"it was then it dawned upon me that for eight years I had been
living with a strange man and had born him three children. Oh
I can't bear to think of it! I could tear myself into little bits."
-- Nora Helmer, in _A Doll's House_

"And thanks for the light." -- Dr. Rank

The audience was ecstatic at the sold out _A Doll's House_
performance in Hudson Theater. Jessica Chastain has not
changed in ten years, still down-to-earth and high-spirited,
hugging, taking selfies with fans despite COVID risks -- even
if one waits much longer for her autograph now. (The reigning
Oscar winner must have had many visitors backstage). She
highlighted Amy Herzog's brilliant adaptation, lamenting that
the latter had not yet had a full Broadway debut. I meant
to tell her that on my flight to NY I saw _I am Jane Doe_,
the documentary she co-produced and narrated, about sex
trafficking of the underaged, and how much I loved _Scenes
from a Marriage_. But I ended up just getting her autograph
on my Dover Edition of the Ibsen play.

-----------------------------------------------------------

To say that the 2023 production of _A Doll House_ is minimalist
would be an understatement. The official poster, depicting a
quarter of the actress' face in grey scales, is modernist to a
flaw. The stage is bare, not dressed with even a curtain; the
staircases, railings, and klieg lights are all undisguised.
Everyone in the cast wears shades of black, with a microphone
scotch-taped to the cheek. Chastain, alone, has diamonds on her
ears but does not even wear a wedding ring. When her Nora is
supposed to return the ring to Torvald Helmer (Arian Mosyed)
she just pretends to do so. Her other accessories (the
three children) are heard from off-stage but not seen.

This "green screen" style of live theater forces our attention
inward; actors have to be their own props. The rotating stage
is the sole prominent artifice. Twenty minutes before the play
starts, the curtain has risen and Chastain is leaning back on
a frugal chair, traversing on the edge of the stage like it is
an invisible cage. She tosses queenly glances at the audience
as they drift into her line of sight. It is an interesting
meta-theater device. Her Nora starts out as a haughty mean girl
vain about her looks. Many in the audience (myself included)
have bought tickets to gawk at our favorite actress in person.
Seeing her on deliberate display like so makes me avert my gaze.
Chastain would barely leave her chair for two hours, the notable
exception being the Capri dance sequence where she flaps around,
shuffling her feet, eventually rolling on the floor like a
broken bird.

Eventually the entire cast trickles in, stopping outside the
rotating stage, sitting at the back and facing away from
the audience. The staging/blocking is extremely cinematic,
with characters repeatedly conversing with their back to each
other. Later Chastain would stand up, completely obscuring her
husband or tormentor Nils Krogstad (Okieriete Onaodowan), when
she finally asserts herself. It is all very Ingmar Bergman.
When characters exit a scene they merely retreat to the dark
fringes of the stage. Temporal definition is as fuzzy as the
spatial divide (act-breaks and intermissions are eliminated),
the better to emphasize the play's timeless quality. (Thus,
we will always be forced to play roles in front of friends and
relatives to preserve relationships -- until the day we walk
away.) And the financial fraud theme is perhaps even more
relevant today than in Ibsen's times. The lighting is particularly
penetrating, illuminating undisguised microphones, the white of
Chastain's eyes, her gleaming teeth, and later, copious tears.
The overhanging klieg lights double as retracting roof, closing
in like fate during Act II. The music is claustrophobic without
being discordant.

Amy Herzog's adaptation embellishes and modernizes the language.
Nora uses the F-word and her husband calls her a "bitch" during
his climatic meltdown. But it is the frantic rhythm -- deleting
the reminders of time's passage -- that makes makes the play
breath-taking. As Nora is threatened with disgrace by her debtor
Krogstad, the chamber drama becomes even more compressed (actors
not in the scene stand close by, as movable walls); the dialogue
takes on a breakneck pace. Krogstad and Nora's childhood friend
Kristine Linde (Jesmille Darbonze) practically race through their
big reconciliation scene. This is probably just as well; I find
that sequence a bit of a deus ex machina that Herzog could have
updated.

If Onaodowan and Derbonze have somewhat thankless roles, Mosyed
brings Torvald alive, making him even more oblivious than the way
he was written. It helps that he resembles my most-evil-manager-
by-a-mile (quite an accomplishment considering the stiff
competition). Casting Michael Patrick Thornton as the dying family
friend Dr. Rank is a stroke of genius. Much younger than I imagine
the character, Rank gets around on a motorized wheelchair -- the
actor's real-life condition (I saw him leave the theater!). He
has loved Nora unrequitedly; when she lights his cigar and he says
his thank-you -- an innocuous line on the page -- it is among the
most devastating moments of the evening.

But the play revolves around Chastain, who gets to show off her
full range. She is Torvald's doll, self-centered with Kristine,
coquettish in the presence of Dr. Rank -- playfully calling him
a "dirty old man." Chastain has not taken on many seductive roles
since _Salome_ and _Jolene_. Her childishness in the beginning
is also of a different flavor from that in _The Help_ or her
previous Broadway stint (_The Heiress_). Nora has too much
misplaced confidence in her charm, too willing to bluff her way
through tough spots. This, and her living in a fantasyland
regarding others' true motives, are the tragic flaws that lead to
her downfall.

She is paramount in the powerful finale. As space opens up,
time slows down, and only husband and wife remain on stage,
she finally intuits Torvald's monstrous self-centeredness, his
obsession with societal status. She now knows that, contrary to
the fantasy scenario she has relished for 8 years, he would never
have risked his reputation to shield her forgery. In searching
monologues she questions everything, her life, religion, role in
the world. Nora regains the Jessica Chastain voice that we know --
rich, sonorous, emphatic. Ibsen's words are delivered like the
pizzicato outburst at the CIA station chief in _Zero Dark Thirty_,
with deadly intent. In between pondering what the future holds,
she also succumbs to glimpses of her past -- the eight years she
has spent with a "stranger" -- upon which she absolutely falls to
pieces. And then, just as abruptly, she picks herself up again.
It is such a magical moment, and requires such utter emotional
control and conviction, I don't know any other actress alive is
capable of what Chastain accomplishes there. When she leaves the
house, the cargo door backstage opens, revealing the Manhattan
street scene (the Museum of Broadway neon sign just happens to
be the backdrop). Chastain walks out into the night in her slim
dress. It is a stunning exit. One worries she might catch a
cold in the rain.

If this is the grandest exit of Chastain's performing life, it
also feels like the cumulation of her career so far. For she
has been heading towards the existential abyss, and a wide-open
future, at the end of at least eight different films. Sometimes
she is stalked by an ex-husband (_Eleonor Rigby_) or by death
(_Ava_), but is usually just by herself. The most famous one
might be _Zero Dark Thirty_, with the leviathan cargo hold of a
C-130 her sole companion, but there are also _Jolene_, _355_,
_Woman Walks Ahead_. Even the crowded finale of _Molly_ fits
the bill spritiually, because she asks the question "What do I
do now?" in voiceover. I am particularly partial to _Miss
Sloane_; walking out of prison, shorn of designer clothes worn
as her armor, Chastain looks sixteen, fragile but free. The
_Dollhouse_ ending is just the most spectacular variation on
this theme. (Surely Chastain has thought of this -- she proposed
this play for the COVID-aborted London run after all.)

And this may be why the actress stands alone among her peers. A
lionized feminist icon, her appeal is nevertheless universal,
mythical. Her cinema persona is always the heroic individualist
who embraces her uncertain future. She is the lone gunslinger in
the Afghan desert (even if she doesn't use a gun), the righteous
Jonah who restores our faith in humanity. Her characters embody
the best that Western culture has to offer, but also the humility, introspection, and fragility that corrects its excess. It was a
such a pleasure and honor to have see her work in person, ten
years after _The Heiress_. Thanks for the light indeed, Jessica.

(for A.)

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