A brilliant madness

**** (out of five)

Catherine Eaton is a marvel as Hedda Gabler.  Seldom do physical presence, acting ability and deep – not just superficial – characterization come together so completely.

Consider the hands.  Whether a lingering shake with fellos misplaced person Eilert Lovborg (Matthew Semler), near-erotically stroking the gleaming auburn hair of the author-emboldened Thea Elvsted (Kristen Tripp Kelley), rippling her feline nails over a highball glass to regain the attention of her oblivious-to-angst husband George Tesman (Christian Brandjes), pointedly disparaging her spouse’s beloved Aunt Juliana’s (Kathleen Betsko Yale) precious new hat, unconsciously caressing her “lovely and plump” womb while other hidden truths threaten to emerge – most of those drawn out by Judge Brack (Vincent O’Neill) as he morphs from contented “triangulator” to controlling master of the General’s daughter, Eaton belies the notion of “idle hands” as she subtly employs them to sculpt every line given, heard or overheard in a manner that compellingly fleshes out her performance without ever upstaging the supporting cast.  Playing the musical instrument and brandishing the deadly one with honesty and bravado respectively is the artistic glaze to this richly-crafted cake.

All of that is only narrowly eclipsed by a range of tone, timing and visage – from frenetic rage to a one-word (“darling”) triumph over Hedda’s shallow shell of a mate – which creates a dynamic spectrum too seldom experienced in theatre today (wild declamations are relatively easy; the courage to speak sotto voce is a risk few directors would allow).

Fortunately for all concerned, director Derek Campbell wisely gives his lead a largely free rein to plumb the psychological depths of this desperate housewife and let the devastation unfold as she will.  To a person, Eaton’s co-actors eagerly fall under the spell

of metaphorical infanticide and maniacal manipulation.  Tom Makar’s sound design – most especially the delectable solo violin – is at one with pain, passion and duplicity of the fabled heroine.

The weak link is Andrew Upton’s “adaptation” which is far more a substantial variation on Ibsen’s mush lengthier themes than a freshening for modern-age theatergoers.

Sadly, because of the slimming down, the original’s proportion is thrown out of whack (er, off kilter in earlier times …) and the mystery surrounding many of the unanswered questions (most notably Hedda’s pregnancy) leaves too little doubt.  An extra measure of bawdiness (“step down, stretch your legs”) cheapened rather than reinforced the sexual tension.

Nonetheless, through this portrayal, Eaton serves notice that she’s ready for any type of challenge a playwright can muster

- S. James Wegg   www.jamesweggreview.org

Hedda Gabler
by Anthony Chase, ARTVOICE, 03/12/09

There are few plays that I have seen so often or know so well as Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler. When I saw Catherine Eaton in the Irish Classical Theatre rendition of the play last weekend, it was my second Hedda this month, having just seen the Roundabout Theatre production on Broadway, starring Mary Louise Parker. Interestingly, as I only know the play as performed in translation from the original Norwegian, I have never seen the same script twice. As a consequence, while every moment of Hedda Gabler is vivid in my mind, the exact phrasings used in several different productions resound in my memory, word for word.

At the opening night of the Irish Classical Theatre Company production, it was the 1978 version, adapted by Stuart Vaughan, founding artistic director of the New York Shakespeare Festival, that ran through my head. Vaughan’s New Globe Theatre production was swift-paced, used a comfortably elegant American vernacular, and featured Sharon Laughlin, an actress of uncommon dignity and diction in the title role.

Since then, I have seen many Hedda Gablers, from Glenda Jackson (on film) to Kate Burton (on Broadway). Still, I find that Laughlin’s expressions of Ibsen’s immortal thoughts, brilliantly rephrased by Stuart Vaughan, are indelibly emblazoned in my memory, even 30 years later. I did not see divine Claire Bloom’s Hedda, but I have often wondered if Vaughan had her in mind when he cast Miss Laughlin, whose speech was sensuous and whose tragedy was palpable, aided by Vaughan’s superior adaptation.

In the play, Hedda and her husband, George Tesman, have just returned from their wedding trip. During their absence of nearly a year, the furnishings for their lavish new home have been arranged by Judge Brack according to Hedda’s extravagant desires. The couple is precariously in debt and their future prosperity is dependent upon a university appointment that bookish Tesman has yet to acquire. Hedda has chosen Tesman from a large roster of suitors precisely because of his social prospects, but when Eilert Lovborg, her husband’s intellectual rival and her former lover, unexpectedly returns to town, she realizes that she has made an error. Everyone had assumed that Lovborg’s moral failings would limit his social prospects and his career, but during the past year, Lovborg has become sober and moderate. Indeed, he has finished two brilliant manuscripts. Hedda is further dismayed to learn that the inspiration for Lovborg’s reformation is another woman, Thea Elvsted, a nonentity from her days at school.

For the Irish Classical Theatre production, director Derek Campbell has used Australian playwright and director Andrew Upton’s version of the script. Upton is, with his wife, actress Cate Blanchett, the co-artistic director of the Sydney Theatre Company and has made adaptations of modern classics a central element of his career. His Hedda Gabler takes a very fresh and contemporary look at the play, and locks onto the comedy implicit in the piece with a vengeance. At times this is wonderfully engaging, particularly in the wit with which he endows Hedda herself. At other times, however, it reduces the piece, hijacking the proceedings into a whole different genre. At several key moments, for example, most notably the play’s opening scene, Upton’s apparent affection for Tesman’s Aunt Juliana threatens to drag the play either to a halt or into the realm of domestic comedy. The old woman’s eagerness for her nephew to begin a family, originally rendered with a few deft lines, here becomes a nearly farcical obsession. There are times, as well, when Upton’s willfully unsubtle adaptation influences director Campbell to careen into irregularly modulated unlikelihood. Hedda is, for instance, so openly aggressive at times that it seems impossible that anyone would fail to see that she is recklessly dangerous. She all but slaps Mrs. Elvsted, who comes to the Tesman home urging the couple to offer support to their mutual friend, Eilert Lovborg, in a manner that would logically send the woman screaming from the house. It is a testament to the unaffected naturalism of actress Kristen Tripp Kelley that her character does not come across as a total simpleton.

And then, of course, Ibsen himself comes to the rescue.

I have never seen an actress fail to nail Hedda’s beautifully structured first entrance. Having just awakened from her first night in her marital home, Hedda irritably enters her drawing room and is immediately confronted by the husband to whom she already has an aversion, and his beloved aunt with whom she has no patience. Ibsen derives cynical comedy from Hedda’s transparently restrained disgust, which will soon be undercut by the tragedy that is to follow.

Catherine Eaton seizes the moment and begins to build a performance that will, despite some erratically calibrated sequences in the production, arise memorably as a most affecting Hedda. While I did compare and contrast this performance to those I have seen before, I quickly knew that I was seeing something original, insightful, and satisfying.

Eaton’s Hedda is energetic, even muscular. She is driven by an unconventional impulse while, at the same time, she is petrified by the opinion of strangers. She is the daughter of a warrior, trapped in the life of a wife. As played by Eaton, Hedda’s obvious and irrepressible will to live is, ironically, what ultimately motivates her to die.

Tesman is, in most productions, the most thankless role in Hedda Gabler. Even Berte the maid is handed more clearly defined complexity. Christian Brandjes, ordinarily a most charismatic actor, falls into the Tesman trap, rendering a total milksop of a husband for Hedda. He does manage to imbue his character with distain for his own ineffectuality, balancing the hollow puffing up of his meager accomplishments with the enormous darkness of his jealousies. It’s not always enough.

Kristen Tripp Kelley is a marvelous actress and her performance as Mrs. Elvsted is a deftly constructed character. She avoids making the woman insipid, despite a production that stacks the deck unfairly against her. One worries that Miss Kelley seems to play one repressed supporting character after another—for her next acting assignment, she should insist upon playing a leading lady, preferably a strumpet on a bender, a Sally Bowles or Sadie Thompson kind of gal.

Ever-reliable Kathleen Betsko Yale is endearing as overwritten Aunt Juliana, and it is difficult to identify the source of Matthew Semler’s awkward failings in his melodramatic rendering of Eilert Lovborg. Beth Donohue is a fretful but steady presence as Berte, the loyal family maid.

In a critically important role, Vincent O’Neill is splendid as Judge Brack, the character who unwittingly pushes Hedda over the edge by overestimating her capacity to sacrifice self-determination for the sake of appearances. He matches Hedda for wit and cunning, oiling his way stealthily into the Tesman home. His final undoing by Hedda’s surprising final shot is undercut by Upton’s adaptation, which tampers with the final line of the play (as does the current Broadway version adapted by Christopher Shinn), perhaps in an effort to attain freshness in the adaptation whatever the cost. The price exacted here is an out-and-out distortion, as Judge Brack is not even allowed to finish his thought.

Handsomely designed for the round by Ron Schwartz to mostly successful effect, with costumes by Kate E. Palamé that attractively evoke period and character, this Hedda Gabler still manages to be successful on many counts, and gains as it goes along. The risky decision to stage Hedda’s final moment in full view of the audience succeeds thanks to the sound design by Tom Makar.

(On a final side note, the most laughable Hedda Gabler I ever saw was a Buffalo production of several years ago, starring an actress who shall remain nameless, who assayed the role like a tormented Olive Oyl, and whose pistol failed to fire at the critical climactic moment—an unforgettable night of theater for all the wrong reasons).