Hedda Twists A Classic Into A Taut Psychological Thriller
Nia DaCosta and Tessa Thompson deliver a masterclass in messy melodrama.
Many a film could be a scary story if you think about it hard enough. The uber-divisive Saltburn reads a bit like a monster movie funneled through the decadence and debauchery of a gothic thriller. This year’s If I Had Legs I’d Kick You feels like one long panic attack. And Hedda, the latest from writer-director Nia DaCosta, is another psychological hornet’s nest cut from the same unassuming cloth.
Hedda is an adaptation of the classic play of the same name, which gave us what could be the first truly (and infuriatingly) complex anti-heroine. Its title character, Hedda Tesman, née Gabler, is a litmus test that so many fail — and DaCosta, reteaming with star Tessa Thompson, has great fun muddying the waters even further. Their Hedda is whip-smart, palpably lush, and deliriously wicked. It sets the scene in the late 19th century, but by tweaking crucial parts of Ibsen’s text, it’s much more modern than it has any right to be. Thompson and DaCosta ratchet up the tension of a story that already feels like a pressure cooker, turning Hedda the film into a diabolical psychological thriller, and launching Hedda the character into the pantheon of the monstrous feminine.
Thompson’s Hedda is not just a bored housewife chafing against the confines of her cage. She’s a skilled saboteur, a ticking time bomb surgically (yet a little subconsciously) tearing apart the life she’s spent years carefully building. Having burned every bridge with past lovers, Hedda has since settled for the nebbish academic George (Tom Bateman). She’s only just returned from her six-month honeymoon, but our heroine already feels trapped in a sprawling manor she subtly pressured George to buy. There’s an emptiness in Hedda, a kind of wound that won’t close no matter what she throws into it. But that won’t stop her — or George, bless his heart — from trying.
Their latest attempt to quell Hedda’s appetite comes in the form of a lavish party. Half-housewarming, half-schmoozy dinner to get George a new job, it’s the kind of bash one pulls out all the stops for. Hedda spares no expense, from the posh guest list to the impromptu fireworks show. She even invites an old lover, Eileen Lövborg (Nina Hoss), who also now happens to be George’s academic rival. Though George is mostly unaware of Hedda’s past dalliances, he is competing with Eileen for a professorship at the local college, a position so prestigious that either would be set up for life. Hedda’s future happiness depends on this party going well for George, but that won’t stop her from having a bit of fun at his expense.
To say that chaos ensues would be a total understatement: it’d be one thing, a much simpler thing, if Hedda were trying to rekindle a romance with Eileen or sabotage her career in favor of George’s. But there’s no telling what Hedda will do from one moment to the next, not only because she has no idea what she truly wants, but because her allegiances flip for reasons big and small. Complicating matters further are Eileen’s new lover, the outwardly mousy Thea (Imogen Poots); and Judge Roland Brack (Nicholas Pinnock), an old family friend who’s been locked in a psychosexual power play with Hedda for years. In one beat, they’re tools she uses to pick at George and Eileen’s respective resolve; in others, they’re obstacles standing between her and her latest intrusive thought.
Hedda is the most dynamic, and most fun, take on the play in years.
DaCosta makes Ibsen’s play a living, breathing thing, turning exposition into action and using one location — the Tesman estate — to preserve the cloistered feeling of a stage. She also elevates Hedda’s reputation to almost mythic proportions: in Ibsen’s text, Hedda was already a legend-cum-pariah, the illegitimate child of a decorated general who climbed the social ladder with her wit and his fortune. Hedda adds more layers to her character simply by casting Thompson. A Black woman in a period setting, her Hedda’s resentment seems to stem from her newfound status as a housewife, more than her status as a queer woman. It’s dizzying and complex; though Hedda can be frustratingly sphinx-like, she’s not impossible to relate to.
There’s a feeling of claustrophobia throughout, even as Hedda’s stunts grow increasingly wild. DaCosta pays extra attention to her heroine’s breath, honing in on sighs of rapture as she dances among her guests — fully, finally letting loose — or silent screams of frustration. Composer Hildur Guðnadóttir only adds to that asphyxia: her score uses ghostly whispers, groans, and gasps as readily as big band drums and spindly strings. At times, Hedda even feels like a specter herself. DaCosta weaponizes the dark corners of the Tesman mansion to her heroine’s advantage: As her party tilts into messier and more dangerous waters, Hedda almost becomes one with the shadows. Has she fashioned herself into a monster, or was it society that twisted her into such violent shapes? DaCosta wisely doesn’t try to untangle the thread fully, making Hedda the most deliciously haunting thriller of the year.
