Ibsen turned a traditional period villainess into something infinitely more subtle and the role has attracted the greatest actresses. Sheridan Smith, so good in the musical Legally Blonde and Terence Rattigan’s Flare Path, may not yet be in the same league as for instance Peggy Ashcroft, Joan Greenwood and Maggie Smith, and thought too lightweight and more suitable for French comedy, but she is still very good on a smaller scale: her Hedda is a sly puss, with a fixed smile, who mischief-makes to ease her sexual frustration and boredom.
Smith gets admirable support from a fine cast. Adrian Scarborough is Tesman, the husband, a simple, decent man, who loves his slippers and is mollycoddled by his aunt. Brian Friel’s translation gives him a comic routine when he learns with delight that he is to be a father and starts thinking of all the names he could possibly give the baby. The routine is undeniably funny but it feels out of place in Ibsen’s play.
Darrell D’Silva is excellent as the louche Judge Brack, very much the cock of the walk, the rooster in the backyard, who fancies Hedda, spars with her, and is not above blackmail to get what he wants. Fenella Woolgar is Thea, Hedda’s unexpected rival, far more intelligent, far braver in her fearlessness of scandal, and capable of inspiring not one but two men. Daniel Lapaine is Lovborg, Hedda’s former lover, the disreputable now reformed outcast and whom she is determined to destroy
Lez Brotherston has designed the most beautiful home, airy and light, and without the usual heavy 19th century clutter. Anna Mackmin’s production steers clear of melodrama until the final bloody moments when we seem to be in Grand Guignol.