“Miss Julie,” August Strindberg’s tragic study of gender and class struggles, exploded into an international scandal when it was published in 1888. Most European countries banned it, with England’s prohibition lasting 51 years, and the play wasn’t produced in Strindberg’s native Sweden until 1906.

Since then, of course, the story of an upper-class, sexually aggressive woman seducing her father’s valet has become a classic, produced around the world, often in adaptations adding other cross-cultural conflicts — like racial — to the mix. Still, after all these years, the original retains its power, as demonstrated by Stone Soup Theatre’s new staging at the North Coast Repertory Theatre.

Stone Soup artistic director Rebecca Johannsen plays Julie, the wealthy young woman whose clashing values put her body at odds with her mind. Jason Maddy is Jean, the object of Julie’s love/lust who also is only too aware of the dangers in their desires. Erika Beth Phillips is Kristin, the cook whose Christian faith sustains her in her service while she looks to a future as Jean’s wife.

Rebecca Johannsen, Jason Maddy

Photo by Aaron Rumley

It’s the Midsummer Eve celebration, and Miss Julie — who just broke off her engagement by apparently humiliating her fiancé — goes dancing with Jean, flouting society’s convention against aristocrats mixing with servants. When they return to the manor kitchen, Julie continues to pursue Jean, cruelly disregarding Kristin and her affection for her intended.

Julie is the sort of woman who can be used as evidence for either side in the ongoing debate over whether Strindberg was an early advocate of female equality or a misogynist. Raised by a strong mother who urged her daughter never to be beholden to any man, Julie chafes at the restricted roles society places on her station and her sex. Yet she’s selfishly quick to put servants in their place if they challenge her. She shamelessly and sexily teases Jean, then angrily slaps him when he tries to kiss her.

Ultimately, they consummate their deadly mating ritual, and then, although united in regret, quarrel over what to do next. They plan to run away but soon realize that their circumstances won’t allow that, and Julie realizes that her limited power to control her future is now totally gone.

Johannsen effectively limned Julie’s many moods, from coquettishness to despair, and Maddy, after a tentative start, captured Jean’s mixture of strength and weakness. Phillips gave solid credibility to the put-upon Kristin.

The direction, by Lisa Berger and Carrie Klewin, is sometimes subtle — Julie, having a beer with Jean, demonstrates egalitarianism by drinking from the bottle — and sometimes vivid: the sex, usually offstage, is passionately depicted. And Jean’s symbolic beheading of Julie’s pet bird is so graphic it stirred audience gasps.

This new translation, by Anne-Charlotte Harvey, rings with verisimilitude, including suitable vulgarisms. It illustrates how language also separates classes, then breaks down when those distinctions do.

Because the North Coast Rep is also running Henrik Ibsen’s “Ghosts,” the kitchen setting for “Julie” is basically the parlor for “Ghosts,” disguised reasonably well with Virginia Provencher’s utilitarian props. Valerie Breyne’s lighting brightens and shades as needed while, in the background, going from night to sunrise. Sonia Elizabeth’s costumes clearly distinguish the characters’ status.

The juxtaposition of “Julie,” running on NCR’s usual dark nights, and “Ghosts” provides a rare opportunity to see, in proximity, two Scandinavian classics that ignited controversies and forever changed theater. Johannsen, in a program note, says this “Julie” is a work in progress. If so, it doesn’t have far to go.

Cast and credits