Since Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler first premiered in 1891, it’s been performed and adapted countless times. The film versions alone number in the dozens. The newest entry in that pantheon is titled simply, Hedda. Adapted and directed by Nia DaCosta, it stars Tessa Thompson in the titular role and thanks to DaCosta’s changes to the story, the result is a bracingly juicy character drama that feels fresher than ever.
We first meet this version of Hedda as she seemingly tries to kill herself, her dress pockets filled with rocks as she slowly walks into a pond. That shocking image sets the tone for the rest of the film, giving the viewer a sharp and immediate understanding of just how unhappy Hedda is. We soon understand why, though, when she returns from her near drowning to the outlandish manor she shares with her new husband, George (Tom Bateman), who she’s essentially bankrupted in pursuit of decorating their home. She seems fundamentally disinterested in him and we learn why when she’s told an old flame, who is also one of her husband’s brilliant colleagues, is coming to the party they’re throwing in the house later that night. That’s where DaCosta’s first major narrative change comes in: Hedda’s old flame is a woman here, Eileen Lovborg played with incredible fire and allure by Nina Hoss.
As Ibsen’s play has aged, it’s become harder for modern audiences to understand why Hedda married George in the first place. So, DaCosta brilliantly makes Hedda and Lovborg’s relationship taboo by adding queerness to the mix. Hedda and Eileen weren’t allowed to be together despite the depth of their feelings because society wouldn’t have allowed it—or at least that’s what Hedda clearly told herself. So, it’s no wonder that when Thea (Imgogen Poots) shows up at the party saying she’s left her husband for Eileen and they’re going to live and work together that Hedda becomes vindictive.
Adding even more richness to DaCosta’s adaptation is her choice to cast a black woman in the lead role. Thompson’s Hedda is the illegitimate child of General Gabler, inheriting his estate in the absence of other heirs. So, this Hedda has a chip on her shoulder from the beginning, she’s someone not meant to be in society who is always fighting against a sense of insecurity in her station. And within DaCosta’s take on the material, it’s precisely that insecurity that rendered her unwilling to fight to stay in academia despite being — by every character’s account — a brilliant woman. So, she traded the woman she loved and fulfilling work for a safe marriage to a man she doesn’t really seem to like and the film’s tension and drama comes from how she makes herself and everyone around her pay for those choices. Mostly, that means manipulating Eileen, Thea, her husband and just about every guest at the party for her own amusement.
While DaCosta’s tweaks to Ibsen’s play are a large part of what make this adaptation so successful, her filmmaking is equally impressive. Considering the whole film takes place in one location on the same day, Hedda could easily become a stodgy dialogue-fest, but DaCosta keeps the pace and tone tense in a number of ways. She and cinematographer Sean Bobbitt constantly dazzles us. The camera frequently moves through the party like a guest itself, flowing through conversations and trailing Hedda and Eileen as they have hushed conversations in secluded corners or make rash decisions that have dire consequences. One of the film’s most thrilling visuals comes when they first see each other. The other guests freeze as we watch Hedda glide toward Eileen across the room, only resuming once they reach each other. Likewise, composer Hildur Guðnadóttir’s score always enhances the mood, sharp gasps persistent rhythms speaking to the roiling fury and constant calculations under Hedda’s charming façade.
Even more expressive of Hedda’s emotional and mental state are are Lindsay Pugh’s costumes and Cara Brower’s production design. The outlandish chandelier that nearly drops onto Hedda’s head in the opening scenes and the textured wallpaper with peacock designs on the walls reinforce the idea that Hedda’s spending, her obsession with displaying her wealth for others to envy borders on self-destructive. Likewise, the plunging neckline of her party dress speaks to her boldness, her defiance of social norms just as much as her actions. Hedda is a butterfly in a bell jar of her own making and she’s fluttering her wings as fast as she can to escape suffocating from her own unhappiness.
Or maybe that’s not quite the right way to put it. Hedda is unhappy, but she’s not trying to fix it—she’s trying to make everyone else as unhappy as she is. Indeed, how else to describe the way she outright lies to George at a pivotal moment in order to take possession of something she wants, exploiting his sexual desire to her benefit? How else to describe the way she undermines Eileen both personally and professionally at every turn? One of the most diabolical decisions she makes is an act of omission, a choice not to tell Eileen she’s about to embarrass herself before she walks into the room of all-male colleagues she’s trying to impress. There and throughout, Hedda’s actions are not just cruel, they’re almost evil and she’s as difficult to root for, let alone like, as any protagonist we’ll see this year. And for her part, Thompson seems to relish every second of it.
Her Hedda is fueled by pure, sublimated rage and resentment. Like a poisonous flower, Thompson weaponizes her beauty, her charisma to allow Hedda to draw people in so that she can more easily manipulate them. It should be easy to hate her, but Thompson simply plays her with too much star power. Yes, Hedda is an awful person, but she’s also fascinating because we can imagine that, with different choices, she might have been someone else entirely. It’s what makes Hedda one of the most thrilling dramas of the year.
