REVIEW: In Rosmersholm, ghosts abound
iPhoto caption: Photo by Dahlia Katz.
At its core, Rosmersholm is a play about ghosts.
It’s familiar fare from Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen, who throughout his oeuvre embraced phantoms both literal (Ghosts) and more metaphorical (A Doll’s House, Hedda Gabler). Canadian theatre’s had a thing for Ibsen lately — we’re approaching the end of The Summer of Hedda — and usually, the 19th-century playwright’s observations on the human condition span centuries without losing their step.
Adapted by English playwright Duncan Macmillan in 2019 and now kicking off Crow’s Theatre’s 41st season, Rosmersholm might seem like the perfect play for 2024’s North America, a class-conscious parable about politics and their capacity to maim.
But at times, the story embedded in Ibsen’s world of clashing egos and polar philosophies feels like a ghost itself — tough to pin down, and wispy at the edges.
Chris Abraham’s production is as stylish as we’ve come to expect from Crow’s, a clever echo of 2022’s Uncle Vanya (complete with faux-natural lighting by Kimberly Purtell and lovely design work by Ming Wong, Joshua Quinlan, and Thomas Ryder Payne). When we meet the inhabitants of Rosmersholm, a cavernous estate on the edge of an unnamed small town, they’re surrounded by specters: White drop cloths languish over antique furniture, and a thin haze of dust floats on the mansion’s stale air. Even Rebecca West — on first glance, the lady of the house, played by Virgilia Griffith — is draped in doily-ish, off-white lace.
Soon enough, we see the nameless, voiceless employees of Rosmersholm, a corps of servants who glide through the estate’s hallways like minnows, ever-silent on their journeys from task to task. Ibsen plants the seeds of class warfare in Rosmersholm’s first act, and Abraham tends to them with subtlety and grace — indeed, when the more on-the-nose class commentary comes in the play’s second act, it’s hard not to yearn for the nuance of the play’s opening scenes.
When Rebecca greets John Rosmer (Jonathon Young), a former pastor and hologram of his past self, it’s immediately clear their relationship is complicated. We soon learn that Rosmer is in a permanent state of grief — for his late wife, for the innocence of his upbringing, and for his faith — and his inability to feel joy has infected the very walls of his home. When his bombastic brother-in-law Andreas (Ben Carlson) comes to visit, soaked in privilege and alive with scorn for the working class, John faces a difficult choice: Should he stand with the so-called “radicals” on ideas of equality and equity, or should he maintain his family’s status quo?
Indeed, it’s surprising that Rosmersholm doesn’t feel like more of a slam-dunk, given the characters’ questions on politics so closely mirror our own. Carlson’s Andreas is positively Trumpian — lines likely not meant to be funny are hilarious in the afterglow of September’s presidential debate, nearly identical in syntax and vocabulary to Trump’s own recent lexicon. As washed-up tutor Ulrik, Diego Matamoros is a scene-stealer, and it’s easy to spot resonances between Ibsen’s synecdoche for the radical left and, say, Bernie Sanders.
But what’s too often missing from the topical mist of Rosmersholm is an engaging story. Much of Act Two focuses on Rebecca’s past, and while Griffith frequently sparkles in the role, there’s not a lot to keep us rooting for the woman pulling Rosmer’s puppet strings. Is she a con artist? A peasant? A political vigilante? Her arc is so frequently translucent that at times, I found it hard to care. Both Griffith and Abraham navigate Ibsen’s ambiguity with generosity and intrigue, but more than once I found myself wondering if Macmillan’s adaptation might, itself, need further adapting in the case of Rebecca.
Thankfully, Abraham’s knockout team of actors and designers sticks the landing — a nifty practical effect follows through on multiple references to a nearby water mill, and strong supporting performances from Beau Dixon and Kate Hennig round out Rosmersholm’s robust main cast.
It’s easy to see why Rosmersholm’s one of the lesser-performed plays of Ibsen’s canon. While its ideas sizzle and pop with contemporary verve, the story’s an occasionally frustrating vessel for those captivating sentiments on politics and identity. There are high points: One declaration, the spiky “I will not be lectured by a damned man,” is a compelling logline for a play that nearly loses its breath by the final beat, and the production’s in-the-round configuration renders its audience an extension of the set, dark eyes peering from a wall of portraits painted in luxurious oils.
And of course, it’s Crow’s — every production choice has been thought through with attention to detail. Is this latest season opener as strong as Uncle Vanya or 2023’s The Master Plan? Perhaps not. But if you need further proof that the debates we’re having about politics are the same as those we’ve been having for centuries, look no further than Rosmersholm.
Rosmersholm runs at Crow’s Theatre until October 6. Tickets are available here.
Intermission reviews are independent and unrelated to Intermission’s partnered content. Learn more about Intermission’s partnership model here.
Aisling Murphy
Aisling is Intermission's senior editor and an award-winning arts journalist with bylines including the Toronto Star, Globe & Mail, CBC Arts, CTV News Toronto, and Maclean's. She likes British playwright Sarah Kane, most songs by Taylor Swift, and her cats, Fig and June. She was a 2024 fellow at the National Critics Institute in Waterford, CT.
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