Hedda Gabler: an instinctive feral reaction to boredom and repression
13 May 2024 - Photos by Elana Emer

Courage. If only one had courage, they might be able to live a life

All of the characters in this production of Hedda Gabler not only find their lives lacking, but they lack the will, the courage, to do anything about it. Aunt Julia mourns the death of the sister she has nursed by crying, "I need something to live for." Jorgen Tesman, Hedda's new husband, is unable to start his new, his first, book, he is too mired in research and envy of the more successful Eilert Lovborg. Hedda herself, not only the titular character but also the most prevalent character, feels trapped in both her marriage and her options in life as a woman. Her non-solution is to rail against societal norms and to try to find some entertainment in manipulating others. She takes an almost sexual thrill in being a mean girl, and her regrets when others suffer are either fleeting or feigned. Diana Bentley (Yerma, Knives in Hens, Category E) is an intense Hedda who is contradictorily mercurial, shifting moods seemingly at random. Making her final choice, her desperate act of "beauty" feel as impulsive as it is shocking. But one feels the relief as Bentley collapses, Hedda has spent two hours either a reluctant chameleon adjusting to what others want her to be, or acting out in rage.

Bentley embodies Hedda's states physically. When no-one (except the audience) is watching, Hedda's movements disconnect into a disjointed rhythm, a stringless puppet learning to walk, searching for its purpose. When engaging with others, she pulls herself together to be regal or sensual, gliding or striding with grace. There is also a third state, one of choreographed flailing intended to express Hedda's inner turmoil. That state, along with the portentous overwhelming score by Emily Haines, is best left as an intrusive element in an otherwise glittering production. When we enter the theatrical space, Nancy Beatty as the maid Berta is dusting the furniture and a table with vases of cut flowers surrounding a cactus-like plant. It is a direct metaphor for Liisa Repo-Martell's adaption and the directorial vision of Moya O’Connell (The Sound Inside), dusting off Ibsen's original text and giving it an urgency with a polish of humour. Most importantly, the relationships and plot are surrounded with flourishes, treated as a Norwegian telenovela. Everyone has lust in their eyes, whether for Hedda, or for power, or for glory. Or simply for more vodka.

Bentley dives into the star turn, plays at the contradictions and makes this Hedda an impulsive creature whose reality is known only to herself. And to Bentley. She is great fun as she swans and schemes in her verging-on-Victoria's Secret ensemble. That flaunting yet coy sensuality plays perfectly into the ambiguity of her relationship with the men in the play, all of whom have power over her. Her only power, which she exercises with careless intent, is to inflame their desire and manipulate. Whether she actually puts out, even with her husband, is left possible but also deniable. Qasim Khan (The Inheritance, All's Well That Ends Well, Acha Bacha) is the husband, Jorgen Tesman, and he dithers hilariously, constantly toying with his spectacles but never really seeing Hedda or her despair. His passion is less for Hedda than it is for his work. And then he finds that organizing for the possibility of work is an even more passionate pursuit. Hedda is a trophy, perhaps acquired for the approval of his equally dithering Aunt Julia played by the delightful Fiona Reid (The Audience, London Road). They share a memory of Hedda, a vision in black, galloping on horseback. There is never any possibility that either of them will be able to stand up to the force of natures that is Bentley's Hedda. Khan's horror when Tesman realizes that the wild creature he coveted is untameable, is terrifying...

Shawn Doyle's scheming Judge Breck locks horns with Hedda but, despite Doyle's bravado, it is a draw. He may have manipulated the family finances, but he still longs for whatever it was that he and Hedda previously shared. Andrew Chown (Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo) gets to exercise intensity as the alcoholic but brilliant writer Eilert, who is in direct competition with Tesman both career-wise and for Hedda. Eilert has already used and discarded Leah Doz (A Streetcar Named Desire) who is about to suffer much worse courtesy of Hedda's whims and mild jealousy. Doz grows increasingly frantic and afraid, while Hedda, a cat toying with a yarn mouse, enjoys the unravelling. And grows agitated when Doz finds comfort as Tesman subsumes his ego to another. It is a swirling maelstrom of competing passions inflamed by Hedda's boredom at the prospect of a lifetime of being a wife and the expectation of producing children. A manuscript plays a crucial role in the plot and how characters react to it is telling. Tesman offers it to Hedda to read but she can't be bothered. She similarly ignores the notes that keep society on track and the papers that so fascinate Tesman. One questions whether she has been allowed to learn to read. 

The production opens with Bentley, in a backless dress, fragile but prominent spine exposed, hunched over the piano that lurks at the back of the stage. Her seemingly random notes, musically illiterate, are engulfed by a heartbeat and electronic strings. A less subtle metaphor than the dusting. When Hedda does make her first entrance, having been lionized and excoriated through the eyes of the other characters, it is awe-inspiring to see that spine ramrod straight. The appearance of being in control will not last, but the fascination of her struggle to regain control remains. And Bentley makes it riveting. The judge claims that Hedda's worst fear should be scandal: Hedda can't resist courting and creating it. She laments, perhaps deceptively, that everything she touches turns "ludicrous and base." But she can't resist touching. While this production is unable to explain Hedda, resolve the very human contradictions (I don't know if any production ever has), it delves deeply and fearlessly into her instinctive feral reaction to boredom and repression. She fights back futilely and viciously. Until preferring beautiful oblivion.