August Strindberg
Il Sogno

If there is to be a revolution, every head must be severed.

And the avant-garde will never be praised enough, the troops that will first throw themselves at the enemies on the front!

And the cries of jubilation that will tear the skies at the sight of the first scalps hoisted on poles as insignias of victory will never be raised high enough!

And if we talk about revolution and pioneers, if the battlefield is theatrical, then it is fitting to say a few words about August Strindberg.

A tormented man, a voracious scholar, and an indefatigable artist, Strindberg's star shone from the outset in the Naturalist firmament that, towards the end of the 19th century, guided the consciences of the European public and was dominated, in the mainstream, by Zola in the novel and by Ibsen in dramaturgy.

If Zola specialized in detailed (and, at times, unbearable) environmental descriptions through which he aimed to delve into the range of human characters, if Ibsen's bourgeois dramas were characterized by the labyrinthine arrangement of interiors seen as a metaphor for the impenetrability of social relations, the distinctive trait in Strindberg's works was the autobiographical component that hovered everywhere and branded his pages with the fire of a fierce misogyny.

He married three times and endured as many martyrdoms (for him and for his women): in the masterpieces of his early period, "The Father" and "Miss Julie", he would often unleash violent anti-feminist diatribes expressed within the confines of the man-woman relationship, in the recesses of appearances. Furious attacks that made no prisoners and found no comparison, in terms of language and content, with the authors of the era.

Strindberg was an overflowing soul: for no wife could he ever suppress the vehemence of his passions, for no Naturalist Moloch could he sacrifice his multifaceted genius.

And then, in 1902, he wrote the drama "A Dream Play". Simply the cornerstone of modern theater.

That this text was configured as a revolutionary work (even if the first substantial break with the conventions of the time had occurred a few years earlier with Jarry’s "Ubu Roi"), a Copernican revolution in the stagnant theatrical universe of that era, Strindberg was perfectly aware.

He writes in the preface presenting the work: "Everything can happen, everything is possible and probable. Time and space do not exist; on a minimal base of reality, the imagination traces new patterns: a blend of memories, experiences, inventions, absurdities and improvisations."

A true declaration of war against the Naturalist orthodoxy that, more than a dream, foresaw the nightmare of its end.

In the drama, many characters appear and disappear, forget having interacted shortly before, reappear suddenly with completely different moods and intentions, fade on stage or fill it, love each other or hate each other, are and are not. All this with bold logical leaps, unforeseen solutions, and sudden scene changes.

The protagonist is the daughter of Indra (an obscure Hindu god of thunder, rains, and magic); delicate like Ophelia and generous like Miranda, it is she who, in the prologue, decides to venture onto Earth to know human life, of which the dream is a metaphor. Midway between Jesus Christ (clear is her salvific intent and abundant are the Biblical references) and Dante (with the gradual awareness of the miseries of earthly damned), no apostle follows her and no Virgil truly guides her on her journey, everything is temporary and in fading.

Very important in the drama are the meticulous stage directions Strindberg inserted for the scenography (constantly reshaped and overturned), for the lighting (with a continuous play and succession between full lights, half-lights, and darkness), and for the music (which amplifies the intimate effect of the more rarefied scenes): far from being mere didactic trappings, these three elements constitute real disembodied characters.

Moreover, when considering the play of references and variations in the actions and words of the characters, the leitmotivs that grow, chase, and resurface continuously, the obsessive alternation between rhythmic dilations and concentrations, one can notice how the very structure of "A Dream Play" has the development and unfolding of a symphony that closes in a loop where all motives converge and then fade into final ascension.

"Welcome to the future!" Strindberg seemed to want to say to his contemporaries. And he was right.

Because not only the quiet despair to which all the small routines of existence lead, so much discussed in Beckett, is both anticipated and dissected here by Strindberg, but even the vain waiting for Godot finds a significant precedent in the waiting of the officer character for his girlfriend who never arrives.

Because the estranging language that permeates the entire pièce will be revisited decades later by Brecht (albeit in a didactic sense).

Because the conception of the absurdity of existence that will be the backbone of Ionesco's work finds a gigantic source of inspiration in Strindberg's drama.

In short, with "A Dream Play" the die was cast, the revolution started, the first heads severed.