Original Article: http://dartreview.com/archives/2006/04/07/welcome_to_the_dollhouse_ibsen_20.php
Friday, April 7, 2006
The advertisement for the Mabou Mines’ production of Henrik Ibsen’s DollHouse promised male dwarves, female giants, “adult content and nudity,” and of course, a “surprise puppet opera” coupled with “Nora’s unforgettable proclamation of liberation.” Envisioning a Victorian Avenue Q with prim and proper puppetry, I planted myself in the crowd at the Moore Theater and waited for Lee Breuer and Maude Mitchell’s adaptation of the classic to begin.
As the curtain went up, Nora (played by Maude Mitchell), burst across the stage with a Teletubby-like shriek, followed by her hugely pregnant maid Helene (Margaret Lancaster). Chirping and squealing like an infantile squirrel, she continued to roll about the room, setting up a life-sized ‘dollhouse’ for her children’s Christmas surprise. After a shot of something strong, she moans and groans as she sneaks a guilty macaroon. Sated, Nora declares herself to be “really tremendously happy.” Ibsen’s ‘innocent’ macaroon becomes positively sinister as Nora sneaks them from the rumps of rocking horses and the insides of pianos and trembles and quakes as if in the throes of passion as she gobbles them down.
Breuer and Mitchell’s “deconstructed classic” was evidently made with a different viewer in mind than myself; those who hardly bat an eye at trolls wearing horns at their crotches, dwarves stripping down to their skivvies or soft-core pornography in a stage setting, might have taken it all in stride. All the pelvic thrusts, heads buried in laps, booze thrown back by pregnant women, and the entire ending sequence seemed calculated to “shock and awe” (or at least entertain) the seasoned viewer of avant-garde theater.
According to the Mabou Mines’ themselves, “Breuer turns Ibsen’s mythic feminist anthem on its head by physicalizing the equation of Power and Scale.” This is ‘accomplished’ as Nora and the other females of the company are confined to the miniaturized furniture of the dollhouse, attempting to squeeze their six-foot tall frames into chairs intended for four-year-olds. The dwarves, who play the men of course, fit easily into the small beds (which they are eager to put to use) and settees.
Nils Krogstad (Kristopher Medina), the solicitor who holds Nora’s ‘secret’ loan, stands several inches taller than the other men, casting an ‘imposing’ shadow with his four-foot-tall frame outside the doors of the dollhouse as he comes to intimidate her. While his performance was not flawless, it certainly outstripped that of understudy Nic Novicki who filled in as principal Torvald Helmer. Novicki’s performance was notable only for its inconsistency. Mixing an overconfident aspect with a lack of true mastery, Novicki vacillated to and from every accent but Norwegian and was enthusiastic enough to seem well suited for a spot amid the cast of The Santa Claus III.
While the dialogue follows the 1911 translation of the work exactly, action and aesthetic are inverted to such a degree that one can easily imagine Ibsen rolling about in his grave every time the strobe lights flash and the hellish cast of trolls, miniature centaurs, and masked hobgoblins burst onto the stage in the ‘dream sequences.’ In one memorable scene, Helene appears with a third rubber breast just over her pregnant stomach and is pursued by Nils, who ‘impales’ her repeatedly on the mythic horn he has affixed to his ‘centaur’ crotch.
The children manage to provide some relief, none more so than little Ivar who is played by twenty-three pound primordial dwarf Hannah Kritzeck. Dr. Rank, played by Ricardo Gil, offers a wonderfully nuanced performance, calling forth all the best in his diminutive frame for a truly super-sized portrayal of the ailing family friend.
OBIE award-winning Maude Mitchell manages to make an impression in her role as Nora, but neither her crawling about stage and awful dances, nor her nonsensical giggles and chirps were intended to ‘pack a punch.’ No, it was the final grand opera house scene that contained the play’s core message. The set has been folded up and placed on the floor, Torvald lies alone in his stunted bed, having just wrapped up a good pillow hump, and most of the doll furniture has disappeared. A scalped porcelain doll lies on the floor, dressed in the same costume that Nora had been wearing throughout the production. And then, the elaborate red velvet curtains fold back in a grand melodramatic gesture to reveal Nora. She and Torvald no longer speak their lines—they lip sync them to an operatic soundtrack. Curtains fold away, revealing eighteen small theater boxes, each housing a marionette couple who mimic the actions of the Helmers. And then, to visually signify the end of her love for Torvald, Nora removes her dress, and her wig (and consequently her claim to sanity). Nude, bald, wearing only an opera glove, ‘empowered’ Nora mouths the words to the opera from her balcony perch, finally disappearing, as the puppets do.
Following the cyclical from children’s programming antics to that which might make Ron Jeremy squeamish, it’s just another night at the theater. And while one may easily appreciate the difficulties faced by the costume designers in finding ready-to-wear for such a cast as this, and admire the lushness of the final opera set, the only thing that seems to stand apart from a technical point were a series of screens that appeared toward the middle of the second act, announcing in a rather overt manner all of Nora’s suicidal wishes and intentions. But, if she were to escape to the streets in that state of undress, it might be a blessing if the banners are correct and “Then my tarantella will be over…Thirty-one hours to live.”