BROADWAY SNAP-SHOT
by Russell Bouthiller

Dateline: October 10, 2001

HEDDA GABLER

Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen’s HEDDA GABLER is often regarded as a work that presaged the influence of feminism in the modern theatre. First presented in 1890, Ibsen’s sketch of a bored and petulant creature whose conniving leads to her own undoing has helped shape the legends of Eva Le Gallienne, Alla Nazimova and Mrs. Fiske . In this new adaptation by Jon Robin Baitz from a literal translation by Anne-Charlotte Hanes Harvey, Kate Burton, daughter of actor Richard Burton and Sybil Christopher, sets her scopes on one of the theatre’s most enigmatic women.

The play opens with Berta, a maid, and the aged Miss Julie Tesman priming us for the entrance of this new household’s exacting mistress. The formidable daughter of General Gabler, Hedda has recently returned from a whirlwind honeymoon tour with Aunt Julie’s nephew, George Tesman, an academic dullard whose expertise lies in the study of medieval handicrafts from the Dutch province of Brabant.

That Hedda, a ravishing beauty of aristocratic pedigree, should have chosen the insipid and ungainly Tesman serves as a harbinger of her ultimate misfortune. Undoubtedly, the coupling of these two inimical figures appears highly improbable. On the other hand, such a colossal miscalculation may serve as testament to Hedda’s boundless incompetence in the art of finesse.

Hedda Tesman is a woman who deems herself the social superior to those who make up her small, suffocating world. She is bored to destructive distraction, condemned to the humdrum of domesticity, “this penny-pinching world that I ended up in.” When the perceptive Judge Brack probes her on the subject of marital gratification, she replies, “The worst of it is… to be with the same person without a break.”

Baitz’s adaptation delivers Ibsen’s play in a contemporary and fluid language, purged of the Victorian stodginess of earlier translations. Gone are the passages that touch on the linguistic subtleties of the formal and informal usage of the pronoun “you,” a dramatic element of greater poignancy to Norwegians than to an English speaking audience. Baitz’s Hedda communicates in more grounded rhythms, the patina of decorous cadence polished away.

Under the direction of Nicholas Martin, Burton’s performance captures all of Hedda’s malignancies, replete with whiny shrillness. We repeatedly bear witness to her sting and venom. She insults Tesman’s Aunt Julie. She’s perfectly cruel to her friend, Mrs. Elvsted. She nearly shoots Judge Brack. She goads her former lover, Eilord, into ruin. And, worst of all, she is bitterly contemptuous of her husband, Tesman.

Outside of beauty, Burton offers us a woman virtually free of redeeming qualities. To this end, she delivers in spades. After all, Ibsen’s Hedda is not a very lovable creature. And, without any of those saving graces, that critical element of empathy goes unrealized. Consequently, her suicide registers with diminished emotion, rendered as an escape rather than an act of self-imposed justice. This Hedda is too baneful to grapple with mere moral issues.

As Judge Brack, veteran stage actor Harris Yulin provides little of the dash and vigor incumbent upon the role. Ibsen’s Brack is forty-five, while Yulin’s is much older. This effectively nullifies the sexual tension between Brack and Hedda, a woman who consumes the men in her life. Yulin cuts an authoritative figure without the visceral spark which would make Hedda’s loathing of him much more palpable. As the “cock of the walk,” his Judge Brack has too much gray in his plumage.

David Lansbury as Eilort Lovborg offers a textured take on Ibsen’s vulnerable young writer, and Jennifer Van Dyck shines as the compassionate and frustrated Thea Elvsted. Angela Thornton as Julie is ideally cast as the caring aunt and Maria Cellario as the maid, Berta, strikes just the right tone. Michael Emerson offers an insufferably unappealing portrait of George Tesman which makes it easy to understand Hedda’s contempt for him.

Scenic designs by Alexander Dodge are light and airy, but hardly the cluttered confines of a late nineteenth century bourgeois setting. Lighting designs by Kevin Adams are effective and concise, and costumes by Michael Krass capture the period, down to the sharp creases. HEDDA GABLER, a woman who succeeds at failing, now playing at the Ambassador Theatre.