Text author: Maria Hulber
Taken from LaPunkt.ro

In the vision of the young director Alexandru Weinberger-Bara, Miss Iulia, the naturalistic drama by playwright August Strindberg, staged at the "Regina Maria" Theater in Oradea, subtly glides towards an impressionism of forms and colors, with psychological inserts not at all foreign to the explorations of the human soul initiated at the end of the 19th century. But the dramatic work turns out to be only the pretext for the sublimation of some strong characters, remarkably interpreted by the actors Anda Tămășanu, Sorin Ionescu and Lucia Rogoz, for theirs will be the entire stage, which has become a battlefield of egos, of couples who slowly and torturously devour each other. In an original prologue, the entire tension of the drama floods the horizon of expectation of the spectator left breathless in front of the symbolic duel between Miss Iulia and Jean, imagined as a Russian roulette.

From the world of objects evoked in the broad didactic unfolding of the initial text, very few will be found in the stage space. The scenography created by Vioara Bara unfolds a minimalist decor, made up of black and white cubes arranged as in a rebus square, in the space of which the right words are about to be placed. The chromatic duality is interrupted by a single red cube, an emphasis and anticipation of human passions, whose close casuistry will play mercilessly on the pattern of vanities and complexes that are difficult to control. The only signs of a distant time are the clothes of the protagonists present and the riding boots of the count, a stage metonymy of this fourth character, constructed in absentia. Through the modernity of the visual suggestions, the show escapes from the time of the play and directs the perspective on the characters, atavistic instincts, bursts of irrationality, incandescent, but also unrealizable dreams. Beyond this assemblage, certain gropings by the director cannot go unnoticed, searches that could have found other solutions to the fine-tuning of details (such as the arrangement of the planes, the centers of gravity in the scenic space). However, the way in which certain objects – few, admittedly, considering the minimalist investment – are charged with meaning, managing to express the incommunicable, nevertheless remains a formidable starting point that could anticipate Alexandru Weinberger-Bara's evolution in the Romanian directorial landscape and beyond.

It is appropriate to focus our attention on the two poles of a strange form of love, characterized as love-confrontation, love-struggle, at the heart of which Miss Iulia, energetically played by Anda Tămășanu, and Jean, authentically embodied by Sorin Ionescu, give an admirable show of duality, of challenges undermined by an artificial incompatibility, imposed by cold and unwavering prejudices. Their acting, very good in the tense sequences, surprises with the fervor of contradictions and original situations, which make initial expectations forgotten. On the night of Sânziene, the capricious, mischievous and somewhat eccentric Miss Iulia lives an erotic experience with Jean, the valet at her father's castle. A domineering woman, she instigates the man to rituals of insatiable eroticism, gesturally nuanced by caressing his foot, his hand, by a passionate kiss followed by slapping the one who is too soon lured into hubris. We witness a surge of irrational exaltation of love, counterpointed in her commanding attitude: "Tell me you love me!" However, Jean does not utter the expected declaration. In The Double Flame: Love and Eroticism, Octavio Paz noted that "Love is a choice, eroticism is acceptance.", an observation that nuances the relationships between the two characters. Jean sketches an anticipatory portrait of Julia, finding her "lacking any refinement" and finesse, strange, more a friend to the whip than to people, whom she prefers to flog from time to time. He declares himself powerless in the face of his instincts, which, moreover, he makes no effort to oppose. On his T-shirt are written the words "Attention! Je ne suis qu'un homme!", an allusion to Julia's ironic retort from Strindberg's text. On the other hand, Jean manifests an acute inferiority complex, rooted in the soil of social dogmas, of the obsession with his origin among people of modest status. An ancillary soul, he is unable to escape from his own limits and remains devoted to the house in which he serves and which inspires him with a mixture of fear and respect: "There is tradition here." However, in an episode of unbridled intimacy continued behind the scenes, far from the eyes of the world, the curtain of social differences falls. The cook Kristin, in whose role we find Lucia Rogoz with a well-articulated interpretation around the nuances of the soul, is part of Iulia's future plans, of the dreams rooted around a surprising love trio.

Thanks to a Dionysian-tinged interlude, spicy, youthful and sensual notes appear. The invasion of the four partygoers, descended rather from a modern-day club, brings other instincts, with anarchic tendencies, under the spotlight. They create a small chaos, perhaps too carefully directed, overturning the cubes on the panoramic vertical of the stage. Thus, what had remained hidden from view until then is revealed: the superb background of a canvas painted in the bright colors of the sunset – or, perhaps, of the young lady's bloodthirsty spirit –, on which birds unfold that slowly melt in flight, with their wings wide open and dissolved in large drops, as if of blood. The shocking (literally) scene gradually fades away, as the young people fall asleep humming Bella Ciao, the song of the Italian anti-fascist partisans from World War II.

In the pulsating avatar of submission and obedience, the roles change after the carnal consummation of love. In Jean's eyes, Iulia is inferior to a simple cook. A latent contempt makes its way to the world through his words and, suddenly, the bridges of a possible misalliance are blown apart. For the "eternal" man in love with Iulia to the fulfillment of his primal instincts, love now means something else, much deeper than for "you aristocrats", who represent nothing more than a long line of "maniacs". The change of game and attitude does not remain without echo in Iulia's native fiber, and this is perhaps the only naturalistic element preserved in the current stage transposition of the play. Equally, she considers him "rotten", "miserable", incapable of letting himself be "cleansed" by the asperities of his social class, considered inferior according to the conventions of the time. The fronts of love-confrontation (of values, of principles, of personal ambitions) are clearly drawn. But "In the erotic struggle there are only losers", wrote Nicolae Balotă in an essay on Arghezian poetry, associating to the word agony the meaning imprinted by its Greek root, that of struggle, clash and, inevitably, defeat. We can find numerous convergences between the literary critic's interpretation of a poetic discourse and the way in which director Alexandru Weinberger-Bara transforms the dramatic discourse into a poem of the futile torments of love.   

A completely different type of relationship is seen between Jean and Kristin, the submissive, traditional, pious and humble woman. In her simple thinking and undisturbed by passionate desires, the two worlds are clearly segregated, and her hope remains in God and forgiveness. The director, however, puts a flat point, leaves the hope of divine clemency in suspense and does not emphasize (and he does very well!) this religious descent, because the issue is much more complex than that.

Dressed in a tuxedo, with the allure of a swallow ready to take flight, the young lady returns with a covered cage and a diplomat's bag. Jean refuses her even this minor joy, shooting the bird. After the telephone announcement of the Count's imminent arrival, he is transfigured. Iulia's departure seems to have turned into a tragedy (a shot is heard from behind the scenes) that no longer moves him at all. He is unable to stop the tense rhythm of polishing his master's riding boots. The status assumed by a submissive man ironically confronts the background musical piece, "Freedom", performed by Anthony Hamilton & Elayna Boynton and taken (not coincidentally) from the soundtrack of the film Django Unchained: "I am looking for freedom, looking for freedom..."”

Note. Article published in the cultural magazine Familia, series V, year 55 (155), no. 11-12 (648-649), November-December 2019