Life imitates art, art imitates audience in CC alum’s ‘Dorian Gray’ adaptation

Watching the adaptation of “The Picture of Dorian Gray” penned by Daniel Mitura, CC ’09, is like staring into a hall of mirrors—the effect is illuminating, but only sometimes exhilarating.

“Dorian Gray,” the only novel by Victorian playwright Oscar Wilde, centers on art. It juxtaposes the stalwart, Jiminy Cricket-like morals of artist Basil Hallward (Leif Huckman) with the witty New Hedonistic epithets of Henry Wotton (Vayu O’Donnell). Mitura’s production in the intimate 99-seat black box Kirk Theatre highlights this aspect, while a no-nonsense set and small ensemble minimize other themes.

In “Dorian Gray,” Hallward paints a portrait of Dorian (Wil Petre), a young man lauded for his beauty. After making a fateful wish, Dorian’s face holds its youth while the painting’s visage ages along with his sordid soul.

Mitura’s most significant decision has the audience standing in for the portrait—Basil faces outward while dragging a paintbrush through thin air. The three actors gawk at the audience, admiring the masterpiece. Later, Dorian stares in disgust as he realizes the portrait is aging. In addition to forcing a more intimate connection between Dorian and his audience, this reminds the spectators that they only age while observing art, as Dorian gets to experience a hedonistic life.

While not in scenes, the six actors linger around benches toward the rear, statuesque in a bluish glow. They remain behind a rope that evokes a museum exhibition, forming yet another layer of art observers. Between the rope and the audience lies a platform, another element common in showcases.

The play, produced by Adam Blanshay and Columbia theater group NOMADS, is strongest in this emphasis on metatheater. Artistic self-consciousness creates palpable tension.

Basil, Henry, and Dorian gaze at the audience while allegedly watching a performance of “Romeo and Juliet.” The actual audience laughed most audibly when the spurned lover Sybil Vane, portrayed by the vocally rich Christina Broccolini, enacted Juliet’s suicide unconvincingly. The adaptation’s—and Wilde’s—ability to turn tragedy into comedy is something to behold, and plumbs artistic questions. Mitura pokes fun at his own art form.

Mitura’s intrepid “Dorian” proceeds with a tall IQ, highlighting the complex questions that have perplexed English majors and philosophers since Plato.

But to those unfamiliar with Dorian, the EQ may not soar as high. O’Donnell’s Henry is smooth, but rarely exciting. He recites monotone truisms—one refrain calls the death of the past its beauty. This lack of dynamism perhaps intentionally demeans Henry’s character, but fails to engage novices. The minimalist setting exhibits the story’s timelessness, but forgets its popular Victorian roots.

Petre’s portrayal of Dorian is versatile. One can easily trace his flipping between the influences of Basil and Henry by his changing tone of voice and posture.

Huckman’s Basil is heart-wrenching. His earnestness in advocating for Dorian’s goodness is more universally true than factually believable.

The staging of director Henning Hegland, SoA ’10, is brilliant, and his positioning of the characters highlights their ever-changing hierarchies and attractions.

The trick with all adaptations is preserving the original author’s voice and plot while staging a performance that has more voice than a mere copy. Mitura’s play toes the line quite nicely until, in a new vignette, it overtakes the original text toward the end. Still, Mitura’s dialogue weaves in and out of Wilde’s original lines seamlessly. The play is clearly his own—and is intellectually stimulating enough to make any Columbian proud.

APPENDED: Due to an editing error, an earlier version of this article gave the wrong graduation years for Daniel Mitura and Henning Hegland. Spectator regrets the error.