Review: ‘Venus in Fur’ At Flying Anvil Theatre

 

Venus in Fur, playwright David Ives’ twist on Leopold Sacher-Masoch’s 1870 erotic novella, opened off-Broadway in 2010 to such success that it moved to Broadway the next year. By 2013, the play had inspired a Roman Polanski film adaptation and had become enormously popular in the regional theatre world where plays with just two characters and a one-room set are highly attractive for both artistic and economic reasons. 

One of those regional theatres producing Venus in Fur in 2013 was Knoxville’s Flying Anvil Theatre, some four years before finding their permanent—and current—space in Rocky Hill. Now, as live theatre and music performances are returning to venues after pandemic precautions are eased, FAT has brought Venus in Fur, in a beautifully electrifying production directed by Jayne Morgan, to its stage for a three-week run thru August 1.

To be sure, though, a lot has happened in every facet of civilization since the play saw its first audiences a decade ago. Most relevant here is the Me Too movement and how the “casting couch”—symbolically and realistically—has found itself in a very bright and ugly spotlight. It is in this altered environment that audiences must now view and judge Venus in Fur—and perhaps find some of their generalizations challenged. However, as the saying applies here: “no pain, no gain.”

Lightning flashes ominously as director/playwright Thomas Novachek (Michael Marks) is talking to his fiancée on a cell phone after a day of auditions for his new adaptation of the Sacher-Masoch novella. His lament, though, has crossed the line into hateful frustration bordering on misogyny at finding no viable candidates from his choices so far. Bursting into the audition room, laden with shoulder bags, in a furious flurry, flinging f-words and apologies, and obviously late for an audition, is Vanda Jordan (Carolyn Corley), an out-of-work actress who seems to typify the crass, unaware, and insensitive actresses that Thomas has just described in hateful detail.

Somehow, Vanda manages to convince Thomas to let her read for the part. Rather mysteriously, she pulls a well-thumbed script from her bag which she claims she skimmed on the subway coming over. Also, mysteriously, she has brought a 19th Century dress which she dons after alluringly stripping down to black lingerie. 

As they begin to read—Vanda as Vanda Dunayev and Thomas as the nobleman Kushemski—we realize that Vanda is not what she appears to be. In place of Vanda’s acidy twang is the velvety voice of a 19th Century noblewoman—and she has somehow managed to completely memorize the part. The altering dynamics of  the director/actress relationship is suddenly exposed and Thomas finds himself torn between the traditional director-as-dominator and his not so traditional, but perhaps desired, role as the one being dominated. Ms. Corley’s transition from Vanda Jordan to Vanda Dunayev is so masterfully accomplished as to be spine-tingling, her physical command of the role(s) so complete and detailed as to be somewhat overwhelming for Mr. Marks. In the climax—no pun intended— one finally sees with pleasure the brilliant dramatic arc that Corley has constructed throughout for her character, powering over some of the play’s lapses of plot inertia.

The mystery of what level of desire is next revealed—the push and pull of the sexual dynamics of domination all the while watching the transformations of the two characters—is the fun of this production of Venus in Fur. While audiences will bring their own life experiences—and possible and unknowable kinks—everyone will walk away having had their views of human desire fully challenged. 

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