The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts at the Lincoln Center Theater
By Ross
The third time’s a charm, I guess, as this condensed new adaptation by Mark O’Rowe (“Normal People“) attempts to get underway on the Mitzi E. Newhouse stage at Lincoln Center Theater. The cast wanders in from all directions, grabbing what looks like scripts as one character tapes a piece of wood to the bottom of his foot to help create the theatricality of an implied limp. It’s a compelling beginning that escalates the interest as two characters flatly read the first few exchanges, as if for the first time. Then they repeat the scene, elevating the emotionality and the movement as if we are catching them mid-way through the rehearsal process. Then, with a flickering of light, courtesy of some fine subtle work done by lighting designer Japhy Weideman (LCT’s The Hard Problem), sound designer Scott Lehrer (Broadway’s Pictures from Home) & sound designer/composer Mark Bennett (LCT’s JUNK), Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts finally unveils the finished product, and the actual playing of the play begins with the same scene, done right.
In that strange meta theatrical moment, stuck like bookends on to this streamlined Ibsen controversial classic, the flourish at first intrigues, making us lean into an enthralling idea that seems destined to take us somewhere new and engrossing inside an 1881 play. At the time of its first production, it was labeled as scandalous and too far ahead-of-its-time daring, mainly because of its contentious subject matter, which unpacks new and modern attitudes towards religion, sexually transmitted diseases, and finally, euthanasia; topics that still can cause a stir, more and more each day it seems. That’s a tall stack of ideas to present in any play, new or classic, much like the tall stack left on the table that sits in the middle of this impressive stage design by John Lee Beatty (2ST’s Cult of Love) during the final curtain call, but the enlightenment of those bookend flourishes never really materializes into anything succinct or clever. What director Jack O’Brien (Broadway’s The Roommate) was trying to say with that constructed reframing remains unclear, shrouded in the same fog we see through those floor-to-ceiling windows, and equally as mysterious.
But what actually does become acutely visible and emotionally clear within this intermissionless adaptation is the well-drawn-out construct regarding the pain that can delivered because of the enactment of societal and religious hypocrisies and also, the devastation that can arise from all those suppressed familial truths and the telling of so many false narratives, regardless of the reason why. Those sensational Ghosts, as orchestrated by Henrik Ibsen (A Doll’s House), are ever present in that tightened space, haunting those that circulate around that room, and inflicting that inherited trauma on each other in wild unconscious abandonment. The structural oppression of women by the church and the community is laid out in record time before us all, and with the impressive Lily Rabe (Public/SITP’s Cymbeline) as the plays central force, Helena Alving, the frustration and tragedy of that formulation is clear and present from the moment she utters her first line.
“You read these kinds of books?” the Pastor asks with judgment layered inside his own prejudice and hypocrisy. In this scathing commentary on 19th-century morality, Rabe, and that masterful voice of hers, draws us in and never lets up for the entirety of her stellar performance. The force that she radiates out from every small facial acknowledgment that exists inside her stillness is impressive and superlative. “You are offended by them?” she replies to the Pastor, knowing full well he has never read them himself and is strictly going by the self-righteous opinion of others and hearsay.
She has done her familial duty above and beyond what even Pastor Manders, played convincingly by Billy Crudup (LCT’s The Coast of Utopia; Vineyard’s Harry Clarke), understands and takes horrific pride in. With the death of her husband, she has inherited great wealth and a solid reputation, but it has come to her at great cost. A long time ago, she confided in Pastor Manders that her marriage was a nightmare, filled with infidelity and loveless pain. She wanted to escape, and she did, until the Pastor convinced her to return to her husband out of religious, blinding marital duty. She conceded and returned, hoping the depravity would lessen because of this break. And it did recede, for a time, until her son was born. Then the licentious activity returned, haunting the house, and in fear that her husband’s behavior would infect their son, Oswald, she decided to send him away to boarding school and he never returned, until now.
Now, on this rainy dark Norwegian day, Oswald, played by the engagingly handsome Levon Hawke (“Blink Twice“) and costumed in opposing light by designer Jess Goldstein (Public’s Plenty), the prodigal son has returned from France, and as he rests after his journey, she must deal with the Pastor. She has some business with him regarding the orphanage that she has used her inheritance to build. But she also has some truths to tell the Pastor, to the man she once loved and cherished beyond anything she had with her late husband, Captain Alving. And what transpires between the two as she pushes back against all that the Pastor stands for, his presumptions, and his rigid moral lecturing, is electrifying and powerfully delivered. All those Ghosts from the past and the sins of the father are woken up and reborn, becoming vibratingly visible, Her unburdening shakes the foundations of their union, burning it to the ground without any assurance or insurance for its rebuilding.
In those interwoven moments of conflict and the unveiling of all those secrets and lies, this production of Ghosts shows itself to be thrillingly captivating and engaging, especially when the character of Engstrand, played sneakily by the difficult-to-recognize Hamish Linklater (PH’s The Pain of My Belligerence), limps his way into the betrayal where his connection to the family trauma and the hypocrisy of the church is smartly uncovered. Moments of desperation surge forward, filling the interconnected space with proof of false piety and the destructive power of lies. And in regards to his ‘daughter’ Regina, portrayed shallowly by Ella Beatty (“Feud: Capote vs. the Swans“), who is also the housemaid to Rabe’s Helena, the Ghosts of the past never slip silently into the night, but tend to remain, just out of sight, hidden in the blood and in the fires that burn down our souls. I “brought it upon myself,” she states, as the bad blood waits for their moment to spark forward and tear it all down with a vengeance that no one saw coming. Or did we?
The condensing of Henrik Ibsen’s three-act Ghosts, now being presented at Lincoln Center Theater, has definitely lightened the piece, while also, surprisingly, making it more lyrically accessible to the modern ear. Themes fly forward, unpacked for easy understanding and digestion, which is both a solidly good thing and an equally disturbing idea. Is this lightness where we are heading with classics and the poetic language they have gifted us with? The young ones, daughters and sons of more well-known actors, falter a bit under the weight of delivering the denseness required in its condensed form. But the saving grace of this adaptation is in the performances of the more seasoned players, especially Rabe who continually elevates the arena with her forceful and dynamic delivery while deepening its pathos and pain at every turn. She unpacks the torturous infected trauma masterfully by sifting through the ashes of what’s left behind when the whole facade, based on lies and secrets, and supported by societal norms and hypocrisy, comes crashing down around them. Will she or won’t she do what is asked of her, is where we are left off. That is the parental conflict that hits home, remaining in the air like smoke, and not in the piling up of used scripts on a desk. That final act carries no meaningful weight and distracts from what just happened before. And for what reason? Who knows.
