Dance of Death

Overview

As little children we are fed the dream of happily ever after, beginning with the arrival of a white knight in shining armour or the electrifying meeting of eyes across a crowded room, followed closely by a textbook whirlwind romance, destined to end with a white wedding and an ensuing eternity of conjugal bliss. Freidrich Durrenmatt’s adaptation of Strinderg’s Dance of Death, translated by Tom Holloway and performed by the Malthouse Theatre, presents a one part hilarious, one part harrowing parallel reality of what happens when the aforementioned fairy tale does not. Think less Cinderella story, more Survivor meets the revenge of OJ Simpson and you’re halfway to the kind of domestic hades re-imagined by director Matthew Lutton.

Alice (Belinda McClory) and Edgar (Jacek Koman) have been together for 25 unhappy years and judging from their terse, spiteful interactions, hated each other for about the same. Literally stranded on an island with nothing but their mutual disgust to keep them company, their relationship is typified by the constant re-hashing of past mistakes, the exchange of venomous and cutting abuse and even plain roll up your sleeves fisty-cuffs. The kind of circular communication that looks destined to go the way of the never-ending story is disrupted by the arrival of Kurt (David Paterson), Alice’s cousin and ex-flame, creating an absurdist love triangle that sees the couple’s marriage reach new lows.

Exchanges between Alice and Edgar are commendably inventive and crude — “I wouldn’t touch you with his dick”, quips Alice in a moment of particular vitriol — the kind of unbelievable domestics you secretly enjoy eavesdropping on in public places. While this makes Dance of Death perhaps primarily an albeit very dark comedy, it’s impossible not to feel saddened by the heartbreakingly relatable pitfalls of the couple’s marriage, as played put superbly by McClory as the tragic thwarted actress and Koman as the self proclaimed world famous military author, each on their own parallel paths to emotional and physical decline.

Multiple dramatic devices are employed in Dance of Death that act to emphasise the dynamics of the performance. Separated from the audience by actual walls of glass, the performers appear increasingly isolated within their marital unit as they stare out in desperation from within a stage that resembles a fish bowl. Further heightening the sense of spectacle, the piece is structured like a boxing match, with the end of each round signalled by the ringing of a piercing bell and a flash of colour as the seemingly tireless fighters retreat to their separate corners to take stock. While these elements can feel somewhat overstated at times, they provide a welcome respite from the kind of fighting that is exhausting even to watch as an outsider.

Likened to a “funny stab in the neck or hilarious kick in the crotch” by the cast themselves, Dance of Death will leave you somewhere between amused and horrified, sure of only one thing — you get less punishment for manslaughter than marriage.

Image via Malthouse Theatre