"DollHouse": Grand Slam?

By Jack Craib, New Rep Reviewer

New Rep’s production of Theresa Rebeck’s “DollHouse”, described as a “drama based on Ibsen”, presents an audience with a couple of basic questions. At its final moment, will there be that iconic door slam heard round the world of theater? And since this is an adaptation rather than a translation, is it fair to compare it to the original? The answer to both these questions would be a resounding yes…and no.

Ibsen wrote his “A Doll House” in 1879, the sixth of what are generally accepted as his major plays. Many scholars consider it the birth of modern naturalistic drama. No less a pundit than George Bernard Shaw declared that “Nora’s revolt is the end of a chapter of human history”. It is generally considered a seminal feminist play, although it is much more than that. While Ibsen’s Nora gradually evolves from a self-described lark or squirrel to a more human being, it is at a price. Not only does she give up her home and family, but she dispenses with the parameters that society allowed. Yet she is by no means the only puppet manipulated by others’ expectations. Her husband (Torvald in the original, Evan here) is equally constrained by what he knows he must do and how he must comport himself. All of Ibsen’s characters are doll-like; they are human in form but far from free to express their human attributes.

Rebeck’s “DollHouse” takes place in a contemporary Connecticut suburb, just the first of many alterations to the Ibsen model. Her Nora has a passion for chocolates, not macaroons; her husband’s controlling ways prohibit this as well as smoking, one of her other secret habits. Her crime is more one of embezzlement than forgery, which resonates in these troubled financial times. Her home is a trophy house designed by her and Evan rather than an apartment as in the original. Her newly rediscovered friend Christine and her would-be blackmailer Fitzpatrick have no prior history together but begin an unexpected (and not wholly believable) relationship. There are numerous other changes, omissions and additions, but one gets the general idea that Rebeck has cleverly utilized the fundamental arc of Ibsen’s story while updating it to speak more to today’s audiences. Shortening the plot to two acts rather than three also makes some of the plot points a bit hurried (as when Christine suddenly, almost magically, manages to produce a flamenco recording for Nora to dance to). Finally, while it is interesting to compare this iteration to Ibsen’s original, it should and does stand on its own as a commentary on today’s societal prohibitions in America rather than on those of Norway in the late nineteenth century.

New Rep’s cast and crew have managed to pull this one off. The direction by Bridget Kathleen O’Leary and the acting of the entire cast are triumphantly successful in making this a work that can be judged on its own merits for its own times. Sarah Newhouse (Nora), Will Lyman (Evan) and Jennie Israel (Christine) are especially memorable. Gabriel Kuttner (Neil Fitzpatrick) and Diego Arciniegas (Damien) do their best with roles that are imperfectly written, the former with an unbelievable metamorphosis, the latter with desires more explicit than platonic and thus discomforting in a best friend of the family. Claudia Q. Nolan makes the most of her few scenes as nanny for the well-played children, Bob (Julian Schepis) and Julianna (Cheryl D. Singleton). In this version, though, Nora seems insufficiently detached from them, making her final leave-taking less credible. Given her more positive interaction with them earlier in the play, we might well expect this Nora to divorce Evan and take the children with her.

The costumes by Rafael Jaen, lighting by Chris Brusberg, and sound by Scott Nason (with music box interludes between scenes) are all equal to New Rep’s usual level of technical achievement, as is the scenic design by Kathryn Kawecki (if one overlooks a couple of posts that tend to obscure action at times, and the curious Norfolk pines growing outside in the snow).

And what of that other question, that unforgettable door slam at the final moment of Ibsen’s thunderous work? Both plays begin with Nora and end with her husband, each of them alone on stage. In Ibsen, it is profoundly effective, in that just before the sound of the door, Torvald has a moment of ephemeral hope that they might just patch things up with a fundamental change, a “miracle of miracles”. As he voices this hope, his back to the door, the sound of its slamming shut is one of theater’s great non-verbal moments. Rebeck’s version ends with less of a grand slam and more of a whimper, though the angst on Evan’s face is certainly a painful moment as created by Will Lyman. In the end, this is a satisfying and memorable deconstruction; it’s just not your grandmother’s dollhouse.