Arthur Schnitzler’s plays are considered sexy and dangerous, striking in their depiction of fantasy, illusion, relationships and death. His Liebelei, first performed in 1895, has repeatedly been adapted — notably for the screen by Max Ophüls and for the stage by Tom Stoppard — and is presented here in a nicely idiomatic new version by David Harrower.
Set in early 20th century Vienna, it’s strongly reminiscent of Pains of Youth, Ferdinand Bruckner’s play that was staged at the National Theatre last year. But Schnitzler’s is the earlier work. His characters are young adults, experimenting with roles and nudging the boundaries of their world. Fritz is an idle patrician, a shallow poseur who thinks he’s a sophisticate and is caught up in an affair with a married woman.
His friend Theodore, smitten with vampish Mizi, hopes to divert him from this folly and interest him in the innocent and rather desperate-seeming Christine. Fritz is unconvinced — until his dalliance threatens to backfire.
The story is far from complicated, and its trajectory predictable. A Freudian strand involving Christine and her musician father is stodgy, although it does allow Hayley Carmichael to make a ghoulish impression as their nosy neighbour.
Luc Bondy’s production invests the action with the qualities of dance: it’s sometimes dreamy, sometimes painfully precise. The movement, which involves physical risk, is sublimely achieved, and the relationships quickly seem plausible — tense in all the right places.
Jack Laskey, looking like a young David Tennant, is excellent as Theodore, skittishly energetic yet also capable of gravity, and Natalie Dormer is a poised and confident Mizi, while Kate Burdette conveys Christine’s unexpected depths.
The early scenes of hedonism are finely wrought. But they give way to a heavy-handed sort of drama, in which the more insipid figures bulk too large and the storytelling becomes viscous.
Karl-Ernst Herrmann’s design is bold yet makes for some difficult sightlines. His lighting and Gareth Fry’s sound occasionally combine to unhappily bombastic effect. While Sweet Nothings contains some delicious moments, it’s hard to care deeply about Schnitzler’s characters, well realised though they are, and Bondy’s vision can’t make up for the play’s empty gestures and structural weakness.
Until 10 April. Information 020 7922 2922.
Sweet Nothings
Young Vic
The Cut, SE1 8LZ
