Peer Gynt

‘It’s not really what I expected,’ said a slightly shell-shocked woman in the matinee audience of Peer Gynt, just after the lights had snapped on for the interval. So what should audiences expect from Dominic Hill’s Dundee Rep swansong, a co-production with the National Theatre of Scotland of Henrik Ibsen’s ‘unstageable’ epic poem?

Sex, violence, trolls, and plenty of swearing. Or, alternatively, Norwegian folk tales, existential philosophy, and a meditation on social isolation. Further interval ear-wigging suggested a fascinating range of reactions, from an aversion to all the swearing (a group of middle-aged women), to delight at the pace and sheer theatricality (someone old enough to be their mother), and nostalgic appreciation (a Norwegian woman thrilled to hear the tales of her childhood re-told).

Colin Teevan’s new adaptation is bold, fast-paced and distinctly Scottish. Under Hill’s direction it makes for an engrossing, highly entertaining piece of theatre. Comparisons with The Wonderful World of Dissocia are impossible to avoid – the two plays share the same anarchic, surreal spirit – but while Dissocia kept its meaning obscured until the second act, there are reminders of Peer Gynt’s fundamental conflict throughout the play.

A pre-show party in the Het Theatre Café makes for a thrilling, involving prologue (be sure to arrive 15 minutes early), but when the characters appear on stage the audience is kept deliberately detached. The staging is not as Brechtian as it first appears: although the back wall of the theatre is exposed and there is visible seating for the ‘off-stage’ actors, there are plenty of surprises, theatrical tricks and unexpected set changes. In most instances, these are simple but effective – although the clumsy incorporation of a quad bike suggests a determination to take full advantage of an NTS budget.

The creative team are entirely undaunted by sudden changes in location, both real and imagined, and a neat device solves the problem of Peer aging considerably between acts and morphing from Keith Fleming into Gerry Mulgrew.

Although the home town suggested by Naomi Wilkinson’s design is Nowheresville, USA, young Peer is very recognisably Scottish: a hard-drinking, ASBO-baiting anti-hero whose self-awareness tends not to kick in until after he’s finished punching someone in the face. What he sorely lacks, in both young and old incarnations, is the charisma that would seem to be essential to both his relationship with the innocent, trusting Solveig and to his later success as a cult leader. A reminder of Solveig’s existence should be heart-breaking but isn’t, and a rousing anthem celebrating Peeropolis doesn’t feel like quite enough to win new converts.

That said, Peer’s frustrating refusal to conform to our expectations – and his failure to convince as either saint or sinner – is what this story is all about, and the most memorable scenes involve the emblematic characters: Emily Winter’s Strange Passenger, John Buick’s even stranger priest and Cliff Burnett’s eerily nonchalant Buttonman. Gail Watson also deserves special mention as troll seductress The Woman in Green, Kevin Lennon is perfectly stupid and slimy as small-town thug Aslak and Judith Williams, criminally underused, lights up the stage whenever she’s on it.

As Dominic Hill prepares for his new role as artistic director at the Traverse in Edinburgh, theatre-goers of Dundee should seize the opportunity to see what he can do with 20 actors, an NTS budget and a rarely-performed classic. For those with further to travel, Peer Gynt is definitely worth the trip.