Hedda Gabler (NT, 30 January)

You heard it here first: we've hit peak Ivo von Hove.

So, like, look: most of this production of Hedda--one of literature's great lady-dickheads--was just fine. I didn't think anyone was particularly exceptional, save maybe Rafe Spall's psycho-loon Brack or Chukwudi Iwuji's wincing Lovborg. But like it was fine. More Margaret Howell window naturalism, but whatever: jeans and a blazer are our generation's Elizabethan tunic, that's fine. All academics I think curl up a little bit in horror at this tiny world of books and reputation, a hundred-odd years on; I too was terrified about what happens when a promotion doesn't work out. I assume Hedda's husband was given an American accent just for me--really, guys, thanks. The first act for the most part I think worked.

But then, ugh, the second act, and the bit with the tomato sauce. So, towards the end, where Brack tells Hedda how much in his power she is, Ivo and the boys have decided to have Brack sort of ejaculate tomato juice from his mouth all over Hedda. It really is that stupid. As near as I could tell, the point of this was to inform the audience that Hedda is utterly in his power; but of course that's almost literally what he's saying, too. It felt like a bit of off-the-shelf director's theatre, bought a while ago and sort of awkwardly brought into this production--like we bought this truffle oil, and now we're going to shoehorn it into this pizza we're making. Like, amazing that Ibsen was able to convey all of this without a stage direction indicating HE FIRES BRIGHT RED JIZZUM ALL OVER HEDDA'S BACK WHILE SHE LOOKS REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE.

Also, the music: was this just what was on Spotify while they were rehearsing? Some Joni Mitchell indicating anomie; the fucking Matthew Buckley version of "Hallelujah" because, I guess, sometimes people get the sads. (I assume they couldn't get the rights to "Everybody Hurts.") Except I'm not sure Hedda is sad--she's testy and on edge and, yeah, kind of a dickhead. No musical choice made in the production would have been incompatible with an episode of Dawson's Creek. 

So I dunno. Like every resident of London I currently hold tickets to seven other von Hove productions; I assume our many is very busy at the moment. And this felt like the result of that: like a production that had been conceived of and rehearsed while everyone involved was very busy: from the striking (but kind of pointless) set--Hedda plays with the blinds at one point, indicating something really obvious about light and windows and what-the-fuck-ever--to the STRIKING BUT REALLY STUPID BUSINESS WITH THE RED SOUP.