Hedda

Director Nia DaCosta

actress Tessa Thompson

DaCosta and Thompson on the set

DaCosta and her lead cast

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HEDDA          B                                                                                                                       USA  (107 mi)  2025  ‘Scope  d: Nia DaCosta

A little chaos is good for the gathering.                                                                                       —film tagline

A queer re-imagining of Henrik Ibsen’s 1890 play Hedda Gabler, which deals with the suffocating circumstances that women faced at the time, a woman trapped within a loveless marriage whose scheming has disastrous consequences, delving into the 19th century limitations, the search for meaning, and the destructive nature of boredom and unfulfilled desires.  One of the fathers of modern theater alongside Anton Chekhov and August Strindberg, introducing theatrical realism, Ibsen was profoundly influenced by Freudian psychology, delving into the exploration of human motivations and desires, creating complex, character-driven dramas that outside of Shakespeare make him the second-most frequently performed playwright in the world.  Confounding audiences for well over 100 years with the inscrutability of the character, wanting to be in control of her own destiny, but access is denied at every turn, posing the question, what is freedom, where there’s no real consensus whether she’s a liberated force or a monster.  In recent years, Hedda Gabler has been one of Ibsen’s most frequently produced plays, a deliciously showy role played by a variety of actresses that include Ingrid Bergman in a 1962 British television production, Maggie Smith in London in 1970 (directed by Ingmar Bergman), Claire Bloom in New York in 1971, Glenda Jackson winning an Oscar nomination in Trevor Nunn’s HEDDA (1975), Annette Bening in Los Angeles in 1999, Cate Blanchett in a widely acclaimed 2004 Sydney Theatre Company production, Isabelle Huppert in Paris in 2005, and earlier this year Katie Holmes at The Old Globe in San Diego.  Similar to the caged-bird feeling of Nora in A Doll’s House, this play also deals with a woman trapped by the conventions of marriage, as social constraints prevented women from having the right to make their own choices in life, as that was the exclusive right and privilege of the husband, leaving her having to awkwardly and sometime humiliatingly accept the consequences.  Described by the director as Ibsen’s “complicated women who make choices you don’t agree with,” the play was considered shocking and immoral when it premiered, a daring exploration of power, desire, and a woman’s refusal to be confined, as Hedda defied 19th century gender roles and societal expectations for women, so adding a queer and black element for the character may seem equally as subversive and provocative today.  In a desperate attempt to control her own destiny, Hedda becomes a master manipulator, which is her tragic flaw, much like Shakespeare’s Iago in Othello, discovering the capacity to get what she wants by manipulating others, like a puppetmaster controlling the strings, able to elicit change through illicit means, literally for her own amusement, where a daring lack of subtlety becomes her strong suit.  Rather than confine the setting to a single parlor like the stage play, the film expands the action to a massively sprawling country estate, complete with a lake and labyrinthian garden hedge to heighten the feeling of claustrophobia, where the costume and production design is stellar.  Told in five chapters, while the play has four acts, the film is set in the lush decadence of 1950’s England at the massive, recently purchased home of this newly married couple, Hedda (the unbelievably charismatic Tessa Thompson) and George Tesman (Tom Bateman), which they obviously cannot afford, as it’s well beyond their means, but George is an academic classics scholar with an all but certain university professorship awaiting him, yet he doesn’t exactly send his closeted queer wife’s heart aflutter, as he’s a white, mild-mannered, scholarly, and somewhat dull husband, revealing Hedda’s dissatisfaction with her life, including her disdain for George’s scholarly pursuits and the societal expectations placed upon her.  Thinking a safe, conventional marriage will bring her closer to privilege and respectability, it comes at the expense of her true feelings.  But the heavily mortgaged house that leaves them drowning in debt is for Hedda in an attempt to win her favor, giving her something that he thinks she wants, coming from an aristocratic background, where it’s more of a status symbol, even though they haven’t yet reached any degree of affluence, revealing the conflict between romantic ideals and bourgeois reality.  In the 1950’s, it was exclusively queer men who were routinely rounded up and arrested in England, as being gay was considered a crime until 1967, yet women were completely bypassed and ignored, as if they were invisible, where their sexual preferences simply didn’t exist.

Nia DaCosta worked with Tessa Thompson before in Little Woods (2018), a small independent gem, a story of women navigating life in poor rural America to confront the opioid crisis and pressing issues in women’s health care, while the actress has gone on to star in several commercial blockbusters, breaking ground as cinema’s first openly LGBTQ+ superhero in the Marvel universe, though she also starred in several smaller independent films, like Eugene Ash’s Sylvie's Love (2020) and Rebecca Hall’s 2021 #8 Film of the Year Passing, which are more searingly realistic, while this is a showcase role with a feverishly exaggerated theatricality to it, presenting a protagonist who defies the traditional heroic mold.  Having worked as a production assistant for Steven Soderbergh, Steve McQueen, and Martin Scorsese, DaCosta studied in London for her master’s degree in drama, which is where the idea of making Hedda biracial originated, as she believes it’s important to see “black women behaving badly” onscreen.  Essentially a British costume drama that was actually filmed at Flintham Hall, all taking place in a single evening leading into the dawn, with a vibrant jazz score composed by Hildur Guðnadóttir that does wonders with the flashy style of the opening credits, with its emphasis on drums and percussion, Hildur Guðnadóttir - Stolen Tale - Prepping the Party | Hedda ... YouTube (2:19), where the first thing we notice is Thompson speaking with a British accent, Hedda (2025) 'Where Should I Start' clip |Tessa Thompson ... YouTube (39 seconds), which is a bit startling at first, but it’s also given a classical Mildred Pierce (1945) structure, one of the first important “women’s pictures,” where the entire film is told in a flashback, yet what it really explores is the idea of a woman’s long sought-after independence.  This does the same through Hedda’s stifled character, a sensual free spirit who yearns for freedom but isn’t given the opportunity, so instead she exudes in her status as a sophisticated party girl, someone who is the life of a party, capricious, elegantly dressed, beautiful, and quick on her feet, where she’s the equal of any man, but they have income opportunities that she doesn’t, which leaves her seething in bitterness and scorn, even contempt, where her changing moods reflect the dizzying thought process that can be overwhelming to viewers, using a chameleon-like ability to adapt to the moment, where she’s every emotional state imaginable.  She grew up as the young and beautiful illegitimate daughter of the important General Gabler, where she was paraded around proudly on horseback, now lovingly preserving his collection of guns in a small box that opens only through a small golden key that she always wears around her neck, having a special fondness for shooting them.  Her yearning for beauty is synonymous with freedom, a concept that is at once existential and aesthetic, as the film concerns itself with female aspiration, yet her character is positively infuriating, completely cut off from a life she values, so instead she toys with the lives of others.  None of her friends thought she’d ever get married, as she flirtatiously broadcasts her role as young and unattached, beholden to no one, free from all societal conventions, thoroughly capable of holding her own with anyone, though now it’s clear she’s using her husband’s position to display unimaginable wealth and prestige, throwing a lavish dinner party for the social elite to help secure his position that will be one for the ages.  While George thinks this is all for him, Hedda has other ideas, as we discover that she’s something of an instigator who loves playing cat and mouse games, as we see her move from ecstatic, to sad, to bored, or in the next moment her inquisitiveness suddenly takes shape, as she plots just exactly what she wants to do, underscored by an inventive musical choice, percussion on wood, Vivace – Wood YouTube (1:53), a clever device that reflects the mechanism of her plotting.  Throwing such a lavish and luxurious party is a bit of a fairy tale, especially when the couple was so devastatingly strapped for cash, as the country was still living under post-war food rations (Rationing in the United Kingdom), which remained in effect until 1954, an element of the story that is completely ignored, though it does represent a time when women were being pushed out of the workforce for returning servicemen, a period obsessed with appearances, which is part of the suffocating reality of the times. 

Having been educated in many predominantly white institutions, DaCosta learned fairly quickly how black women are diminished in the eyes of others, understanding that she needed to be uncompromising in her vision.  The work of the Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen has transcended time thanks to his realistic approach to morality.  Of all Ibsen’s works, Hedda Gabler is the most detached, the most objective, a character-study through and through, where one cannot even call it a satire, exploring themes of power, freedom, and the societal constraints on women during the 19th century, illustrating Hedda’s struggle against her oppressive circumstances, where the tension escalates as she faces the repercussions of her actions, leading to a dramatic conclusion that reflects her desperate need for recognition in a world that limits her choices.  A lush portrait of a modern woman who is perfectly capable of compartmentalizing her internal thoughts, keeping them both evasive and elusive, belonging only to her and no one else, continually moving from room to room, from one moment to the next, making quick adjustments, finding new angles, new targets, where she’s an absolute delight in being such an unimaginably detestable character, yet she relishes the role, like something out of MEAN GIRLS (2004), continually confounding, sociopathic even, designed to repel audiences, and not easily understood by viewers, wondering why she does the cruel things she does, but it’s all about the power of manipulation.  Her malignant, self-serving egoism rises up uncontrolled, exposing her quick and subtle intellect, where the lavish spectacle is brilliant in coloring and rich in detail, beautifully shot in ‘Scope by Sean Bobbit (Steve McQueen’s cinematographer), as the entire party becomes a series of incidents which can best be described as accidents waiting to happen.  She hasn’t a single intellectual interest or moral limit, instead she languidly cherishes a petty social ambition that she immediately finds obstructed, as that academic position awaiting her husband suddenly finds a rival in successful author Dr. Eileen Lövborg (Nina Hoss, a gender switch from a male character in the play, who curiously played Hedda in a 2013 stage production), an outwardly lesbian former lover of Hedda’s who has just written a book revealing the hidden truths of human sexuality, with the assistance of her current lover Thea (Imogen Poots), that is expected to be revelatory and resurrect her career trajectory, which hit rock bottom during her time with Hedda, as she was an out-of-control alcoholic.  Hoss also displays an enormous range of emotions, from restraint and passion to sheer desperation.  To the complete dismay of her husband, Hedda has invited Eileen to the party, which is sure to prove interesting, just like her arrival, eyes fixated on Hedda across a ballroom, filmed as if both are floating on air, like co-mingling spirits.  The three of them, Thea, Eileen, and Hedda, are like the Three Witches from Macbeth, only queer, each having to fight to be able to decide what kind of life they want to live.  Accordingly, Eileen likes her chances of obtaining that coveted position, as it would give her prominence and stature, as well as economic freedom.  The film centers around Hedda’s desperate attempts to exert control over her destiny and the lives of her husband and his competitive rival, where it may be more about exacting revenge on the circumstances of a life that has made her a prisoner than it is about protecting her husband’s professional prospects.  Hedda can only think of manipulating Eileen, largely for having economic opportunities that are denied to her, so she wants to balance the playing field and take out her competition, using Thea, who she detests, as her foil for manipulating Eileen into doing what she wants her to do, which is create a scandal that will thoroughly diminish her stature.  To that end she devises a rather Machievellian plot to bring about her ultimate downfall, pressuring her, a disgraced yet recovering alcoholic, to get drunk, hoping to loosen her inhibitions and thoroughly embarrass herself in front of her prospective peer group, Hedda (2025) 'I Don't Drink' clip |Tessa Thompson, Imogen ... YouTube (1:42).  DaCosta invents a library scene that is not in the original play where Eileen cavorts with a room full of men, making them drinks and lighting their cigarettes with theatrical flair as she describes her sexual tales, but what was initially academically titillating suddenly takes a dour turn, leaving her defenses exposed, with the men leering at her like a thoroughly depraved whore.

All of these characters are grasping for power because they want to be in a better place, but suffocating social restrictions prevent that from happening.  Enraged at the box society puts her in, and at herself for being unable to pull her way out, Hedda thrives on impulse control, which gets her into a lot of trouble, always acting on a whim, yet never satisfied with where she finds herself.  The uncomfortable factor recalls Thomas Vinterberg’s THE CELEBRATION (1998), another film depicting an emotional all-consuming party over the course of a weekend.  Throughout the party, Hedda seems to cause mini-scandals by preying on the weakness of others, embellished in a crazy world of hedonism and gossip that borders on the ridiculous at times, Hedda (2025) I'm In Competition With That Woman Clip ... YouTube (56 seconds), while also, at least for brief moments, turning despairingly sexual.  Much like the over-the-top spectacle of the seemingly neverending Hollywood party in Damien Chazelle’s Babylon (2022), or the infamous 45-minute ballroom dance sequence in Luchino Visconti’s THE LEOPARD (1963), part of the visual appeal is creating this gorgeously brash spectacle, accentuated by an impressively grandiose all-glass chandelier in an all-glass interior space, so that when it falls, it makes the most dramatic impact, just part of the house of cards that Hedda constructs that will eventually fall, where the chandelier is the perfect embodiment of that.  What was originally intended to be a gloomily realistic, thought-provoking drama has been converted into a self-conscious piece of Sirkian melodrama.  As Hedda becomes more and more out of control, still hung up on her ex-lover, who may be the one true love of her life, bothered that she’s not more attentive to her coy flirtations, flittering here and there, making dangerous choices, moment to moment, never really thinking about the consequences, she strikes up the band to play, using anachronistic selections, creating this melodramatic emotional hysteria that is like a bubble that needs to burst.  When an important guest discovers his wife secretly having sex with another man in the supposed privacy of the outdoor gardens, all he can think about is exacting revenge, pulling out a gun, causing a commotion, but rather than shoot the man, he shoots upward, causing the chandelier to come crashing to the ground, creating pandemonium and pure panic.  The Chekhovian gun is an interesting device, because as soon as it’s introduced, viewers know nothing good can come out of it, so audiences simply wait for a developing catastrophe to happen, where full-blown tragedies happen fast and furiously at the end, delving into overwrought melodrama, with little context or explanation, relying upon visual elegance and symbolism, which ends up diluting the corrosive power and shock value of the play.  The men in the film are not developed, but feel like shadows of themselves, where their invisibility mirrors how women were viewed when the play was written.  Hedda is one of Ibsen’s most enigmatic and controversial female protagonists, as she embodies a profound conflict between societal expectations and personal desires, exploring her motivations, psychological depth, and the constraints imposed on her by a patriarchal society that limits her freedom and self-expression.  Through her actions and interactions with other characters, Hedda reveals a desperate attempt to assert power and autonomy in a world where she feels trapped by convention and devoid of purpose, challenging traditional gender roles by critiquing the norms of the surrounding world, while also shedding light on broader themes of freedom, manipulation, and existential despair, revealing symptoms of a postmodern anxiety.  Ultimately a complex character who defies easy categorization, exuding despair, a yearning for beauty, and a depth of soul that gives the character complexity and grandeur, Hedda’s tragic fate is a result of her internal conflict and her inability to reconcile her desire for control with the endless limitations imposed on her by society.  Unlike most other nineteenth-century writers, for whom the female characters could never be more than a foil for the male hero’s existential crisis, Ibsen dared to make a woman the bearer of his play’s most fundamental philosophical preoccupations, to turn this specific woman’s crisis into a scorching critique of the stifling repressive conditions of their times.  Like Hamlet, who is deeply challenging to understand, Hedda embodies humanity, tapping into the universality of women and what really constitutes freedom, which is a profoundly feminist move.

Nia DaCosta's Closet Picks  Criterion Closet on YouTube (4:56)

The Nanny (La Balia)

Director Marco Bellocchio

THE NANNY (La Balia)       B+                                                                                                 Italy  (106 mi)  1999  d: Marco Bellocchio

A film that bears some similarities to French director Antoine Santana’s own adaptation, A SONG OF INNOCENCE (2005), starring Isild Le Besco as the nanny, though Santana takes full writing credit for his film, even though there are exact copy cat shots taken directly from this earlier film.  Santana’s is a much more subversive adaptation, as it’s presented in the horror genre as class warfare against a harsh and unyielding employer, leading to a completely different and actually more satisfying ending.  Bellocchio’s is a lyrical, more novelesque adaptation, based on the novella by Luigi Pirandello, his first collaboration with screenwriter Daniela Ceselli, which merits attention due to its strict attention to period detail, a historical costume drama using gas street lamps and horse driven carriages reserved only for the rich.  Set in Rome during the end of the late 19th century, the country is undergoing political upheaval, where a fascist militia is brought in to protect the upper class by wiping out the peasant uprising, expressed through banners and red flag waving Communist demonstrations on the street.  In this capacity we meet a sympathetic Professor Mori (Fabrizio Bentivoglio), a neuropsychiatrist who treats exclusively female mental health patients at a local hospital, some of whom are suicidal, with no evidence that his treatment plans actually work, but he seems to receive a steady stream of political victims, announcing they need follow up care, keeping them at the hospital instead of allowing them to be arrested and hoisted off to jail.  His wife, Vittoria, played by Valeria Bruni-Tedeschi, usually seen in French films but seen here early in her career in Italian, is suffering from postpartum depression, a condition little was known about at the time, with no maternal feelings, along with an intense fear of intimacy with the newborn, who refuses her milk, requiring the breast feeding services of a wet nurse, leaving her emotionally devastated by the rejection, showing a range of conflicting emotions, like disgust, helplessness, hope, and also jealousy at the ease with which someone else nourishes her child.  While examining the subject of motherhood, this is essentially a story of human exploitation, juxtaposing the personal conflicts of the characters with the class conflict looming in the background, exposing the cultural divide between men and women, or wealth and poverty, giving the film an operatic feel, continuing an underlying Bellocchio theme that madness is the ultimate form of rebellion, as if emanating out of Marat/Sade.     

Santana also steals the most memorable image in the film, where twenty or so nursing mothers are lined up, each unclad from the waist up so the prospective employer can examine them as if choosing a woman at a bordello.  Dr. Mori chooses Annetta (Maya Sansa), who he may have seen in a railway station earlier in the film amongst handcuffed subversives about to be deported, where she left an unforgettable impression.  Against all advice, as her husband is a teacher jailed for subversion, a political activist demanding “freedom,” of all things, he chooses her anyway, perhaps mesmerized by her beauty, though he refuses to acknowledge his fascination with her, a counter to his straight-laced rationalism.  Easily the most difficult sacrifice demanded of her is being forced to live without her own newborn son (sneaking out undetected on occasion to care for him), but Annetta takes to the baby immediately, providing the natural intimacy missing from the real mother, who can’t bear to touch the newborn, which only inflames Vittoria’s resentment, who wants her sent away immediately.  But this irrational conflict contrasts against the health improvements of the baby, who also sleeps more peacefully now and is gaining weight.  Vittoria, however, remains hateful of the woman who has maternally taken her place, making her feel unappreciated and unnecessary, instilling tones of psychological tension while upsetting the power dynamic in their aristocratic home.  Dr. Mori has his medical practice to keep him busy, so all he’s really concerned about is the health of the baby.  Told against a backdrop of leftist demonstrations, their comfortable upper middle-class existence, seemingly far from the troubles, contrasts with the violent social upheaval taking place on the streets outside, with Annetta having more than a passive interest, as her inner life and bold curiosity about such things are completely ignored by her employer, yet that unseen presence is a driving force of the film.  The son of a lawyer and a schoolteacher, Bellocchio had a strict Catholic upbringing in a bourgeois home, training briefly as an actor, while studying philosophy in Milan before switching to film school in Rome and London, establishing a career steeped in Italian history, spanning more than half a century, where he has a tendency to make defiantly anti-authoritarian films.  At the time of release, a tagline for the film was “for Marxists or romantics or both at the same time.”

Another film that the Catholic Church described as “blasphemous,” the centerpiece is a letter written to Annetta from her husband in prison, which Vittoria initially conceals from her, finding it odd that someone would be sent a letter knowing the recipient was illiterate.  Annetta asks for help learning to read and write, but Vittoria ignores the request, as does Dr. Mori, who initially tells her, “You express yourself with love.  You don’t need to learn how to write,” but eventually succumbs to her charms and makes time for her, which are some of the more tender scenes in the film, especially the way he gently guides her hand as she’s learning to write, moments filled with passion, providing an erotic texture.  But the letter itself changes the dynamics of the film.  When Dr. Mori reads the letter out loud, which urges Annetta to remain liberated and free, to never settle for convention, to remain passionate in love and in her convictions, both can’t help but be impressed by the letter’s contents, which are not the thoughts of a political agitator, but a man who refuses to be anything less than a free soul on this earth and pleads with his wife to be the same, especially because they want a better future for their own young child.  Unlike the rigid superficiality of Vittoria, who prefers strict obedience from the servants, showing no regard for them whatsoever, as in her eyes they are an inferior class, Dr. Mori is more flexible, expressing a tolerance and even a kind benevolence for others.  When Annetta asks him to help her write a response, he’s at first reluctant, thinking her husband wrote such a strong letter.  “You are strong (Tu sei forte),” she tells him, an unusual moment where both classes are regarding one another with equanimity, showing appreciation and mutual respect, something that is clearly missing in the violent street protests raging outside.  While the pace of the film is exasperatingly slow, the camerawork by Giuseppe Lanci is impressive, especially working in dim, underlit conditions where they tried to shoot under natural conditions, much of it by candlelight, reminiscent of Kubrick’s BARRY LYNDON (1975).  Of note, Dr. Mori’s medical partner, a man questioning the worth of medicine and who eventually walks side by side with the demonstrators, taking one of the mental patients with him, is none other than the director’s son and producer, Pier Giorgio Bellocchio.