Creditors at the Orange Tree Theatre – review

One of the great pleasures of Tom Littler’s artistic directorship of the Orange Tree Theatre is his ability to attract celebrated veteran actors to this intimate space. This production of angsty Swedish playwright August Strindberg’s Creditors has the coup of starring Charles Dance, Nicholas Farrell and Geraldine James, reuniting for the first time since they co-starred in the 1984 serial The Jewel in the Crown.

Littler first directed Howard Brenton’s adaptation of this three-hander at Jermyn Street Theatre in 2019 in rep with Miss Julie – both were written in a few months in 1888 when Strindberg was living in a run-down palace outside Copenhagen with his estranged wife and a self-styled countess with an unusual domestic set-up. This talky piece comprises a husband and wife and a third person in their marriage (the twist is easy to guess from the beginning), and the battle of wills that ensues.

Adolf (Farrell) is a painter and the second husband of Tekla (James), a popular novelist (rather more successful than her husband in her chosen field) who is away at a charity fundraiser. At a seaside hotel, he makes friends with Gustaf (Dance), who is full of advice. According to Gustaf, Adolf’s declining health means that he should abstain from sexual relations so that he doesn’t contract “epilepsy”; women are “incomplete men” who haemorrhage a dozen times a year, and a husband ought to transform his wife from a child to a woman. The misogyny is staggering, as is the self-absorption – it’s impossible not to judge Adolf and Tekla for giving their baby up for adoption because he reminded Tekla too much of her first husband. He expresses some regret, but she remains glib.

The use of age-blind casting – as seen in Littler’s Twelfth Night last Christmas and Christopher Luscombe’s production of Private Lives, which starred Nigel Havers and Patricia Hodge (and which features several parallels with this play, particularly the push-and-pull of love-hate that drives the central relationship) – highlights the characters’ immaturity. However, there are moments in the text that suggest they haven’t been married for all that long, which can be jarring.

Adolf suggests he’s been emasculated by Tekla, and Farrell is excellent at portraying the character’s physical decline and many insecurities. Dance is, of course, a master at embodying charm with a touch of malevolence, though he is perhaps a touch too urbane for a classics master who was always too parochial for Tekla. Tekla doesn’t appear until at least halfway through and James is tremendously vivacious and graceful, who could easily have any man she chooses to set her cap at.

Brenton’s adaptation is punchy and the elegance of Littler’s production is highlighted by the Nordic coastal chic of Louie Whitemore’s set and costumes (lots of blue-and-white accents and beige linen). It’s a privilege to see Dance, Farrell and James at such close quarters, though why we should be particularly engaged by their characters is another matter.