Written by Henrik Ibsen, In a New Version by Kathy McKean
Directed by Gordon Barr
The female Hamlet (only better).
That’s how some describe Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, the notoriously complicated woman of wit and word, always yearning, confined more so than they are free. The Norwegian tragedy, of a general’s daughter, confined to a life she did not choose, is often regarded as one of the finest roles to relish.
Under the enormity of the Kibble Palace’s bespoke metal framing, semi-transparent windows and limited (though appropriate) furnishings, with the mewling birds outside in the gardens, it’s near-impossible to escape the feeling that we’re enclosed within a bird-cage. Fitting, as the impulsive home purchased by George Tesman, a rising man of academia, and the new husband to his restless wife – Hedda Gabler – is far more a place of containment, than love.
No heroine, but far from damsel, for Ibsen’s Hedda, singular love isn’t a concept they ascribe to. The desire for control – The sublime beauty they feel from finally exhibiting control over another, to the crushing realisation of the pain and chaos is manifested. Control, not just over others but herself. Control of all of those in Hedda’s life, ranging from the flirtatious, bourgeois-stripping niceties with James Boal’s Judge Brack, to George’s Aunt Julia’s tentative footsteps around Hedda’s hardly concealed contempt, and Hedda’s venomous marionetting of her husband George, or Graham Mackay-Brice’s Eilert Loveborg.
Everything you could say about Nicole Cooper’s Hedda is neither true nor false. They are bombastic, they are subtle; they are petulant; they are the original mean girl, they are stuck in the past; they are broken and they are weary. The only thing which can be agreed upon is the calibre of the performance: exceptional. At any point, Cooper may have a crowbar beneath Barr’s costuming: she’s unpredictable, performing as much through the aura they exude as any facial or vocal expression. One of the most beautiful things about the character is that by the time you’ve finished reading this, you’ll likely have an entirely different opinion of Hedda than you began. And so, will I.
In a production with more head-turns than a Wimbledon final, some of the finest nuances are within the looks you aren’t meant to see: the faces when someone’s back turned, the ‘truth’ behind an initial smile, or the mask slips of exhaustion. You can see it in the grave acceptances of Sam Stopford’s George or Judge Brack’s calculations, Boal’s ensuring they are within the space, studying, measuring, even with stretches without significant movements or lines. They’re always there, just in the peripheral. Stopford’s slow-burning realisation is a masterstroke to watch, as he slowly comes to realise the ‘prize’ woman he has nabbed is utterly miserable in his company.
Impressively on double-role duty, Isabelle Joss is a well-meaning Aunt Julia, giving life to an often more one-dimensional role and just enough of a bite to make Hedda’s bile all the more bitterly aimed. Their performance as Thea Elvstead, Hedda’s physically and mentally bullied schoolmate is the first tangible instant where the audiences can release their pent-up sympathies. A fittingly melancholic performance, Mackay-Bruce’s late arrival of Lovborg makes a firm impact under Barr’s direction, subdued enough in their envy and mournfulness, caught up in Hedda’s spun lair.
A noted period piece rife with shades of the contemporary, the realism of Ibsen is captured in Kathy McKean’s new version of the tale, one which captures the tragedy and self-harm of the actions (physical or emotional), but could benefit from pushing itself a little outside of the cage of the familiar. From Lady Macbeth to the Fool, Nicole Cooper’s continuous role as a leader in the Scottish theatre landscape finds as fitting a home as expected with Hedda Gabler. But more than this, the entire cast, direction, and flourishes of revised elements mean that a story once famed for its realism in 1891 still finds itself painfully appropriate to the now.
Exceptional
Hedda Gabler runs at The Kibble Palace, Glasgow until July 6th
Running time – One hour and Forty-five minutes without interval
Photo credit – Tommy Ga-Ken Wen
Review by Dominic Corr – contact@corrblimey.uk
Editor for Corr Blimey, and a freelance critic for Scottish publications, Dominic has been writing freelance for several established and respected publications such as BBC Radio Scotland, The Skinny, Edinburgh Festival Magazine, The Reviews Hub, In Their Own League The Wee Review and Edinburgh Guide. As of 2023, he is a member of the Critic’s Award for Theatre Scotland (CATS) and a member of the UK Film Critics.
