Text by: Mirabela Pop
Taken from lostinwords.blogspot.com

If someone had told me yesterday that “Miss Julia,” a play by Strindberg, performed in a 100-seat studio theater, would become my favorite of the year, I would have laughed. It’s a play that easily gets lost in the mists of time, but I’ve never seen such conviction that these few hours of a Midsummer night in late-19th-century Sweden are truly a matter of life and death.

Times and theatrical trends change, but some works remain. Last night’s production highlighted the interplay between the evanescent (time, place – elegantly evoked in design) and the enduring (the birds, the midnight disco carnival). These contrasts frame the encounter between Iulia (the count’s daughter) and Jean (her father’s valet) in the kitchen, the domain of Kristin, the cook (Jean’s fiancée). Their momentary passion will be judged by a long-term measure. Changing times also resonate today: class relations have changed, but the hope-killing status differences created by social inequality persist.

The three actors, Anda Tămăşanu (Iulia), Sorin Ionescu (Jean) and Lucia Rogoz (Kristin) are superlatives in this cruel dissection of class, money and the possibility or…impossibility of social mobility. They make the play as real and sensational as ever, as relevant from a social and political point of view. Anda Tămăşanu perfectly captures the idea that Iulia is a broken child, torn by total dependence on others and the suspicion that she is seen as a money box that anyone can shake and rattle. Anda manages to perfectly portray a young lady Iulia oscillating between imperiousness and vulnerability, between control and submission. I think this role gives her the opportunity to express the superb acting talent she possesses. She is versatile and the sparkle in her eyes is hypnotic. Sorin Ionescu infuses Jean with a desperate intensity, with his black hair and sly gaze. As he and Miss Julia guzzle copious amounts of the Count's wine, Jean sheds the layers of his social status, class, and gender until he is exposed as a lost soul. He is, after all, the wearer of the T-shirt with the message – “Attention – je ne suis qu'un homme.”

For me, last night, "Miss Julia" was a toxic and hypnotic performance that managed to passionately translate Strindberg's genius instinct to illuminate the psychological spectrum of human desire for lust and power. It is an unforgettable play in every sense of the word.