ajhlovestheatre

AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE

by Henrik Ibsen

adapted by Thomas Ostermeier and Florian Borchmeyer

English version by Duncan Macmillan

directed by Thomas Ostermeier

Duke of York’s Theatre, London – until 13 April 2024

https://anenemyofthepeople.co.uk

Henrik Ibsen’s 1882 drama is a play that speaks to us more urgently now than ever. Hence as well as this modernised adaptation, first seen at Berlin’s Schaubühne Theatre in 2012 but only now receiving its English language premiere, a separate production, directed by Sam Gold and starring Succession’s Jeremy Strong, is about to go into previews on Broadway. The play’s ongoing relevance is both bracing and depressing, dealing as it does with potentially life threatening lies being told by those in high office, the challenges of living a morally spotless life in a world powered by status and money, and the way the mass populace can be manipulated by the few.

Thomas Ostermeier and Florian Borchmeyer’s version is to the Ibsen as Simon Stone’s Yerma and Phaedra were to Lorca and Racine, or Jamie Lloyd’s deconstructions of everything from Cyrano de Bergerac to Sunset Boulevard are to their source materials. In other words, this Enemy of the People distills the essence of the original but reinvents it almost as a new play, complete with modern dress and references to social media and present day politics. It’s a polarising approach, as initial press reviews have already proved, and anybody going in expecting heavy Victorian-style drapery and period costumes is in for quite a surprise.

So are people who come along expecting it to be the Matt Smith show. He is brilliant as the good-hearted, highly strung doctor who discovers poison in the waters of the town spa that is the primary source of local revenue, but the contemporary German theatre style that this production represents tends to favour ensemble over star turns, and that is very much the case here. Paul Hilton brings a compelling mixture of pomposity and aggrievance to his condescending older brother, who happens to be the town mayor. The dynamic between the two siblings, politically and socially opposite to each other yet entirely credibly of the same blood, is superbly fleshed out.

Jessica Brown Findlay makes Katharina, Dr Thomas’s wife, a fiercely intelligent, complex modern woman, impassioned, funny, sometimes ambiguous and hard to read in certain situations…in other words, a completely real person. She’s tremendous. Nigel Lindsay gives her factory owner father an intriguing air of low level menace that comes to fruition when he throws a moral crisis-inducing spanner in the works at the eleventh hour. There’s further sublime work from Shubham Saraf, Zachary Hart and Priyanga Burford as a trio of vested interest journalists whose allegiance-switching pragmatism is extremely funny …until it absolutely isn’t.

The acting never hits a false note. The line deliveries throughout have a throwaway, almost improvisational feel that draws us in while paving the way to what is arguably Ostermeier’s biggest coup de theatre where the opening of act two becomes a Question Time-style debate with the Duke of York’s doubling as the town hall, roving mics and audience members encouraged to have their say. Without breaking character, Burford moderates from the stage with a fascinating mixture of authority, unspoken opinion and barely concealed contempt.

In that same scene, Dr Thomas Stockmann has a coruscating speech-cum-rant about modern life – the environmental crisis, the gaslighting, the failing infrastructures, the perils of social media, the greed, and so much more – that cuts to the heart of what Ibsen was saying but refracts it back through the prism of our own time, and it takes the breath away. Smith delivers it with an energy, precision and white hot fury that matches the words. It’s impossible to be unaffected.

Elsewhere, Ostermeier’s staging is filled with quirks – scene changes are indicated by words on a chalkboard, a beautiful German Shepherd dog makes repeated appearances, Hart’s inspirationally gormless Billing gets an impromptu beatbox moment – that might be enervating if they weren’t executed with such commitment. Technically, it’s flawless, from Jan Pappelbaum’s angular, transformable set to Urs Schönebaum’s stark lighting and Ben and Max Ringham’s haunting aural creations.

The use of music is interesting: at the beginning the Stockmanns are jamming in a band with their friends, but by the end there are no more tunes; a character puts on headphones to drown out an unwelcome tirade by a colleague and we in the audience also hear just the banging rock music not the bellowed speech. It’s music as a motif, as a balm and a distraction, and when the proverbial shit hits the fan, the music stops.

It’s almost needless to say that this won’t be to everyone’s taste. It’s the theatrical equivalent to having a bucket of ice thrown over you, and it feels urgent, alive and thrilling. It’s dark yes, but also unexpectedly hilarious, and it ends on a low key, quizzical, troubling note. Expect to be thinking about it long after the performance is over. Love it or hate it, this breathes life into the West End, and you need to see it if only to know what everyone is talking about. I was absolutely riveted.