He was catapulted into world-wide fame around the turn of the 20th century mainly because of his plays, which are said to have paved the way for contemporary theatre. Out with the bourgeois realism, in with the mysterious symbolism. His rupture with realistic settings and his introduction of characters who acted like puppets of fate anticipated the absurd and minimalist modernism of Samuel Beckett.
Maeterlinck’s depictions of man as a helpless creature at the unfathomable mercy of death also came to the fore in the few plays he intended for marionettes. One of these is Interior (1895), a lesser-known work among the fin de siècle pieces that are largely responsible for his fame. Interior is a tale of contrasts between a family gathered indoors and the messengers of death outside in the garden. Only the characters who are to inform the family that one of their daughters has died have speaking parts.
In his adaptation Interiors, Scottish director Matthew Lenton has kept the premise of Maeterlinck’s original play. Through the windows of a home, the audience sees guests coming together for a dinner party. The gestures and (unheard) chitchat around the dining room table befit the occasion. Nervous hosts dart to and fro. Distant politeness makes room for a lame joke to break the ice.
The social norms and chitchat during reunions of friends and relatives is contradicted by the omniscient voice of the narrator, who remains at first unseen. Her words, ranging from poetic vagueness to harsh observations, break through the superficial layer of banality characteristic of many a dinner party and reveal the inner thoughts of the guests.
The contrast between interiors and exteriors is further played out in the mise en scene. The audience watches the actors through glass windows, surrounded by atmospheric projections. From time to time, the glass functions as a mirror, for the characters as well as the audience.
Lenton wilfully creates distance between the party guests and us, his guests in the theatre, but also between words and actions, between thoughts and gestures. As the dramatic events unfold, we are in the grip of the characters. Until the narrator interrupts, that is, and throws us back into our voyeuristic position.
Interiors is a wry comedy, at times uncomfortable, that unfolds into a alternately distant and intimate look at human isolation. The absence weighs more and more: one empty chair silently screams for our attention. “The word is temporary, silence is eternal,” Maeterlinck once wrote. Those dichotomies bounce off of each other in Interiors.
As death, lurking through the entire play, manifests itself, we realise Prague-born poet and Maeterlinck admirer Rainer Maria Rilke was right to call Maeterlinck’s plays “dramas of death”.
Interiors is in English with Dutch and French surtitles
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