When Big Stars appear in a show that is not noticeably cooked, which rank is clearly ironic – the conceit of the pure aura of individual talent making up for their flaws. That concern is once again raising his head in a new take on Henrik Ibsen's “Master Builder” that opened in London on Tuesday, featuring Scotland's A-Lister Ewan McGregor in the title role. In this example, that is appropriate. Artistic hubrism is the central theme of Ibsen's 1892 play, in which an aging architect loses his head above an engrossed young woman, worried about his powers fading.
Called “My Master Builder,” this version was written by New York-based playwright Lila Raicek and directed by Michael Grandage. It will be held at the Wyndham theatre until July 12th. Wraith's interpretation comes to the heart of Ibsen's female characters and tells the story through the lens of #MeToo, but in the end it reduces complex play to Tawdry Maryital Melodrama.
We are in the Hamptons, in an elegant dining room retreating to the seaside scenery, with cricket roaring throughout. (This set is by Richard Kent.) McGregor depicts a rift as he prepares to prepare to celebrate his latest Opus, as his death marriage to publisher Elena (Kate Fleetwood, Crackling Yurasashi).
Among the guests is Mathilde (Elizabeth Debicki, ambiguously winsome). At the time, Elena was responding to the revelation of the incident by trying to destroy Mathilde's reputation despite being a praised feminist. Mathilde has since written a novel about The Dalliance, and Elena (who is about to file a divorce) has offered to publish it.
This sleazy story is smashed over two emotionally charged hours by a register that switches to anxiety between Soapy's cliche and sarcastic suspense. (There are some kips about the symbolism of the phallus in tall buildings.)
This language is hard-working and modern, accompanied by reference to “the witch hunt of the moment,” cancelling safe spaces, power imbalances, cultures, reclaiming stories, regaining slut's embarrassment, and “the witch hunt of the moment.” The delivery of these terms in the tone of knowing fatigue only draws more attention to the overly determined bag of scripts. And the romantic quarrel has some of the most robust store owner dialogues that everyone hears this year at West End Stage.
With such materials being soothing, it's easy to understand the overwhelming monotony of McGregor's performance. First appearance on the British stage in 17 years, he proves that neither the gravity of the selfish Doyen nor the enthusiastic despair of his lover's fool. His passion – both work and women alike – is completely abstract and does not buy our feelings.
The atmosphere of distrust is not helped by Solness's young professional rival, Ragner. Even if he is seducing Elena's personal assistant, Kaia (Millenmac), he is a caricature of sashaying. To land, this will require a glittering wild wit. And there's very little valuable here.
It is largely thanks to Fleetwood that the show is exactly together. Her Elena is settled in her dig and becomes temporarily pathetic when she makes a desperate pass with Ragner, and almost becomes a mother when she urges Mathilde to accept that her long-term benefits will not be involved in Solness. And she's funny. She leaps into Solnes and Mathilde in the heated set and gives off a slurred, exaggerated “sorry.”
Solness decides to prove that he is as upset as ever, and simply rises to the newly constructed church tower and succumbs to dizziness. In Ibsen's play, Mathilde had put him in the egg with this devastating, meaningless gesture, but this told him he would do it himself. Elena saw the light and checked out. This serves the production's political agenda, but it neglects the play's complexity and takes away the tragedy. The turmoil in Solness is being driven into a mediocre midlife crisis. He's just a normal retweet.
When Ibsen wrote “Master Builder,” he was in his 60s and had recently formed a relationship with 18-year-old Vienna woman, Emily Bardach, on a holiday in Austria. The original play explores the absurd predicament that Ibsen found himself in the merciless spirit of self-criticism. No one could accuse him of being wise and romanticizing the situation. It's somewhat unfortunate that McGregor, 54, and Grandage, 62, have built their own stupidity, working together with a much younger female writer, in search of correcting a nonexistent mistake.
My Master Builder
It will be at Wyndham Theatre in London until July 12th. mymasterbuilderplay.com.
