Corporate restructuring

Between installments of his fascinating USA: Land of Opportunities trilogy, Danish film director Lars von Trier put aside going for America's jugular for something more jocular. His comedy, The Boss of It All, does to office culture what his The Kingdom did for hospitals. Indeed, the film is like a Danish version of Britain's The Office, with its gormless staff, uncomfortably chummy boss and stifling atmosphere.

Though episodic in structure, the action of The Boss of It All is primarily confined to the office of a Danish IT firm. Because of that, the screenplay has been effortlessly translated into a play currently being staged at Švandovo divadlo.

The manager of Boss' office is one Ravn, a seemingly sympathetic and caring man who always takes the side of his staff whenever the "boss of it all," whom no one has ever met, doles out criticism and affects firings from abroad by e-mail. Ravn may have to do the boss' dirty work, but he's not happy about it. Or is he?

Ravn, actually, is craven. He is the boss; though, because he feels faint-hearted in having to be tough, he has created an alter ego, Sven, to be the hated owner of the firm. Unfortunately, Ravn wants to sell his company to a rapacious Icelander named Finnur, and must now produce the mysterious Sven to complete the deal.

Enter Kristoffer, a hack actor who fancies himself a misunderstood genius. Kristoffer is obsessed with an obscure playwright whose work has become his specialty - and what better way to mask one's own inadequacies than to take shelter behind the universally disdained and dismissed '60s playwright Antonio Stavro Gambini, author of such masterpieces as The Hanged Cat? Regardless, Ravn is desperate enough to cast Kristoffer as Sven, and the actor is desperate enough to take the gig.

Ravn quickly hauls Kristoffer out of the men's washroom (where the actor has been preparing) to confront the hostile Finnur, a man who hates Danes as much as he does wasting time - all of his complaints pouring out simultaneously from his interpreter. It is painfully clear that whatever Kristoffer's modest talents are as an actor, improvisation is not one of them. He stands before Finnur babbling different variations of the one line Ravn gave him.

If the actor thinks Finnur is a tough audience, he's in for a shock when he finally meets the office crew, one of the greatest collection of office oddities imaginable. There is Gorm, a Danish bumpkin who holds "Sven" in contempt for once having denounced the autumn in the Danish countryside in a past e-mail. Gorm cannot forgive the boss' reference to the "muggy" fall (Švandovo's English surtitles unfortunately translate the Danish version of "muggy" into "stinking," when, I think, they were aiming for "sticky").

Mette is a weeping depressive, a woman who seems fixated on the Xerox machine, which she dolefully decorates with flowers (we will soon learn that the printer was the site of a personal tragedy). Spencer is an American IT whiz kid who speaks only a mangled form of Danish. His lack of linguistic comprehension often leads him to laugh at inappropriate moments.

The other three IT experts consist of the childish Nalle, always seeking a hug from someone; Lise, the resident nymphomaniac; and Heidi A., a woman who could not be expected to survive in the outside world without her stuffed teddy bear. Comparatively, Kristoffer is the picture of sanity. Yet even this addled group gathered around him can't quite figure out why the dreaded "Sven" only talks in buzzwords and vague corporate maxims. And why the dramatic pauses?

It seems inevitable that Ravn's ridiculous scheme will eventually be discovered. But this secret boss of it all is a very determined man … behind the scenes, of course.

Švandovo's productions are often hit-or-miss. Most of the theater's attempts at drama are usually worth missing. But the company tends to get comedy right, and has a number of marvelous comedic actors in its troupe to do justice to lighter work. Although word has it that Švandovo's production of Machiavelli's ribald La Mandragora has gone some distance downhill since its robust opening (the primary curse of the repertory system), it started life as one of the best-produced farces in town.

That production's director, Daniel Hrbek, is also the boss of The Boss of It All, and has again invested great energy in staging this new piece. He takes full advantage of Švandovo's best resident actors, along with a few notable non-company members.

Michal Dlouhý's Kristoffer is a marvelously shambling egomaniac, forever seeking that one audience member who will appreciate his brilliant interpretation of Gambini's The Hanged Cat (he will find that person in a most unexpected spot). Dlouhý is particularly good at balancing Kristoffer between doing what is morally correct and what is more likely to win him applause (he is an actor playing an actor, after all).

Kamil Halbich's Ravn is equally assured, as are the performances from the hapless office crew: Robert Jašków, Klára Trojanová, Pavel Juřica, Luboš Veselý, Klára Cibulková and Eva Leimbergerová. But, as is so often the case at Švandovo, the production is stolen by Jaroslav Šmíd as the Icelandic interpreter. It's probably the smallest role in the play, and yet Šmíd very deftly commands attention, though never by upstaging anyone.

Now, if only someone would have the nerve to stage von Trier's bleak Our Town, Dogville.

Steffen Silvis can be reached at
ssilvis@praguepost.com