There’s something about Hedda Gabler that you simply cannot resist – she knows it, and everyone around her knows it, which makes her such a fascinating and beguiling figure. Henrik Ibsen’s astonishing creation has been the subject of many adaptations over the years on stage and screen, coming to be seen as one of the most iconic characters in the history of literature. Therefore, it stands to reason that any actor who takes on the role will need to do so in a way that makes it clear that they are forging their own unique interpretation of the character. This is something that Nia DaCosta knew to be a fact when crafting Hedda, her version of the classical text, which moves the action from the late 19th century to the 1950s, a slight update on a timeless story. The premise here is as simple as it’s ever been in previous adaptations – Hedda, a newly-married socialite, is hosting a party at her London home. What she expects to be a relatively bland affair is suddenly changed with the arrival of Dr Eileen Lovborg, who is not only one of the most respected academics in her field, but also Hedda’s former lover, a remnant of the past that re-enters her life at perhaps the most inopportune moment, plunging the protagonist into a state of extraordinary anguish as those passionate feelings (none of which were ever entirely extinguished) come bubbling to the surface yet again. Over the course of a single evening, Hedda finds herself slipping, her facade of being this elegant, vaguely distant member of the high society falling apart as she allows herself to be overcome by the emotions that force their way into this party, ultimately making it very clear that someone will become the victim of her desires, even if it means resorting to violence as a last resort. A fascinating adaptation that is by no means perfect, but has enough audacity and sheer gumption to overcome some of the more obvious shortcomings (which are a product of the genre rather than anything that we can, Hedda is quite an ambitious undertaking, albeit one that only underlines DaCosta’s growing reputation as one of the most exciting auteurs to emerge over the past decade.

There are a few core themes that have always made this play such a fascinating text, and many of them are brought to life by DaCosta in Hedda, which is a relatively faithful adaptation in terms of core themes. The primary differences are the intentional changes that don’t shift the narrative away from Ibsen’s original meaning, but rather show the timelessness of his writing, and how it can easily be translated to different contexts. The story is shifted from Oslo in 1890 to London in the late 1950s, and the character Eilert Lovberg is here portrayed as a woman, giving Hedda a deeply queer perspective. In more academic circles, this could be perceived as a bastardisation of a sacred text, but as we’ve seen in many instances, there is an acceptability that emerges when dealing with something that seems purposeful in its changes. Hedda is an adaptation that understands the meaning behind the word, namely that interpretation is allowed, which includes shifting perspective to focus on other aspects of the story, beyond those printed on the original page or delivered by those performing on the first stage. All of this points towards the director’s core intentions, which are to explore the trials and tribulations of a woman who has gotten herself stuck into a loveless marriage, one that contains very little actual affection – but unlike the usual examples of these stories, Hedda Gabler is primarily responsible for her own unhappiness, since her hostility and refusal to play into the same cliches of married life that she both criticises and secretly yearns to experience, are the reason she feels so deeply unsatisfied. Desire and danger intermingle beautifully, with the director setting out to capture the details of the protagonist’s journey, showing her struggle to reconcile her deeply dull domestic existence with the desire to rekindle the spark between her and the lover she left behind, a romance that was both passionate and deeply disturbing, exemplifying a toxicity and despair that has rarely been witnessed before. It’s provocative and challenging in how it approaches certain ideas, and proves to be something of a quiet sensation in its own right.

As is often the case with these iconic theatrical works, the role of Hedda Gabler is seen as something of a rite of passage for any actor who wants to be taken seriously as an interpreter of their craft. Ibsen wrote roles that were challenging, complex and deeply uncomfortable, to the point where succeeding in portraying one of his protagonists was akin to mastering the craft as a whole. To not only deliver a stellar performance of one of these characters, but actually redefine it to the point where it feels almost entirely original, an interpretation so closely tied to a particular actor that it feels unique to them, is an astonishing achievement. This is where we find Tessa Thompson’s depiction of the titular character, which is some of her best work to date. For over a decade, Thompson has done extraordinary work – her skilful command of the craft, coupled with her very unique approach to playing every character, has allowed her to accumulate an impressive body of work. It may not be conventional, but Thompson has never come across as someone who has sought a traditional career path – and nothing exemplifies this better than her interpretation of Hedda Gabler, a woman who appears wry and sardonic on the surface, a witty and composed socialite who enjoys being the talk of the town, while also concealing the fact that she is a deeply vulnerable, profoundly unhappy woman whose entire existence is driven by desires that she knows she can never truly embrace as a result of society’s failures. The queer aspect of Hedda is unique to this film, and represented in Thompson’s performance, as well as the supporting cast, which include Nina Hoss as the embodiment of pure desire and lust (and DaCosta knew exactly what she was doing when she chose to cast Hoss in the part), as well as the likes of Imogen Poots, Tom Bateman and Nicholas Pinnock, none of whom may be given much attention beyond being supporting players, but each delivering absolutely stellar, well-defined work that feels complex, engaging and interesting, even when the focus is intentionally kept on Thompson and her fantastic performance.

The task of adapting Ibsen is by no means something to be taken lightly – he exists in the same rarefied air as the likes of Anton Chekhov and Molière, who are defined as the very definition of highbrow art (to the point where even cultural icons like William Shakespeare and Tennessee Williams feel like vulgarians in comparison due to the popularity of their work), and whose works have remained the gold standard for the medium, pieces that should be approached with caution and entrusted into the hands of only those who have been proven to be capable of handling such material. Needless to say, DaCosta has never shown herself to be afraid of taking on a challenge, and in the case of this particular text, she refuses to be intimidated by Ibsen’s reputation, nor his challenging writing. Beyond Thompson’s magnificent performance (which is indeed the anchor of the entire film), Hedda is a firm statement of purpose for the director, who is making some fascinating statements on not only the particular themes that are explored throughout this film, but also the very form of the medium as a whole. Hedda is an extraordinarily unique film – on the surface, it seems like a stuffy, overly dramatic melodrama about unrequited love and how it can cause people to act out in ways that are not only irrational, but bordering on violent in many instances. These are brilliantly rendered on screen, with DaCosta’s attention to detail, both visually and thematically, constituting the foundation of a brilliant and provocative work that explores the nature of identity exceptionally well. The fluid camera work, coupled with the exceptional costume design and elegant art direction, transports us to London in the 1950s, giving us a rare glimpse into the past, but in a way where it is less about the spectacle and more about evoking the spirit of a bygone era, which is essentially the core of this story, particularly in how it can compliment, or sometimes even intentionally contradict, the underlying themes that drive this story.

If there is any doubt that DaCosta represents the future of cinema, just consider how every one of her five projects so far have been starkly different – a psychological crime drama, a slasher horror, a superhero film and zombie drama (which still has to be seen, but all signs point to it being just as interesting as this film) – and between all of this, we have Hedda, an adaptation of a play by one of the most acclaimed playwrights to ever exist. This is a stellar work that is careful and thoughtful about the act of adaptation, and consolidates DaCosta as a fantastic filmmaker, someone who is as versatile as she is visionary – her ability to capture the spirit of the material without becoming too heavy-handed in her approach, coupled with the skillfulness she demonstrates in tackling one of the most intimidating theatrical texts ever produced, only further fuels the belief that she represents the future of the medium. I doubt that Hedda is going to be considered her defining work, or even amongst her very best – but as purely an experiment in form and content, it’s an astonishing piece of cinema, a complex and engaging existential drama, drawn from a truly brilliant text and driven by a sense of curiosity and deep sincerity, the likes of which we don’t often see represented so clearly. Anchored by a fantastic central performance, supported by a tremendous cast of scene-stealing bit players, and propelled by pure curiosity, Hedda is an intriguing adaptation of a play that has been seen as both stuffy and overly difficult, but is here rendered as a truly splendid, engaging work that challenges our perspective and provokes a reaction, proving to be truly strong on both fronts.