Covering her naked body with a loose dressing gown and letting her long, tight braid serpentine down her back, Mary-Louise Parker’s Hedda Gabler is at once a petulant child, a hedonistic bride, and a maleficent force. Calling to mind the villainess in Sleeping Beauty, Parker’s spot-on, sarcastic delivery breathes fire into an otherwise tepid Ibsen production.
The problem with Roundabout’s newest staging of the Norwegian classic about new bride mourning her former life isn’t necessarily the fault of Christopher Shinn’s adaptation, nor is Ian Rickson’s direction entirely to blame. Rather, the discrepancy exists when looking at Hedda as a sum of its parts.
Despite her period clothes, Parker’s Hedda might very well be friends with the merry wives of Agrestic (the suburban California town from her hit Showtime series, Weeds). But Jørgen Tessman (Michael Cerveris) and company date back to a time well before the inauguration of a black man into office. Hildegard Bechtler’s grandiose sets are in keeping with circa 1890s décor, but instead of using traditional black-outs, P.J. Harvey marks time as we watch Cerveris move furniture during a scene change. This jumble in the space-time continuum results in a drawn-out production that isn’t able to find its voice.
Indeed, things do begin to warm up after intermission, but Hedda’s pulse once again slows well before the final gunshot is fired. Perhaps to be expected, the most interesting scenes exist between Hedda and Ejlert Løvborg (Paul Sparks). From Parker melting like a ragdoll during their second act embrace, to her later pressing a pistol against Sparks’ temple—it’s a pleasure to watch these two physically engage in their mind games.
Unfortunately, Cerveris tries too hard to appear naïve in his loveless marriage, but then miraculously grows a backbone during the final scene. Ana Reeder’s portrayal of Mrs. Thea Elvsted is dry, and yet at times unbelievably maudlin.
Assuming her signature pose, Parker clasps her hands behind her back as if she’s always got her fingers crossed, not wanting anyone to know when they’ve been deceived (or perhaps manipulated is the better word). Hedda looks upon love as something of a “sticky” platelet-activating wound, and she is so attuned to her id that tea time with Freud may have proved more boring than enlightening. Emitting a hiss of rage after her plans for destruction have been foiled by Mrs. Elvsted, Parker’s Hedda is fully realized and most delicious.
But the fact that the audience laughed so often at Parker’s delivery is proof that the production lacked direction. Praised by critics for his work with The Seagull, Rickson aims for a naturalistic Hedda but is at odds with choosing between a classic or contemporary approach. The result is that Hedda fails to commit to either camp, although she leans heavily towards the former.
Perhaps Rickson sought to accentuate Hedda’s neuroses with the divide in execution, but its implementation is off-putting. Parker plays peculiar, while everyone else plays it safe.
Hedda Gabler plays in a limited engagement through March 29 at Roundabout’s American Airlines Theater. The American Airlines Theater is located on 227 W. 42nd St. (btwn. Broadway and 8th Ave).
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