64. SMOKE
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Earlier
this week I reviewed a show called BASTARDS OF STRINDBERG, a program of four
one-acts commissioned by the Scandinavian American Theatre Company (SATC) to
find new ways of thinking about August Strindberg’s groundbreaking 1888 play,
MISS JULIE. Most of these efforts were disappointing, and I wrote that being
commissioned to write a play as a contemporary response to a classic was
extremely difficult because the best new plays usually are born out of the
artist’s need to express him or herself exclusive of restrictions. Ironically,
when watching a new play last night in the tiny basement at the Flea, I was
delighted to discover that the playwright, Kim Davies (who has an MFA in
playwriting from Brooklyn College), had written just the kind of play the SATC
had been seeking; at 90 minutes, it would have been too long for their program,
but it’s far and away superior to anything they’re providing. I was further
surprised to find that, while some critics mentioned VENUS IN FUR as an
analogue, none of the several reviews I looked at afterward (including the one
in the New York Times) mentioned any connection between SMOKE and MISS JULIE;
I’d be amazed, though, if someone else hasn’t pointed it out somewhere. To top
it off, my theatre companion, a retired theatre professor, director, and
playwright, argued that I was wrong, suggesting that even if SMOKE was indeed
based on MISS JULIE, it was probably unconscious on Ms. Davies’s part.
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| Stephen Stoute, Madeleine Bundy. Photo: Hunter Canning |
There
are, of course, major differences between MISS JULIE and SMOKE, which is why
this new play, despite its possible source, is a sizzlingly original
creation, like Tom Stoppard’s HAMLET spinoff, ROSENCRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN, or
any other famous stage work taking its cue from a classic predecessor
(Anouilh’s ANTIGONE, or the musical WEST SIDE STORY, for example). Still,
there’s no avoiding the parallels: here are a few of the more obvious examples.
Both plays take place in a kitchen during an offstage party (Midsummer Night’s
Eve in MISS JULIE, a Harlem BDSM party in SMOKE). There are only two characters
in SMOKE, a young woman named Julie, and a slightly older man named John, while
in MISS JULIE there are three, Julie, Jean, and Kristin. However, a third
character, John’s girlfriend, is present via her cellphone texts and calls. Her
name: Kristen. Jean has a menial position working for Julie’s father, a famous
artist, just as Jean is a valet in the household of Julie’s powerful father,
the Count. Like MISS JULIE, SMOKE explores the sexual power struggle between
the upper-class Julie and the lower-class John, and includes moments of
sadomasochistic wordplay and byplay (although taken to sharply different
degrees in each). In MISS JULIE, Jean suggests that he and Julie run off to
start an enterprise in Switzerland; in SMOKE, the proposed destination is
Detroit. In both MISS JULIE and SMOKE, the characters have sex, offstage in the
former, on in the latter. Still, as per various modern stagings of MISS JULIE
(including two plays in BASTARDS OF STRINDBERG as well as last year’s South
African version, MIES JULIE), the sex in SMOKE is on a kitchen table. MISS
JULIE makes much of Jean’s razor, which in SMOKE becomes a pair of knives, one
big, one small. Miss Julie exits with the razor in an ambiguous conclusion that
many believe will lead to her suicide; the script of SMOKE ends without
mentioning a knife, but in the production Julie takes up the folding knife,
which earlier has been used in a dangerous sexual act, holding it in a way
designed to make us contemplate her next step.
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| Madeleine Bundy, Stephen Stout. Photo: Hunter Canning |
In
SMOKE John (Stephen Stout), 31, is hanging out in the kitchen to smoke, which
isn’t allowed at the otherwise freewheeling party. Julie (Madeleine Bundy), a
20-year-old college student, enters, asking for a cigarette. She’s spotted John
at the party, recognizing him as her father’s assistant, and knows he’ll be in
this room. He’s a downtown type, a would-be artist (who’s worked mainly as a
barista) with a five-o’clock shadow, side hair trimmed close with a shock that
falls over his forehead, black jacket, black shirt, black boots, and black
droopy-assed jeans with skinny legs; a long chain dangles in a loop at his
side. Julie’s wearing a flared, black schoolgirl-like miniskirt, thick-soled
boot-shoes, and black knee-high socks. (The spot-on costumes are by Beth
Goldenberg.)
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| Madeleine Bundy. Photo: Hunter Canning. |
Soon
enough, as the exposition unrolls, we begin to see Jean’s initially dominant
position as the older hipster begin to blur as Julie’s at first seemingly
submissive girlishness peels away to reveal a craftily manipulative creature
seeking to use her position as the daughter of John’s employer—to whom John
professes loyalty while also putting him down—to her advantage. There’s lots of
talk about this or that being “gross” or “creepy,” and it’s not always easy to
tell when the characters’ occasionally extreme behavior is real and when it’s
“playing,” as they put it, since the premise of the party is people choosing
partners to make “scenes.” Mirroring such offstage scenes are those of John and
Julie engaging in acts of dominance, submission, and sadomasochism. There’s
also talk of the need for permission in these activities, as people won't
always be as nice in such situations as those at this party. Julie, whom John
thinks is a “sub” (submissive), says she’s interested in being treated roughly,
while John, who claims he’s a “het dom,” likes to dish it out, although he
knows just how far he can go. For him, with his cache of knives large and
small, his ability to inflict pain in sensual encounters is a skill he enjoys
practicing with willing victims; she, for her part, needs to prod and
poke at his defenses so she can eventually put him down as the “lapdog” to her
father she accuses him of being.
The
authentic-sounding, often profane, dialogue sounds perfectly real in the mouths
of these gifted young actors, who invest their roles with the kind of
naturalistic believability of which Strindberg could only have dreamed. The
tiny venue has been arranged by set designer Andrew Diaz so that the kitchen is
placed at what is usually the stage right end of the elongated space, with the
audience seated around it on two sides. The actors are so close that any false
notes would be immediately apparent, yet you rarely feel they’re acting or
aware of your presence, so intent are they on carrying out their actions, which
include moments of violence and intimacy; female flesh is shown, but there’s no
actual nudity. Of course, certain restrictions apply; in real life the
characters would have gone further in their physical behavior than director Tom
Costello, who has done a masterful job in helping hone these performances,
allows. This is a play, after all.
Whatever
debt it may owe to MISS JULIE, SMOKE is a fresh and novel look at sexual power
politics in its most elemental form. Made even more vital by its intensely
convincing performances, it’s one of the best things currently available on the
Off Broadway scene. If the SATC wants to see how MISS JULIE can speak to
today’s audiences with a contemporary point of view, they need only take a trip
downtown to White Street. This show is s-m-m-mokin!
