Seeing a play inspired by another when you aren’t familiar with the source material is a curious thing, it allows you to appreciate the new work free from any preconceptions and experience it for its own merits, and, if you’re anything like me, that in itself will be reason enough to want to become better informed with the original, and dive in to the “whys” and “hows” that come with exploring adaptation. Such was my case recently, seeing The House Party at Bristol Old Vic. An adaptation of Miss Julie by August Strindberg from Headlong, Frantic Assembly, Leeds Playhouse and Rose Theatre Kingston with Bristol Old Vic, the experience is a neon-drenched, thrillingly fraught exploration of the weight of choices; our own, and how we can be shaped by other people’s.
Miss Julie is anchored by its explorations of gender, power and sexuality, and what’s striking is the way Laura Lomas’ writing in The House Party keeps those nuances, but sharpens them for a modern audience. We’re thrown headlong into a world of late teenage hedonism versus angst, of sexuality, slut shaming, nude sharing, and the ramifications of gossip and keeping secrets. For the most part, it works tremendously well, amping up the tension inch by inch: there’s something incredibly compelling about these three central characters, flawed as they are, coming to some extremely dark realisations about themselves, and each other throughout this single evening. Direction from Holly Race Roughan amplifies and complements this atmosphere well, but both the writing and direction lose some of that sharpness and focus within the final scene, a time jump to ten years later that feels like it’s trying to soften the impact its worked so hard to build before, when arguably it would have been more powerful to let us draw our own conclusions about the fates of these characters.
That being said, there is no denying the strength of the performances. Synnøve Karlsen is a delight as the deliciously contradictory Julie, full of the energy, wildness and bravado that captures the spirit of stepping into adulthood. Spend more time in Julie’s company however, and you’ll slowly see more layers, not all of them endearing, and it’s always a pleasure to watch an actor play with those dynamics.
Sesley Hope is charming as the loyal Christine, but she also hides deeper thoughts and ambitions and wants to do better for herself. The trio is completed by Tom Lewis’s Jon, who deftly walks between charm and toxicity, often teetering between both. What struck me, though, is that I came away confident in my feelings that I really didn’t like any of them; there’s an undercurrent of questioning how and why these three tolerate each other that becomes increasingly more potent as the action unfolds. That felt oddly refreshing, in a frustrating sort of way.
Frantic Assembly’s movement and Giles Thomas’ soundscape combine formidably to shape this party atmosphere: always present, exploding into life at key moments, helping show the passage of time. It got a shade too loud at times for my comfort, but I appreciated it made stylistic sense, and the movement was punchy and fizzed with energy.
Speaking of design, I’d be remiss not to mention Oren Elstein’s set: pristine marble surfaces, wine fridges, a neon clock, doors that open and close, giving us only fleeting glimpses of the titular house party. It’s a clever touch and way of thinking, capturing the tensions and frictions at the core of the play, heightened more by Joshua Pharo’s atmospheric lighting design.
It’s always a challenge updating a familiar piece for modern sensibilities. Still, arguably here, Lomas’s adaptation has stayed true to the spirit and themes that make Strindberg’s Miss Julie such a staple in the theatre-producing canon while giving it vivid new life and layers through the contemporary lens. It may lose its way and get a little fuzzy towards the end, but it’s still a party well worth attending.
Wheelie Stagey 