Almost every mention of Ibsen wild duck It starts with how infrequently it is performed. I can see why. The play is essentially a tragedy wrapped in comedy, involving questions of class, status, gender, and whether deception is necessary as social glue. It’s the Rubik’s Cube of theater, but director Simon Godwin makes it look easy. In his hands, this is a truly engrossing, intimate, tragicomedy home drama.
And kudos to Godwin (and adapter David Eldridge) for realizing how relevant it is. wild duck It’s for a 21st century audience. Even though Ibsen wrote as a contemporary, it remains true that today’s single mothers may push their daughters into financial security, that young men may make an ideological break with domineering fathers, and that destabilized families may forget to protect their newborn children.
And over the decades, even more painful sentiments have prevailed. The weak are still being exploited and pressured by amplified voices. Women and children still live in a world dominated primarily by men’s decisions.
Ibsen heightens the drama at a soiree hosted by the wealthy Werley family. There, two school friends are reunited: Gregers Werle, the heir of the family, and Hjalmar Ekdal, who comes from a poorer background. The scene quickly shifts to the next day at Ekdal’s house, when the Gregers unexpectedly arrive, offering to rent the room, despite Ekdal’s wife Gina’s misgivings.
Although at first it appears that Gregers is rejecting the wealthy lifestyle in favor of a less ostentatious way of life, it soon becomes clear that he has other ideas. Gregers has a philosophy and a strong determination and determination to see it through at all costs.
As a device for exploring Ibsen’s ideas, Werle is a fascinating subversive, but not an easy one to play. Play too loud and you can quickly become a poor man’s Méphistopheles, play too low and Verle loses his sense of purpose and well-deserved arrogance. Alexander Hart does a very good job of threading this needle by evoking a quietly searching conviction that gradually reveals how he thinks his ideals are far more important than the people who address them.
He may have rejected his cruel and powerful father, but in the end he’s just as bad. It’s a well-thought-out approach with broad resonance. How is Werle different from other influencers who set impossible goals that wreak havoc on their followers? Or will AI chatbots “befriend” vulnerable teens and offer dangerously agnostic advice?
As Ekdal, the unsuspecting target, Nick Westrate has two challenges. The first is systemic. There’s something strange about this character’s trajectory. In four-fifths of the play, he provides little or no humor. But just before the biggest consequences befall him, he suddenly and inexplicably becomes very funny. While it may make for an intriguing and suspenseful contrast to the tragedy we know is imminent, it doesn’t quite sit well with everything that’s happened before. It’s debatable whether the problem lies with Ibsen, Godwin, or Westlate (probably because it was much less interesting), but in the end it doesn’t matter. The result is off-kilter and unbalances the cathartic flow.
Another hurdle here is how to manage the evolution that comes with this guy’s unraveling. Ekdal goes from mild anxiety to general discomfort and then to full foul. Westrate does a good job of bringing necessary clarity to this evolution, even if his ability to reject his deepest ties is hard to believe. Can I make it a little more delicate? True, but Westrate’s empirical approach is certainly a safer bet and serves as a powerful driver. And to his credit, he allows us to not only pity but despise this Ekdal, which keeps this performance from becoming inorganic.
Aside from the two leads, the real standout here is Melanie Field as the patient Gina Ekdal. Although her character is portrayed with near-saintly generosity, Field does a great job of evoking the achingly rich inner life of this woman as she finds ways to manage her weak and incompetent husband. It’s a dimension that could easily be overdone, but Fields counters it by imbuing Gina with a deeply affecting earnestness that makes her performance truly memorable.
Serving as a charismatic counterpoint to Westreit’s Ekdal is tween daughter Hedwig, played with a kind of meta-innocence by Maaike Lahnstra-Kohn. There is clearly a reason why Ibsen created Hedwig, and there is no point in pretending otherwise, but Lanstra-Kohn is keen to see through this. What goes wrong is more with the play than with her. Hedvig must navigate a rollercoaster of emotions with little effort. Lanstra-Korn manages this by emphasizing Hedwig’s childishness. It covers some of the higher orders, but sometimes verges on caricature.
It’s a small but important role, and Matthew Saldivar gives the lodger Lelling so much weight and color that you wonder how he would have played Ekdal. Finally, scream out to the palpable atmosphere set by Andrew Boyce’s scenic design and Stacey Desrosiers’ subtle lighting, conveying a soothing La Bohème-style attic atmosphere.
Although rarely seen on stage, Godwin and this wonderful cast make this work duck Worth catching.
The Wild Duck (★★★★☆) runs through November 23 at Shakespeare Theater Company’s Herman Hall, 610 F St. NW. Tickets range from $35 to $135. Call 202-547-1122 or visit us. shakespearetheater.org.
Do you like DC Theater? Get metro weekly The best reviews and stage news — delivered free to your inbox.
Source: Metro Weekly – www.metroweekly.com
