Carcer Voluntarius

March 2025

CREDITOR(S)

Our adaptation of Strindberg's text

Strindberg's play text

In 1888, Gustav Strindberg wrote a Swedish play for the intimate theater that he developed. The tragicomedy Fordringsägare is substantively based on his marriage and the artistic circles in which he and his wife were active. The hyperrealistic form of his play serves his personal ideas about the relationships between men and women, and the role that (naturalistic) art plays in that.

Strindberg presents Adolph as a frustrated, young artist. He is unsure how to act in relation to his successful, free-spirited wife, Tekla. At first glance, their confrontation seems to support the misogynistic spirit evident in Strindberg’s other works. However, all the characters—both the woman and the two men—are drawn in a nuanced and far from one-dimensional way.

And yet. The character of Tekla, for example, is given few words with which she can articulate her perspective on the events, with reasonable arguments. At the same time, she regularly throws personal opinions and emotions into the discussion, thereby undermining herself. Transparent, direct communication is framed as feminine and inefficient in her case, while the philosophical reasoning and psychological manipulation of the male characters seem targeted and, at least, effective.

Translation

In terms of content and structure, Strindberg's text remains largely intact in the adaptation by Carcer Voluntarius, although we have cut some outdated imagery.

The same words in a different body

We do, however, create a significant shift in the way the characters who speak the words are portrayed.

In contrast to Strindberg's play text, we reverse the biological genders of Tekla and Adolph. This forces the Strindbergian female voice into a male body, and vice versa. As a result, our version almost constantly undermines stereotypical ideas about gender.

Along with the gender reversal, we have also swapped the characters' names, so the audience doesn't think we are "playing in drag."

To summarize:

"Our” Tekla speaks with the words of "Strindberg’s” Adolph and is "simply” in a female body. "Our” Adolph speaks with the words of "Strindberg’s” Tekla and is "simply” in a male body.

In this way, Adolph and Tekla become hyper-specifically drawn characters, with traits that seem to be pulled from all corners of the gender spectrum.

Smartphone

The challenges of identity clichés are recognizable in our time. They fly at us in the public discourse, especially from our (social) media. These influence our own view of how we want to look, think, and act. The smartphone plays a prominent role in our version of Schuldeiser(s), and this is no coincidence. The characters are constantly aware of the gaze of "the socials,” even when they explicitly avoid it. They likely differ little from the audience observing them.

Punishment versus leniency

In Strindberg’s text, the "weak” characters are "punished” in the final scene for their actions, as is fitting for a classical tragedy. In our production, we are lenient with the characters at the end and suggest a path to recovery. As creators, we prefer not to pass judgment on guilt and innocence, and we celebrate hope. In 2025, this is much needed.

Queer themes in Creditor(s)

In 1902, Strindberg’s third marriage had failed, and he was at a psychological low point. At that time, he had already built his reputation as a woman-hater but now acknowledged his own role in the failure of his relationships. In the introduction to Ett drömspell ("The Dream Play”) from 1902, he describes life as an illusion, resembling a dream, and doubts the control that an author or character can have over what they create or experience.

"Anything can happen; everything is possible and probable. Time and space do not exist. Against a simple backdrop of reality, imagination sketches and weaves new patterns: a mix of memories, experiences, fantasies, absurdities, and improvisations. The characters split, double, multiply, disappear, solidify, fade, and become clear again.”

This is a quote from the introduction to The Dream Play. It now also applies to Schuldeiser(s) from 1888.

Fordringsägare means "creditor(s).” Like in Dutch, the Swedish word for "debt” has a dual meaning, making the title ambiguous. It can refer to both the request for acknowledgment of (personal) guilt and responsibility, as well as a literal demand for repayment of borrowed resources.

Each of the characters explicitly calls themselves a creditor to another at least once. Is it about revenge and retribution, or acknowledgment and restoration? That quickly becomes unclear. We’re looking at an interpretation of love as obsession, as an economic transaction, in conflict with a vision of love that offers space for growth and letting go. Whether the characters themselves come to a clear choice between these perspectives is unclear.

The character Gustav sets the mill of these tensions into motion. After all, the driving force of the plot is his vengefulness toward the female character, who left him for a younger man. Tekla seems to be based on at least two women from Strindberg's life.

Swedish Victoria Benedictsson, who published under the name Ernst Ahlgren, broke through with the novel Pengar ("Money”). Strindberg regarded her as one of the most important realistic authors. In her work, she explored themes such as the emancipation of women and marriage as a straitjacket. In 1888, she took her own life due to limited professional opportunities for women, financial problems, and romantic turmoil. On her gravestone, it reads: "The horrible thing is that you are not considered a human, but only a woman, woman, woman!" It is no coincidence that the character Tekla is an author who deals with her previous partner in her novel.

Strindberg's own marital struggles are well-documented, notably his turbulent relationship with his wife Siri von Essen. In 1888, the actress and Strindberg started a theater together, but it failed. One of the shadows over their marriage was the close relationship von Essen developed with writer Marie Caroline David. This hurt Strindberg so deeply that he publicly humiliated the couple. Von Essen played "herself” in their own theater, as she portrayed the first "Tekla” and the title role in Fröken Julie, which was also based on her.

The discussions in Fordringsägare echo Strindberg's own experiences. Although Adolph, the new partner of the "adulterous” Tekla, is biologically a man, he does not behave in a way Gustav, driven by vengefulness, would expect. It is generally assumed that Strindberg’s personal ideas are "spread” over the two male characters. The artistic limits that Adolph struggles with must have been familiar to the author, who was also a painter. While Adolph and Tekla struggle with the question of their debts ("revenge” or "restoration”?), the misogynistic answer from Gustav is often on the side of "revenge,” against an unreliable, promiscuous wife. Whether he sees "restoration” as a sensible goal is open to interpretation.

In the tense dynamic of the male characters' perspectives versus the "clear” Tekla, themes emerge that Strindberg himself struggled with. This impression arises since the author never draws clear conclusions but instead honestly, openly, and transparently shows us, as a realist writer should. To do justice to both his private perspective as an author and the fragmented perspectives of the three characters, we have translated Fordringsägare as "with parentheses”: Schuldeiser(s).

We get the impression that Strindberg continuously questions his personal perspective in his own play. He invites the audience to do the same. At a dizzying pace, the play throws fundamental relationship questions into the field, demanding quick black-and-white answers. These answers prove to be impossible every time. A few examples: Can you separate sex and a sustainable love relationship? Does monogamy necessarily exclude polyamory? Is transparent, spontaneous honesty the opposite of psychological manipulation? Does your outward appearance necessarily align with your inwardly felt identity? How do you stay yourself when you mirror your loved one? Do people take you seriously or ridicule you? Do we understand each other?

Precisely in the continuous challenges of Schuldeiser(s) to question one’s own perspective, lies what we might call a queer perspective in 2025. For Strindberg, the honest struggle with our own perspectives on ourselves and others' perspectives on us is existential. He shows us identity as an ever-shifting process within a network of paradoxical views and teaches us to embrace relativism. His play text crackles with contradictions and energy, showing us that life sizzles most when it is both tragic and comic. Beautiful and ugly. At the same time.