It all began with a vow of chastity. At least that's what Danish film directors Thomas Vinterberg and Lars von Trier call their 1995 manifesto that created Dogma 95, a cinematic style aimed at heightening the audience's attention to dialogue and character by filming in the most realistic environment possible. There would be no "superficial action (murders, weapons, etc.)" and all shooting would take place at actual locations under natural lighting. A hand-held camera would film the actors without requiring them to stand at designated marks or look in a certain direction, and no sound or music could be added in post-production.
The first Dogme film was Vinterberg's 1998 Festen (The Celebration in English), a Hamlet-like piece where the eldest son in a wealthy family accuses his father of heinous acts at the patriarch's 60th birthday celebration.
The stage adaptation of Festen that inhabits The Music Box these days is not exactly a play. At least, it's not exactly billed as one. The smallest sized lettering on the Playbill credits page tells us we're seeing a "dramatization by David Eldridge" (taken from the screenplay and an earlier stage version by Vinterberg, Mogens Rukov and Bo Hr. Hansen) while the most prominent billing, equal to the lead actors, is shared by director Rufus Norris and production designer, Ian MacNeil. It's the two of them, with striking contributions from lighting designer Jean Kalman, sound designer Paul Arditti and composer Orlando Gough, who are the authors of this stage piece. The production features extraordinary visual pictures and, generally, very good acting, that nearly compensates for the woefully underwritten text that awkwardly teeters between tragedy and dark comic farce.
Two months after his twin sister's suicide, Christian (Michael Hayden) arrives at a country resort for a weekend celebration of his father's birthday. He's angered to find his uninvited brother, Michael (Jeremy Sisto), who missed the funeral. The loutish, underachieving Michael has brought his wife, Mette (Carrie Preston). The passion between the two alternates briskly between near-violence and combustible sex. Their young daughter, listed in the program as "Little Girl" (Meredith Lipson and Ryan Simpkins alternate performances), seems to remind Christian of an unhappy past. I won't go into detail, but sound designer Arditti brilliantly suggests the memory.
The remaining sibling is former rock musician, now anthropologist, the high-strung Helene (Julianna Margulies), determined to discover a clue as to why her sister killed herself. On MacNeil's sparse set, a large rumpled bed on a black barren stage, Norris neatly choreographs expository scenes as the five of them settle into their rooms, including a peek at servant Pia's (Diane Davis) attempt to seduce the distracted Christian.
The long, intimidating table where the family meal is served gives the proceedings the feel of a corporate board meeting, especially at the entrance of honoree, Helge (Larry Bryggman), who seems to be charming the board of directors more than greeting loved ones, and his silent and regal looking wife, Else (Ali MacGraw). Completing the gathering are Helge's doddering father (John Carter) and lodge buddies Poul (David Patrick Kelly) and Helmut (Christopher Evan Welch), the latter serving as toastmaster and the one who shows more outward affection for the guest of honor than anyone else present. There is a structure to the dinner, with turns taken for toasts and speeches. When it is Christian's turn to speak, he offers a bit of a game of chance for his father and then matter-of-factly drops his bombshell.
And this is where the piece starts getting funny. Sort of.
For whether Christian's accusations are true or false, the more important fact is that he's disrupted the civility of the festivities. Even before the main course can be served. There is a bit of humor found in attempts to disregard his accusation and keep things jolly, but by the time the drunken assemblage is parading around the home repeating choruses of the most annoyingly tuneless birthday song imaginable it's a bit unclear if we should be terrified of these arrogant prigs or laughing at their absurd notion that they are a functioning family unit. Before the evening is over there's a violent attack, a scathing "tribute" from mom featuring the ways her children have all disappointed her and another accusation from one of the siblings. When Helene's black boyfriend, Gbatokai (Keith Davis), arrives later in the evening, Michael immediately refers to him as a monkey, to his face, and soon much of the family is merrily singing a racist song but Gbatokai still sits down to have dinner with them! The scene is ugly, farcical, comes out of nowhere and is quite ridiculous.
It's perfectly appropriate for us to see this family as a soulless group who share nothing but a bloodline, but the threadbare script, perhaps perfect for a film but deadly on stage, gives us little but superficial insight to the walls that separate these people. But Norris' production is quite startling, making remarkable use of dark open space to both present many locations at once and to suggest the emptiness of the happy occasion that brought everyone together. Servants (Davis and Stephen Kunken) and the chef (C.J. Wilson), eerily enter and exit unobtrusively through trap door stairways. Kalman's white lights harshly pierce through the playing area and Gough's monotone sounds creep in and out with mood-enhancing subtlety.
Michael Hayden makes Christian a fascinating study in conflicting emotions. Whether seeking vengeance or a personal cleansing, he is outwardly calm and eloquent throughout, but displays minor hints of hatred, turmoil and ultimately a degree of satisfaction. Larry Bryggman's Helge is a man of exceeding charm and graciousness, the iron fist with which he controls his family exquisitely gloved. In a generally effective cast, special mention should be made of Davis and Kunken, who, as servants aware of their place, observe the horrifying events with only the slightest hint of reaction. Carrie Preston is also impressive in a quiet moment, singing a lullaby to her child to distract her from the enfolding drama. The only misstep in the company is Ali McGraw, who shows no sign of ever having taken an acting lesson. I can't comment on her character choices because there don't seem to be any. In a role too small to cause any serious damage, yet one that could be a sizzling cameo, McGraw is simply not good enough to be bad.
When a play is adapted for the big screen, a common complaint is that the resulting film is too talky for that visual medium. Festen, on stage, suffers from a text more suited for cinema than live theatre, and yet this impressive production, rich in story-telling stage craft, often manages to fill in the missing words.
Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Larry Bryggman and Michael Hayden
Center: John Carter, Jeremy Sisto, Meredith Lipson, Carrie Preston, Julianna Margulies, Larry Bryggman, Ali McGraw, Stephen Kunken, Keith Davis, David Patrick Kelly, Christopher Evan Welch and Michael Hayden
Bottom: Michael Hayden, Carrie Preston, Keith Davis, Christopher Evan Welch, Jilianna Margulies and John Carter
