Ghosts (LIncoln Center Theater)

By Harry Forbes

The first few minutes of director Jack O’Brien’s production of Henrik Ibsen’s once controversial and still provocative 1881 classic had me bracing for my second high concept deconstruction ot the week; the other being Rebecca Frecknall’s defiantly untraditional “A Streetcar Named Desire.”

For at the start of “Ghosts,” the actors shuffle out on stage in street clothes, and casually begin to mumble the first lines of the play. Then again but in a more outgoing manner. And then again until, presto, the lighting changes, and we’re suddenly “in” the play proper with the rest proving itself nicely conventional after all. Why the play needed that prologue, I still haven’t the foggiest notion, but no matter. 

As it happens, I had recently rewatched the 1987 BBC version directed by Elijah Moshinksy with a knockout cast including Judi Dench, Michael Gambon, Freddie Jones, Kenneth Branagh, and Natasha Richardson, and feared this couldn’t measure up by half. But happy to report that O’Brien’s sturdy staging holds its own. And Irish playwright Mark O’Rowe’s adaptation -- first done at the Abbey Theatre a couple of years ago -- is an exemplary one.

The cast here is excellent across the board. Lily Rabe is predictably compelling as the wealthy widow Mrs. Alving who lives on an island off the coast of Norway, and who is about to have an orphanage dedicated to the memory of her late husband. This coincides with the return of her long-absent and now mysteriously enervated son Oswald (Levon Hawke), and a visit from an old family friend Pastor Manders (Billy Crudup) who will officiate at the impending ceremony. Mrs. Alving has lived alone in the house with her housekeeper Regina (Ella Beatty) whose ne’er-do-well father Engstrand (Hamish Linklater) is the orphanage carpenter who wants Regina to return to him and help start some sort of hostel for visiting sailors. 

Into this basic setup, revelations soon abound, in the standard Ibsen way, and without giving any spoilers, as the play is arguably not so well known as some of his other works, suffice to say that incest, venereal disease, infidelity, substance abuse, debauchery, euthanasia,  and blackmail are all part of the whole, as well as all around disparaging of conventional morality. The Manders character  is the self proclaimed moral compass of all that unfolds. 

Rabe’s dry and acerbic delivery makes all her lines land sharply, and Crudup proves an expert sparring partner in Mrs. Alving’s scenes with the sanctimonious Manders. Linklater skillfully walks the line between earnest sincerity and fawning calculation, particularly in his dealings with Manders.  Relative newcomers Hawke and Beatty are excellent, and though I wouldn’t normally mention it, they are perhaps both early enough along in their careers to point out that Hawke is the son of Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman; and Beatty, the daughter of Warren Beatty and Annette Bening. They’ve each learned -- or inherited -- their crafts impressively.

Hawke plays his enigmatic part well, and convincingly rises to the high drama of his final scene with Rabe. Beatty is likable and unsentimental when she has to show her mettle.

John Lee Beatty’s simple set establishes the locale beautifully, aided by Japhy Weidenman’s atmospheric lighting, and Scott Lehrer and Mark Bennett’s rain-dominated sound design. A mid-play catastrophic event is particularly well handled by all. Jess Goldstein’s period costumes likewise add to the verisimilitude of the action.

The play runs one hour and 50 minutes without an interval, and rivets your attention throughout.

(Lincoln Center Theater at the Mitzi E. Newhouse; lct.org; through April 26)

Photo by Jeremy Daniel: (l.-r.) Lily Rabe, Billy Crudup

Print this post