It was 1945 when England's Labour Party scored a victory over the Conservatives in the general election—translated for Yanks, this meant that the rich lazy aristocrats had been toppled by the poor working blokes, who soon initiated a bevy of government-welfare programs (among them, subsidized housing, unemployment compensation and healthcare).
British playwright Patrick Marber sees parallels between the men and women seeking to escape their birthright at this moment in history and those in August Strindberg's 1888 Swedish shocker, Miss Julie. Our title character in After Miss Julieis the daughter of a peer but, tonight, instead of celebrating with Daddy's colleagues in the city, prefers to carouse with the servants on the family estate. The unease felt by the household chauffeur and cook—war-scarred John and his ex-intended, Christine—at Miss Julie's frenzied gaiety escalates after their boss's offspring invades the kitchen in flirtatious temper. As the night wears on, Julie's romantic fantasies of mingling with the commoners and John's of hobnobbing with the elite grow increasingly seductive, leading both to engage in rash actions ultimately shattering their fairy-tale illusions of liberty. Overthrow of the established social order may not require violence, but rarely does it not involve sex. The candor permitted in 2015 allows us a more explicit view of issues only hinted at by Strindberg—the status of Julie's virginity, for example—and internationally censured when uttered by D.H. Lawrence in 1928. Marber's Julie is no hormone-driven Lady Chatterley, however, since her author is more interested in the economics of change than in its breeding habits. Julie and John's fanciful plan to elope to New York(!) begins to crumble the instant they confront the question of money—not trust-fund annuities, but ready cash—to finance their flight. Time-travel adaptations always raise nagging questions—could Julie's untimely executed pet canary gone to an RSPCA shelter, or a Malthusian League clinic have spared her free-thinking mother? Under the insightful direction of London expat Elly Green and dialect instructor Adam Goldstein, assisted by Mike Mroch and Jamie Karas's museum-accurate scenery, Maggie Scrantom's Julie transcends her persona's defensive superficiality to emerge a self-loathing nihilist in pursuit of her own destruction—a task she naturally expects somebody to do for her. John Henry Roberts, currently the go-to actor for haunted-veteran roles, delivers a likewise complex portrayal of a man trained to obey commands, even at his own peril. Finally, as played by Anita Deely (and written by Marber), the pragmatic Christine comes off as the most likely to survive in the new society to come. Never underestimate the quiet ones.
