The Wild Duck

Under the careful hand of Simon Stone, Henrik Ibsen’s The Wild Duck has undergone a dazzling metamorphosis, transforming from a period piece into a gut-punching, immaculate exploration of honesty as the best policy.

Ibsen’s original text dates back to 1884, and features the writer’s traditional careful description of character and setting. Stone (who was behind the intriguing Baal that showed at Malthouse last year) has done away with these trimmings – his striking set is a solitary square room, bare but for carpet and the occasional prop, with the audience seated staring into two adjoining walls of floor-to-ceiling glass. Scenes are introduced via abrupt darkness and thunderous classical music – a duck (yes, there’s a real wild duck) flapping around the room is suddenly plunged into black, only to have been replaced by a new scene when the lights return.

What Stone has retained, to near perfection, is the elaborate drama that unfolds around the small ensemble of characters as the play progresses. The play opens on a father, Hakon Werle, and his son Gregers (John Gaden and Toby Schmitz, respectively), as they engage in an awkward reunion. Gregers pays a visit to Hjalmar (Ewan Leslie) the son of his father’s old business partner, Ekdal (Anthony Phelan). Hjalmar has mostly recovered from his father’s previous disgrace and has built a small, happy life with his wife Gina (Anita Hegh) and daughter Hedvig (Eloise Mignon). Gregers, spurred on by a one-eyed need to reveal “the truth” about the two families’ intersecting past, opens several proverbial cans of worms – leaving the audience to watch the destruction that follows.

The updated dialogue (by Stone and Chris Ryan) is a measured, masterful take on Ibsen’s words, working with the period style of The Wild Duck’s original speech and transcribing it for a modern world where families can communicate very well and barely at all, often both at the same time. Some trimming has taken place, particularly around Hjalmar’s mysterious “invention” from the original, but it’s a painless excision, freeing the actors to focus on the familial drama unfolding in their midst.

The performances across the cast are immaculate. Gaden’s patriarchal curtness as Werle is a wonderful contrast to Phelan’s haphazard Ekdal, who delivers one of the most touching monologues to have graced the stage in recent times. Mignon’s depiction of the precocious Hedvig is stunning and uncomfortable, a spot-on portrayal of a girl who knows too much and yet too little. Hegh’s tired-eyed Gina manages to remain sympathetic, even in the play’s darkest points – her skilled performance keeps her character from sliding into the simple territory of the villain. Schmitz is, again, excellent as the single-minded Gregers, staring down his cast mates with defiant, then beaten, eyes. And then there is the wonderful Leslie, who has once again delivered a performance that one can only hope never to forget. His full-bodied, full-voiced take on Hjalmar is the emotional metre of the production.

The Wild Duck is an engrossing, exciting piece of theatre that delves into the heart of what makes a family work while asking the difficult question: is the truth something we’re better off not knowing? The spare, strange stage is filled to the brim by a taut script and wonderful performances. This is an excellent production, more than deserving of the acclaim and plaudits that it has gathered.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Malthouse Theatre presents
The Wild Duck
a Belvoir Production

Written by Simon Stone with Chris Ryan after Henrik Ibsen
Directed by Simon Stone
Set Design: Ralph Myers
Costume Design: Tess Schofield
Lighting Design: Niklas Pajanti
Composition and Sound Design: Stefan Gregory
Assistant Director: Anne-Louise Sarks
Dramaturgy: Eamon Flack

Cast: John Gaden, Anita Hegh, Ewen Leslie, Eloise Mignon, Anthony Phelan, Toby Schmitz

The Malthouse Theatre, 113 Sturt Street Southbank
17 February–17 March 2012
Bookings: www.malthousetheatre.com.au

Below: Watch the promo video from the original season at Belvoir Street Theatres.