Rosmersholm ★★★★★
Is it possible for a play to be dated and at the same time be right up to the minute? You might not think so, but the revival of Henrik Ibsen’s Rosmersholm, written in 1886—because, as he said, it “absolutely demanded to be written”—strongly suggests the answer is yes.
So if, for instance, his Ghosts seems to be dated for its references to syphilis, the far less frequently revived Rosmersholm (the last Broadway showing was Eva Le Gallienne’s 1935 production) involves rich scion and former pastor John Rosmer (the excellent Tom Burke) losing his faith at the same time he turns his bowed, agitated back on the long line of Rosmers who’ve built and sustained their town. John is determined to campaign for universal equality.
To underline how current he is, let’s just say that were he operating today, he’d be warring against corporations in favor of the working-class. And he has an accomplice, if not a tutor, in his newly acquired democratic urges—to which more than once he attaches the word “nobility.”
The co-conspirator is Rebecca West (the equally excellent Hayley Atwell), who’s been introduced to the house by Andreas Kroll (Giles Terera, menacing as can be), a significant local figure and Rosmer’s best friend and brother-in-law. Rosmer’s wife Beth has, however, committed suicide, and Rebecca, brought to the home as a companion for Beth, has stayed on working her influence as a liberated woman. (So influentially liberated that the writer Rebecca West, born Cicily Isabel Fairfield, appropriated the name.)
What feels dated about Rosmersholm isn’t, then, the politics but the passions and how they’re expressed on such a grand scale. That’s as Rebecca and Kroll, prompted by his conservative beliefs to break with Rosmer, fight for Rosmer’s attention and conviction.
Not that the conflicting campaigns are off-putting in Duncan Macmillan’s new translation and as heatedly directed by Ian Rickson on Rae Smith’s imposing set where portraits of ancestors gaze down through the dusty light designer Neil Austin throws through the high windows. It all adds up to a stunning chance to catch old master Ibsen at the top of his late 19th-century form.
Small Island ★★★★
Some part of the way into Small Island, which the crafty Helen Edmundson has adapted from Andrea Levy’s multi-award-winning novel of the same title, several of the characters attend a World War II Gone With the Wind screening. Aside from being the occasion for an ugly contretemps between and among Jamaicans who have emigrated to England and the not necessarily accepting Brits and prejudiced Yankee soldiers, GWTW is a tip-off to the Levy-Edmundson intentions: They see Small Island as a contemporary British answer to Margaret Mitchell’s venerable classic.
Levy, born to Jamaican parents who sought a better life in England, has written a complex tale of what life was like for Hortense (Leah Harvey) from childhood until she grew up and eventually made a bargain with smooth-taking Gilbert (Gershwyn Eustache Jr.), a war veteran. She would marry and follow him across the seas for the great opportunities she imagines she’ll encounter pursuing her calling as a teacher. Perhaps needless to say, Hortense’s and Gilbert’s expectations are quickly shattered.
Interwoven with their exploits is the story of well-meaning Queenie (Aisling Loftus), who weds stiff-necked Bernard (Andrew Rothney). Because Bernard goes missing in India during the war—and she alone faces the death of his troubled uncle Arthur (David Fielder)—she turns to taking in lodgers, among them Hortense and Gilbert. She also has an affair with a black soldier that leads to heavy consequences that further entangle her fortunes with Queenie and Gilbert.
National Theatre director Rufus Norris, who seems to have theatricality coursing through his veins, takes charge of the piece, The cavernous Olivier stage is now filled with its latest pulsing world. Or worlds, since Jamaica and England both spill across the stage as they clash.
A little bit of everything goes on that only begins with the music and dance indigenous to Jamaica (Jazz Jamaica Allstars recorded the music, sometimes spelled by the London String Group.) By the way, this Small Island doesn’t boast a cast of thousands. It only looks that way as set and costume designer Katrina Lindsay, projection designer Jon Driscoll, lighting designer Paul Anderson, sound designer Ian Dickinson, among scads of others, go about their business with panache.
As much as anything, Small Island is about racism—and therefore globally germane. The title refers not only to the size of the islands Jamaica and Great Britain but the often smallness of minds that inhabit Jamaica and Great Britain and many other geographical spots, including the United States, which doesn’t come off well here, either.
The Twilight Zone ★★★
Probably because Anne Washburn used Mr. Burns, a character on The Simpsons, as a prompt for her much-loved (in some places) Mr. Burns: A Post-Electric Play, she was thought a good bet to bring The Twilight Zone, Rod Serling’s beloved series, to the stage.
Its initial run at the Almeida was considered so strong that it has transferred to the West End, and here it is in an extremely smart-looking presentation. Because director Richard Jones always flaunts his astute esthetic, he’s had set designer Paul Steinberg and costume designer Nicky Gillibrand replicate the black-and-white of the series. That’s what seen when up goes a show scrim depicting an old cathode-tube television screen boasting a CBS logo.
Subsequently unfolding are several episodes by Serling as well as Charles Beaumont and Richard Matheson that Washburn has picked out and, for the most part, intertwined. Fans old enough to remember the chilling, thrilling series will recognize longtime favorites, such as the one about the shocking definition of relative beauty. Spectators for whom Serling’s amusingly haywire sensibility are new ought to get their kicks, too, maybe even more so.
There is a problem, however, though not with the hard-working (doubling, tripling, quick-costume-changing) cast. It has to do with the splitting up of scenes within plots. Though some of the surprising pay-offs are clear, others don’t register so effectively. Threads are lost. Sound designer Christopher Shutt does have a running joke. He pipes in the standard “Darn That Dream,” if only to underline the prevailing dreamlike black-and-white atmosphere.
Rosmersholm opened April 24, 2019, at the Duke of York’s Theatre (London) and runs through July 20. Tickets and information: rosmersholmplay.com
