• Rosmersholm, 6/6/19 (Thurs), West End

I hadn’t planned on seeing this piece, put off by the unwieldy title and not knowing much about it, but it was the least painful option on the half-price board. Described as minor Ibsen, it is rarely revived and is being produced commercially without the usual run at subsidized locations like the National Theatre to give it credence. Nevertheless, the reviews were encouraging, and I figured I could at least tick it off the box of shows you must see before you die.

It turned out to be a sharp and provocative drama dealing with political extremism and family intrigue, nothing minor about it. It is surprisingly modern in concept, as if written yesterday (though possibly spruced up in translation). It is the eve before a big election. Former preacher Rosmer has lost his faith after his wife’s suicidal plunge from a bridge, for which he guiltily blames his relationship, albeit platonic, with live-in friend Rebecca. She is a feminist who is pushing him toward radicalism, and he intends as a result to support the reformist party. He is in fact in love with her, but she has thus far resisted taking it further.

Meanwhile, he is being pulled in the other direction by his conservative brother-in-law (his late wife’s brother), who berates him for betraying his patrician family’s noble heritage. This leaves him torn and confused. The media attempt to use him to support the conservative side but, learning he is a lapsed Christian, quickly dispose of him as a liability.

When Rosmer presses Rebecca to marry him, she resists, revealing that she feels responsible for driving his wife to suicide because of her love for him. The consequences lead them ultimately to desperate measures.

The media manipulation and politicking in the story translate very well to current times. The characters can be overly talky, especially in the second half, and there’s some foolishness about visions of White Horses (apparently the play’s original title) that must be a would-be symbol of some kind. Still, the dialogue overall is of a very high order, and the story is compelling. The excellent set and costumes are thankfully in period. Tom Burke doesn’t put a foot wrong as the conflicted Rosmer, and Hayley Atwell is near perfect as the fiery Rebecca, heartbreaking as she is worn down by the shocking revelation of potential incest and her own love for Rosmer. She emerges as one of Ibsen’s most memorable heroines. Both actors were utterly believable in all the twists and turns of the plot. Peter Wight is memorable as Rosmer’s former tutor, whose ideals do not survive a brutal beating by a mob. Giles Terera, a black actor hailing from Hamilton, is excellent as the schoolmaster, if rather out of place in a Norwegian town. (Amusingly, the show’s PC credentials extend to the portraits on the wall of the family ancestors, one of which is portrayed as black. This is becoming a joke – even the portraits have to be racially balanced? So is the schoolmaster playing a white character or, impossibly for the setting, a black character? So tiresome.)

It’s a mystery why some plays get lost in the shuffle, and this show is a prime example. Ian Rickson has done fine work in keeping this in period and still making it feel contemporary, and Duncan Macmillan’s script is rendered in colloquial language that feels entirely organic. It would be interesting to see how faithfully he hewed to the original. Big thumbs up.

P.S.   I agree with one critic who panned the title, noting as an example that Ibsen’s Ivanov was once revived with the much more attractive name Wild Honey (a nice case of luring more bees with honey than vinegar. Or Ivinegar. Or something). The name Rosmersholm is incomprehensible, at least in English, and impossible to remember. It sounded drier than the exciting drama it proved to be. With suicide, incest, political extremism, media manipulation and more, they had plenty of themes to choose from. Maybe “Wild Horses” was the right choice after all.