published in 1888 but has been revived and reinvented time and again in the years since. Nick Smurthwaite looks back at its many iterations ahead of the latest 21st-century take on the play
When he had completed Miss Julie in 1888, August Strindberg – not a man to underestimate his own talent – declared it to be a masterpiece.
Judging by the scores of revivals, adaptations and reimaginings it has enjoyed in the century and a half since, he wasn’t far wrong. Its visceral take on lust, class and gender has proved to be both timeless and transferable.
The latest tally includes seven film versions, six for TV, five operas and one ballet, not to mention countless stage interpretations all over the world.
In its most recent iteration, opening at Chichester Festival Theatre next week, playwright Laura Lomas has brought the story bang up to date with The House Party, in which Julie has morphed into a millennial teenager holding a riotous party in her parents’ smart town house.
Why did Lomas choose Miss Julie for a 21st-century makeover? “It came out of a conversation between me and Holly [Race Roughan, the director] about how you could make a truly modern version of the play, particularly when the class system isn’t as rigid as it was when Strindberg wrote it. Having sex with someone outside of your class is no longer seen as a big transgression.”
In recent years, there have been three notable adaptations: Yaël Farber’s Mies Julie (2012), set in South Africa, in which writer-director Farber added colonial history to the politics of class and gender; Howard Brenton’s classy 2017 translation London’s Jermyn Street Theatre; and Polly Stenham’s Julie at the National Theatre in 2018, in which Vanessa Kirby’s fleeting affair with her father’s servant was more of a booze-fuelled indiscretion than a calculated act of entitlement.
Strindberg himself called the play “the first naturalistic tragedy of Swedish drama”, in which he delved into the psychological motivation of his characters in an unprecedented way. In his biography of the playwright, Michael Meyer claimed Miss Julie was revolutionary in its treatment of sex.
He writes: “Before Strindberg, sex in drama is something in which only married people or wicked people indulge. Miss Julie’s tragedy is that she does not want to sleep with [Jean], she wants to be fucked by him.”
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Unsurprisingly, such an unabashed approach to sex meant there was a lot of nervousness about staging Miss Julie, especially after its publication in Sweden had been met with a hostile reception.
Reviewers called it “totally repellent” and “a heap of ordure”. Having been banned from public performance in Sweden, Strindberg managed to produce it privately at the Copenhagen University Student Union in 1889 in front of an audience of 150 students.
It would be another 17 years before it was seen in Stockholm. Meyer writes: “As in A Doll’s House, the audience found itself hearing things said that they knew to be true but that had never been said in a theatre before.”
But the critics acclaimed it, while the audience applauded loudly at the end. Finally, Strindberg’s provocation was vindicated.
‘Before Strindberg, sex in drama is something in which only married or wicked people indulge’
Production in London was also prohibited by the censor, despite enthusiastic support from fellow writers, notably George Bernard Shaw, for whom Strindberg staged a one-off performance in Stockholm in 1908.
The play’s first appearance in London was at the Arts Theatre, then run as a membership-only club, in 1929.
One of the most successful reinventions is Patrick Marber’s After Miss Julie, which relocates the drama to an English country house on the eve of the Labour Party’s landslide election victory in 1945.
Written for TV in 1995, After Miss Julie was adapted for the stage by Marber in 2003, and has since been revived many times.
Reviewing the original in the Daily Telegraph, Charles Spencer called it “electrifying... an unforgettable night of white-hot theatrical intensity”, while the Guardian’s Michael Billington wrote: “The real virtue of Marber’s version is that it refreshes an old play and reminds us that it is as much about psychological disintegration as the never ending sex and class wars.”
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An even bolder relocation takes place in Farber’s Mies Julie, in which an aristocratic white woman has sex with a black manservant in South Africa’s Western Cape on Freedom Day, commemorating the end of apartheid. In addition to Strindberg’s class and gender stand-off, there is the weight of colonial oppression and racial inequality hanging over the couple as they negotiate their mutual attraction.
Similarly, Miss Julie: Freedom Summer (2009), a reworking by the Canadian Stage Company, is set in Mississippi in 1964, at the height of the civil rights movement. It contrasts the life of an entitled Southern belle with an increasingly politicised yet powerless black chauffeur. Against a background of protests, the murder of three civil rights activists and a sweaty summer’s night, the stakes for the ill-starred lovers could scarcely be higher.
Clearly, Strindberg tapped into a timeless and universal truth – that you can be sexually attracted to someone for whom you have no respect and little in common. He was also a self-confessed misogynist who opposed the emancipation of women. How has Lomas addressed this in her version of Miss Julie?
She says: “I thought it was really important to unpick it, how Julie constructs, or fails to construct, a sense of self-esteem in the context of the misogyny around her. I think we’re interested now in the psychological motivation of the characters, their internal struggles. I want people to come away from it with compassion for Julie.”
The House Party runs at Chichester Festival Theatre from May 3. For full details click here
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