Dr. Freud meets
Dr. Phil

>> Made-for-TV Hedda Gabler is hugely
entertaining; Half Life explores love
in the age of Alzheimer’s

NOT DEAD YET: Seniors find love in Half Life

by AMY BARRATT

There is a school of thought that sees the later works of Henrik Ibsen as prefiguring Freud’s theoryof psychoanalysis. Judith Thompson’s adaptation of Hedda Gabler, as presented by MainLine Theatre, falls somewhere between Dr. Freud and Dr. Phil. In other words, it’s a hugely entertaining evening that thumbs its nose at the academics.

Is Hedda a tragic heroine or is she a villain? In the context of this production, those questions seem as stuffy as the old Archer translation. Director Jeremy Hechtman’s vision, set in a 1950s New England of modular furniture and off-white pile carpeting, is aimed squarely, and unapologetically, at a TV-bred audience. This Hedda seems only slightly more desperate than the average housewife, and though breathtakingly impolite, she’s got nothing on Sarah Silverman.

Most of the characters—from the pious Aunt Juliane (Jane Gilchrist) to the bovine Thea Elvsted (Catherine Bérubé) to Patrick Goddard’s Ned Flanders-inspired George Tesman—are presented in all their two-dimensional splendour. There isn’t much room to sympathize with anyone but Hedda in this production. Despite all the talk of Eilert Lovborg’s (Dan Jeannotte) genius, it’s clear Hedda (Patricia Summersett) is the brightest bulb in this chandelier.

Though Hechtman wants to make a link to Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, there is no George to Summersett’s Martha here, unless it’s Judge Brack. While there is menace in Neil Napier’s performance, he’s just too adorable for the slimy judge.

Even in a skimpy cocktail dress (where are her stockings?), Summersett pulls off the patrician demeanour befitting General Gabler’s daughter, a role that Thompson implies may not have been a picnic. There’s a very contemporary psychology of victimhood running through this adaptation. Don’t be surprised if your post-play discussions sound like a dissection of the latest reality TV trainwreck.

The old folks in Half Life, at the Centaur, would have been contemporaries of this 1950s Hedda. It’s interesting to think of them having survived the strict proprieties of that age only to confront a new prudishness in this one.

Clara (Carolyn Hetherington) is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s; Patrick (Eric Peterson) is in the late stages of curmudgeon. They meet in their senior’s residence and it’s love at first sight. Or did they, as Clara believes, know each other years before, during the war?

The two decide they want to marry but Clara’s son, Donald, has power of attorney and has to consent. Patrick’s own daughter Anna (Laura de Carteret) admits he’s almost a pathological liar, so we in the audience join Donald (Richard Clarkin) in questioning Patrick’s motives. While caregiver Tammy (Maggie Huculak) insists they are adults and should be left alone, Donald argues that Clara is not herself and needs to be protected. It’s about the only thing this scientist, in the field of artificial intelligence, and the chaplain (Robert Persichini) agree on. Clara can’t make a reasoned argument anymore, but her free-associated thoughts come out like poetry, every time.

There are some difficult passages in this John Mighton play, and occasionally actors sound too much like they’re just rattling off memorized speeches. But there is a warmth at the core of the play that shows the mathematician-playwright working out problems of a deeply human nature.

Half Life, to Feb. 24 at Centaur
(453 st-franÇois-xavier),
(514) 288-3161. Hedda Gabler,
to Feb. 16 at MainLine
(3997 st-laurent), (514) 849-3378