Theatre in Review: Creditors (Phoenix Theatre Ensemble/The Wild Project)

	Elise Stone, Craig Smith. Photo: Gerry Goodstein

Some people call Creditors a play; I see it as a series of boxing matches in which all three contestants sooner or later are dealt an emotional knockout. Nobody knows the strategies of intimate infighting like August Strindberg, who orchestrates the bouts with a cool, controlled sadism. Round one features Adolph, a young artist, and Gustav, his older friend. Adolph claims to be ecstatically happy in his marriage to Tekla, a novelist, but, as played by Josh Tyson in Kevin Confoy's new production, the young man's borderline-frantic energy level and too-bright manner raise all sorts of red flags -- to say nothing of the obsessive way he tries to scrub his hands clean. "I have the woman I want; I've never wanted anyone else," he insists -- so why are we instantly skeptical?

Perhaps it is Adolph's disheveled appearance, or his physical weakness; he often needs a crutch to get around the room. Maybe it is his insistence that he has come to accept Tekla's habit of staying out all night. ("I wasn't worried about her fidelity," he insists. "No. Married men never are," murmurs Gustav.) Suggesting exactly how stifling their closeness may be, Adolph notes that when Tekla was giving birth, he suffered sympathetic labor pains, which is doubly odd since the infant was quickly hustled off to the care of foster parents. "Apparently his eyes reminded her of her first husband," Adolph muses. To confirm her antipathy, we learn that Tekla savaged her previous spouse in her first novel -- truth to tell, she sounds like a 19th-century Erica Jong -- which is enough to make any man nervous.

It's pretty clear that there's trouble brewing, and matters are not alleviated by Gustav, who, while pretending to be Adolph's confidant, is functioning as a world-class underminer. As the older man, Craig Smith, in a voice like single-malt bourbon with an arsenic chaser, subtly, carefully erodes Adolph's the-fellow-doth-protest-too-much assertions, first with Wildean epigrams ("One ought not to marry anyone one hasn't been married to, at least once") and later with a harrowing account of his brother, allegedly reduced to an invalid state by a bout of marriage-induced neurasthenia, by way of suggesting that Adolph is headed in the same direction unless he gives up sexual intercourse for an indefinite period of time. He also cleverly drives Adolph into a state of creative deadlock, first convincing him that painting is a played-out medium and then, noting his new sculpture, dismissing it as well. Before long, Adolph is alternately bagging for mercy and wildly waving a knife.

Round two pits Tekla against Adolph, and it's fair to say that, even without the corrosive effects of his meeting with Gustav, Adolph is fighting out of his class. Tekla is a force of nature, both older and more experienced than her husband, and more skilled at playing psychological games. Elise Stone sweeps into the room like Duse landing in a provincial city, awaiting her roses from the mayor; even her smallest gestures hint at an unappeasable appetite for life. And without doing anything overt, she makes it utterly clear who is in charge. (Not for nothing does she call her spouse "Little Brother.") In truth, their relationship is slowly disappearing in an acid bath of suspicion: She sneakily tries to suss out the identity of his recent visitor. He is eaten up with jealousy over her stable of flirtations -- not to mention her first marriage. In a scalding monologue, he lays bare how their marriage has brought them to spiritual and creative dead ends. Tyson delivers these words with the unbridled fury of one who is at last speaking long-held-back truths; rage commingles with relief and loss to unsettling effect.

Both of these events, however dramatic, are merely the undercard compared to the final match, between Tekla and Gustav. I hesitate to say very much about it because it is packed with shockers, and, even though Creditors is officially part of the classic canon, it hasn't had a major New York staging for nearly a quarter of a century, and many audience members may not know what to expect. (I last saw it in 1992, and had totally forgotten what Strindberg has in store for the unwary.) Suffice to say that we see new and appalling sides of both characters, and nobody emerges from the finale unscathed, least of all Adolph, who reappears for the final coup de grâce.

Confoy's production is conscientious about illuminating each character's cankered emotions and power plays, and all three leads handle the text with assurance while going about the business of committing soul murder. (David Greig's translation is eminently speakable.) Smith's Gustav is quick, canny, and not to be trusted. See him put his hands on Adolph in a gesture of assurance that seems more like an act of possession: Could Gustav possibly want Adolph for himself, or is this a sly act of misdirection? His account of his brother's illness is one of the play's most disturbing arias, ending in Gustav evoking his brother's animal-like cries of distress, yet you can see him gauging the effect he has on Adolph. Stone adopts the grand manner as Tekla, while quietly signaling that this is only one weapon at her disposal; note how quickly, when the opportunity presents itself and she senses an opening for conquest, she prepares to betray her husband. Tyson's Adolph lives on a knife edge of hysteria throughout; the possibility of violence is never too far away. (Sergio Fuenzalida takes on the minor role of a hotel porter.)

The production, which runs in repertory with an adaptation of Dostoyevsky's The Gambler, uses some well-arranged pieces of furniture (by set designer Tsubasa Kamei) to suggest the parlor of a seaside hotel, which has been turned into an impromptu artist's studio. Kamei's lighting, which employs a number LED PARs, at times makes a fairly bold use of acidic colors; however, his stylization seems like a half-hearted stab at Expressionism, which may not be an ideal approach to this script. Jennifer Stimple Kamei's costumes and Jesse Heffler's sound are both fine.

The Dance of Death is probably Strindberg's most famous work, but in some ways I prefer Creditors for its trim construction, elegant plotting, and remorseless action. When it comes to emotional mayhem, these three characters are pros. -- David Barbour