Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House has long stood as a landmark of modern drama, its famous door slam signalling a moment of radical clarity. In Anya Reiss’s striking adaptation, directed by Joe Hill-Gibbins at the Almeida Theatre, that clarity is deliberately unsettled. This is not a revival but a reinterrogation—one that replaces certainty with ambiguity and psychological complexity.
Hyemi Shin’s set immediately establishes the production’s intent. Gone is the comfortable bourgeois interior; in its place stands a stark, transitional space: a high ceiling, whitewashed walls, and a curved exposed brick backdrop, punctuated by a tall fridge and washing machine. Boxes dominate the centre of the room, surrounded by branded Waitrose, Hamleys and other bags, while a large Christmas tree initially lies horizontally across the floor. The Helmers have only just moved in, and the sense of incompletion is palpable. When the space is eventually cleared and the tree erected and lit, the effect is striking but fleeting—a moment of festivity that feels artificial rather than lived.
At the centre of the production is Romola Garai’s compelling Nora, a performance of remarkable nuance and control. This Nora is not Ibsen’s ingénue gradually awakening to her oppression; she is already acutely aware of the mechanisms that shape her life. From the opening scene, she is in control. She uses flirtation, humour, and even sexuality to shape how others see her. Her interactions with Torvald are charged with a physical intimacy that feels strategic as much as emotional. Seduction here becomes a form of negotiation, a means of managing power within the relationship. Yet this apparent agency is deeply ambivalent. As the play unfolds, it becomes clear that Nora’s performance is not liberation but entrapment. Her later admission that she has been “performing [her] life” reframes earlier scenes with unsettling clarity. The playful, seductive Nora of Act One is revealed as a constructed persona, carefully maintained to sustain the illusion of harmony. In this sense, the production offers a distinctly modern critique: not of overt oppression, but of the ways in which identity itself becomes a form of labour.
Her husband, Torvald (Tom Mothersdale), is reimagined not as a composed patriarch of Ibsen’s original, but as a man shaped by contemporary anxieties. His preoccupation with financial success and control is underscored by an implied history of addiction, which subtly undermines his authority. Crucially, however, the production does not invite us to dwell on his vulnerability. Instead, it functions to illuminate Nora more sharply: his instability becomes another burden she has absorbed, another crisis she has managed, and another illusion she has sustained. Through him, we see how her identity has been shaped by others’ demands and failures.
Particularly striking is the portrayal of Dr Rank (Olivier Huband), whose presence introduces an unexpected emotional dynamic. Far from the frail, declining figure of Ibsen’s original, he appears physically robust, flirtatious, and emotionally open. His chemistry with Nora is immediate and convincing—arguably more so than her connection with Torvald. Yet it is precisely this vitality that renders his declaration of love so disruptive. His confession, intense and unguarded, transforms a moment of intimacy into one of discomfort. Nora’s response—“You’re not a subtle thing. None of you are”—cuts sharply, revealing her frustration at yet another man projecting his needs onto her. What might have offered escape instead becomes another form of entrapment.
The supporting performances further enrich the production. James Corrigan’s Krogstad is tightly controlled, his restrained anger and underlying desperation palpable without excess, suggesting a man caught between survival and principle. Thalissa Teixeira’s Kristine Linde brings warmth, intelligence, and a quiet moral clarity, offering a striking contrast to Nora’s more performative existence. Together, they do not simply populate the world of the play but serve to refract Nora’s character: Krogstad exposing her risk, Kristine her alternative, Rank her emotional ambiguity, and Torvald the illusion at the heart of her marriage.
Reiss’s adaptation foregrounds the language of modern life: credit, contracts, and financial risk, transforming marriage into a fragile economic arrangement. The recurring anxiety over debt, encapsulated in references to credit cards and impending payments, resonates strongly with a contemporary audience. Love here is inseparable from material reality, and stability is revealed as something carefully shaped, negotiated, and sustained through performance.
The production’s final moments depart most significantly from Ibsen. Instead of decisive rupture, we are left with hesitation: Nora poised in the doorway, faced with a choice rather than a conclusion. This ambiguity feels entirely consistent with the production’s focus. The question is no longer whether she will leave, but whether she can step beyond the roles that have defined her. The presence of the children further complicates the moment, grounding her decision in lived consequence rather than abstract principle.
If the production occasionally sacrifices subtlety in favour of explicitness, it does so in pursuit of immediacy. The result is a bold and deeply compelling reinterpretation—intellectually rigorous, theatrically gripping, and unmistakably alive for a contemporary audience.
A Doll’s House – Drama
By Henrik Ibsen
In a new version by Anya Reiss
Director: Joe Hill-Gibbins
Cast Includes: Romola Garai, Olivier Huband, Tom Mothersdale, Thalissa Teixeira, James Corrigan
Until: Saturday 16 May 2026
Running Time: Approximately 2 hours 30 minutes, including one interval
Photo Credit: Marc Brenner