Interesting analysis of Andrew Upton’s adaptation of Hedda Gabler – being done in Sydney right now, with Cate Blanchett in the lead.
I found it fascinating – as I do most issues of translation, especially in the theatre. How does Moliere translate? (Not very well, usually. The rollicking crazy Moliere rhythms end up sounding stilted and stiff in bad English translations.) How does Shakespeare translate into, say, Polish? Etc. What is lost? What is gained? It’s an artform, effective translation – and I know now that I grew up with shitty Chekhov translations. I only know that now because I have read multiple translations – I have taken recommendations from friends who prefer this or that translation – and I realize that the one I grew up with, the one in my public library, BLEW. Made Chekhov sound stilted and formal. Chekhov? Formal? Nope. That’s just a bad translation.
Translation is definitely a topic that I love – but the New Yorker article I link to seems to have more to do with adaptation issues, and “interpretation” than translation. FASCINATING.
At the heart of Hedda Gabler is a mystery. Ibsen leaves stuff out. We don’t get ALL of her. He does not tell us totally WHY she is that way.
That’s one of the reasons why Hedda has more of a grip on the imagination than Nora from Doll House does. Nora can be explained. Nora is a product of her environment. She is a product of the patriarchal system at that time. Ibsen is VERY clear on that. Her money is controlled – that’s the main thing. It’s a bourgeois middle-class play. Nora does not have her own money – and that is really where all the problems begin. Ibsen believed in freeing up women financially – and once that happened, perhaps this ol’ institution of marriage might work a little bit better. So – Nora is explainable, in terms of Ibsen’s playwriting, his intentions, and how he set her up. No less an amazing character. No less a challenge to an actress. But Hedda? Nobody can explain Hedda. Or – you can explain part of her – but that still leaves a vast part of her personality in the shadows. Her motives unclear, to some extent. FASCINATING. Hedda Gabler is a truly magnificent theatrical creation.
It sounds to me like Upton is trying to explain her – or at least to get rid of the elements of her that defy explanation.
For example:
As Tesman sees his aunt to the door, Hedda is left onstage alone for a moment. Hedda crosses the room, raising her arms and clenching her hands, as if in fury, Ibsen writes. Its the marvellous as if in fury that provides a clue to Heddas unfathomable rage. Reared, we assume, in the spartan fashion of a military brat, Hedda is also a nineteenth-century woman, unable to scream or to act out her rage: what man would have her if she shrieked the truth? And, if no man would have her, where would she be? She has no money of her own. Besides, as a member of the bourgeoisie, she cannot go through life as a single woman: no one likes a female who will not join the herd.
In this scene, Nevin, instead of having Blanchett raise her fists, has her trip over one of Tesmans footrests. Yes, yes, we get it: the domestic obstacles that Hedda must overcome are really her various internal hindrancesthe metaphorical furniture of her sick mind. But if Hedda cannot reveal to us the foundations of her anger, how can she convince us that she is more than a spiteful child, adept only at making the less crafty around her uncomfortable?
Brilliant observation. There’s much more where that came from in the rest of the article.
Two things.
1 – Sheila, if you ran across a review of your work, what would you do? Would you talk to your colleagues about it? Go back to the director and try to re-work your part? Assume that your acting is not that particular reviewer’s cup of tea and put it out of your mind? Suffer a blow to your self-esteem? Finish the run and try never to be cast in such a part again?
2 – Regarding translation: I have here a fairly obscure novel by Ellen Schwann entitled Adjacent Lives. Natalie, the protagonist, is about to teach a class about translating (I guess).
“All translation is an attempt to accomplish what is impossible….I believe translation to be a necessary art even if by necessity is it unsatisfactory. There is a small school which maintains that translation is death to understanding, that language grows inseparably with thought and to alter one is to kill the other….[I]t’s not usually too difficult to get hold of the literal meaning of a word or a sentence. It’s the real meaning, the soul of the word or phrase or thought, that must be uncoverered or what one winds up with is jargon, a kind of lingua franca, and not literature. I’m not sure that the art of translation can be taught at all….This profession is a guarantee of obscurity. We are noticed only when we don’t do our work gracefully.”
I mean a review like this.
Laura – In general, I don’t read reviews at all. Whenever I have “caved” and read them, I have always regretted it.
The best approach, in my opinion, is: //Assume that your acting is not that particular reviewer’s cup of tea and put it out of your mind?//
You can’t tailor your performance to please everyone.
And this quote:
//We are noticed only when we don’t do our work gracefully.”// – SO TRUE.
I don’t think it would serve Cate Blanchett at all to read that review – which is basically a critique of many things beyond her control. What good would it do? None whatsoever – it would just maybe make her feel insecure or unhappy. No good. She doesn’t need that!
Personal story: The last show i did was reviewed by The NY Times – I “caved” and read the review, only to see that they did not like me. Specifically, they did not like ME.
Now, from my side of the fence: All I got from audiences (who really are the ones who matter) is how much they loved my performance. The director was extremely pleased. Other critics had liked me. But that critic did not.
I somehow could not stop myself from reading that review – but it did not serve me at ALL to know that one person (who happens to be the critic of the paper of record) didn’t like what I did.
It took me 24 hours to shake it off. Did me no good at all. I would NEVER adjust my performance because of what one CRITIC said. NEVER. Because that way madness lies. What if the NEXT review said about you: “Her work is PERFECTION!!” Then you’ve raced around, changing stuff that someone else might love!! Nope. If you behave that way, you do not have ownership over your own art, and you just can’t live that way.
My performance was my performance. People loved me. That one guy didn’t. Oh well! Too bad for him.
Oh, sorry – one last thing: the critique in the Times basically had to do with how my part was written, and where my character shows up in the play – how it didn’t seem to ‘go’ with the rest of the play.
So I took the fall for the playwright’s choice.
There was nothing I could do to control where my character enters, how my character was written, etc etc … It did not serve me at ALL to hear that critique. It takes a lot of courage to get up on stage and act. Reading reviews can be really damaging and make you lose your step. I usually read the reviews after the play has closed – that way I don’t have to battle my demons ONSTAGE, with a paying audience there.
Sheila – this again brings me to wondering whatever happened with that version of ‘Hedda Gabbler’ I heard on the radio where most of the people were robots? ‘Hedda Tron’? Any thoughts on this?
Oh shit – that’s right! I forgot to investigate!!
Jean –
Uhm …. (click on that link)
Found it!!
if you click on that main page, another page comes up with all kinds of information you can find – actors, press, etc.
I read some of the reviews – it sounds hilarious “Robots are on stage, and they struggle to escape their own programming …”
hahahaha Just like Hedda trying to break free.
Sheila,
I’ve been reading you for a while but have never commented. Which translation of Hedda Gabler do you recommend?
Thanks!
Dee
Dee – Hi, Dee! Uhm, let’s see – I just checked and the one I have is by Michael Meyer and it’s considered really really good. It reads quite well, I think – not stilted, or archaic. It feels very alive.
Sheila,
Have you ever read Ezra Pound’s essays on trying to translate Chinese characters?
My husband and I went to an opera years ago, at the local state U. Smetana’s “The Bartered Bride”. I was looking forward to it because I was familiar with some of the music. It was SO BAD we left part-way through. Mostly, the orchestra sucked, and in an opera you just can’t overlook that. And the acting was nonexistent. Then when the review came out in the newspaper, it was glowing. I have discounted that reviewer’s opinion ever since.