“…when people turn violent, you know you’ve told the truth”
Yael Farber’s Mies Julie is an adaptation of August Strindberg’s Miss Julie, transplanted from a ballroom in nineteenth-century Sweden to a kitchen in post-apartheid South Africa. The themes – pride, lust, class, violence – cross the boundaries of time and place to create an emotive, modern drama.
‘Mies’ Julie, the spoiled daughter of a white landowner, is played by Hilde Cronje, while Bongile Mantsai plays John, a handsome young servant. Their chemistry is fiery; every word and touch has an incredible power behind it. In fact, the style of the performance is so balletic that words almost seem superfluous in some scenes as the two move fluidly around the stage in a dance of passion. On occasion, Cronje’s intonation of certain words jars a little, but her smooth, almost-choreographed movements are a pleasure to watch.
John’s mother, Christine, is Zoleka Helesi. Christine has worked for Julie’s family for years, and has been the mother figure in Julie’s life, particularly as Julie’s own mother, we learn, has committed suicide. Christine has become used to her life of drudgery, although we occasionally see her placid façade slip as she mourns her ancestors, buried beneath the floor of the home in which she now serves.
Ancestry is a key theme throughout the play, personified by Tandiwe Nofirst Lungisa, who moves about the stage, unacknowledged by the other characters. She plays Xhosa music (most notably the intriguing uHadi bow) in the background, and spends the rest of the time sitting in silent observation on the edge of the action – a subtle but powerful symbolic representation of the past which pervades the ‘present’ of the play.
The musical atmosphere of Mies Julie is electric. Not only do we encounter the Xhosa music of the ancestors, but the entire performance is kept at tension-point by the eerie electronica and saxophone stylings of Mark Fransman and Brydon Bolton.
The main driving-force of Mies Julie is the tension between Julie and John. Their physical chemistry simmers below the surface, finally reaching boiling-point in a vicious, animalistic sex scene with ripped clothing and thrusting bodies. Sex and violence are so inextricably intertwined in this play that when the characters move towards each other there is no way to tell whether it will end in a kiss or a slap to the face. Language is also a powerful weapon – these characters have grown up together and they know how to entice… and how to wound.
Mies Julie is only on in Oxford (and in the UK) until 17th August, so I would advise snapping up the remaining tickets for this feverish performance, which will leave you shaken, both physically and mentally. @bookingaround
