Dance of Death

Dance of Death, the 1969 cinematic adaptation of an original play by the Swedish luminary August Strindberg, is a film as eerie as it is profoundly human. It couldn't have found a more suitable cast than the legendary Laurence Olivier, the brilliant Geraldine McEwan, and the enigmatic Carolyn Jones to bring to life the depth and complexity of Strindberg's seminal work.

The film unfolds on an isolated island fortress where the ageing Captain Edgar, portrayed by Laurence Olivier, and Alice, his wife, played by Geraldine McEwan, have been trapped for a quarter-century in an unbearable matrimony, only held together by their mutual loathing, scorn, and derision for each other. Olivier's character is a deeply troubled and desolate man, whilst McEwan's character Alice embodies the embittered, frustrated woman chafing under the marital ties that bind her.

Edgar is a man marked by a life lived on the edge; his military background, bouts of madness, and melancholic disposition borne out of a life spent in endless bouts of futile ventures. Laurence Olivier triumphantly embodies the weary and embittered Captain Edgar, bringing to this character the desired layered complexity and icy disdain that were the hallmarks of Strindberg’s original vision.

Alice, performed by Geraldine McEwan, is a former stage actress filled with resentment and bitterness towards her husband. She elegantly portrays the conflict within Alice; a woman trapped in a loveless marriage, aching to break free, yet bound by societal norms and victim of malicious gossip. The volatile chemistry between Olivier and McEwan is profound in setting the bleakly comedic, often harrowing tone, which accentuates the creeping sense of terminal frustration and regret through this abusive relationship.

The setting and atmosphere of Dance of Death play an integral role in the storytelling. The film is set in an imperious Rococo-style fortress, its stark isolation mirroring the emotional wilderness which Edgar and Alice habitually inhabit. The brooding structure acts as a fourth character, controlling the mood of the film, casting long, looming shadows over each scene, reinforcing the sense of despair and solitude in the narrative.

Carolyn Jones, as the seductive and regret-filled cousin Jenny, adds a fresh layer of despair and intrigue to the story. Her character arrival acts as a catalyst in this somber narrative, unveiling hidden grudges, breathing life into suppressed ambitions, and fuelling existing animosities. Her evolved relationship with Edgar and Alice dynamically feeds into the main narrative, injecting a sense of suspense that looms as much as the fortress in the backdrop.

Taking the theatrical conceit of Strindberg's unpleasant vision of marriage, the director David Giles handles the film's claustrophobic setting and bitter language armed with a keen sensibility; his confident directorial hand in meshing the existential complexities and spiritual desolation translates brilliantly on-screen. The imageries romanticize the prison-like fortress, making it hauntingly beautiful and ominous simultaneously.

The screenplay by Jeremy Brooks brilliantly amplifies Strindberg’s mordant wit and brutal honesty about human frailties. It allows room for the characters to play out their enmity, embellished with piercing observations on the human condition. Cleverly striding between genuine humour and terrifying grimness, Brooks encapsulates entirely Strindberg’s narrative bleakness.

The symbiosis between the tormented Edgar, embittered Alice, and regret-filled Jenny set against the backdrop of an ominous fortress within Dance of Death creates a stunning piece of cinema. In the 1969 canonical drama Dance of Death, what is projected is not so much an analysis of a toxic relationship but rather an agonizing depiction of a universal human condition – a dance of death that we all partake in, towards the inevitable end.

While the Dance of Death examines dark aspects of human relations, it also sheds light on societal norms, the critique of marriage as an institution, sanity, and the human tendency towards self-isolation and self-destruction. It presents the audience with an intensely unsettling – albeit fascinating - spectacle of a highly toxic marriage, without a trace of melodrama or sentimentality, opting instead for a sober, searingly honest portrayal of the human condition. This is what makes Dance of Death stand out; the film is a study in raw and explosive emotions. A definite must-watch if one is interested in deeply thought-provoking cinema.