Few industries romanticise obsession quite like the arts. We celebrate the visionary, excuse the tyrant, and sometimes mistake intimidation for genius. Secret House’s mind-bending Shooting Hedda Gabler plunges headlong into this uneasy territory, reimagining Ibsen’s nineteenth-century tragedy as a darkly satirical examination of power, manipulation and the dangerous mythology of the artistic mastermind.

Playwright Nina Segal relocates Ibsen’s themes of entrapment and coercion to a contemporary film set where ambition and creative dependence become fertile ground for manipulation. Here, Hedda is no longer imprisoned by marriage or financial dependence, but by reputation, public image and the relentless gaze of an audience. Under Monica Sayers’ direction, these ideas are realised through a visually striking production that blurs the boundaries between performance, celebrity and surveillance.

Updating Hedda Gabler for a modern zeitgeist presents a challenge. Nina Segal’s reimagining is ambitious and timely, but it never quite resolves its central question: why does nobody simply expose the game and walk away?This is muddied by jarring tonal shifts between dark satire, dry humour and psychological thriller. Is it an exposé of industry hubris, a cautionary tale about coercive control, or a biting send-up of artistic ego? Scenes that flirt with absurdity are often followed by moments demanding genuine emotional investment, creating a tension that is never fully reconciled.

Much of Segal’s premise hinges on the power of cult-like film director Henrik, played by James Smithers. He is the catalyst for Hedda’s downward spiral, and while Smithers captures Henrik’s cold detachment and control, the seductive qualities that make coercive relationships so difficult to escape are never fully explored. For a supposedly visionary director, Henrik’s methods rarely seem to extend beyond repeatedly demanding that actors “make him believe it”. We see the cruelty and manipulation, but not the qualities that inspire such devotion, making Hedda’s growing fixation on pleasing him feel more puzzling than inevitable.

That Hedda’s tumultuous journey remains compelling is largely due to Jennifer Rani, who brings intelligence, vulnerability and emotional clarity to a wildly demanding role, grounding some of the script’s more challenging character choices and ensuring Hedda’s gradual unravelling remains engaging throughout. It is a performance that does much of the heavy lifting, lending emotional credibility to the dramatic turns.

Similarly, the supporting characters are often pushed towards extremes. While the performances are committed and well delivered, the heightened characterisation sits uneasily alongside the play’s psychological ambitions. Lob Campbell’s Thea, reimagined as an actress, intimacy coordinator and on-set therapist, delivers much of the script’s Nordic droll humour, transforming Ibsen’s nurturing confidante into a vehicle for satire. Matthew Abotomey’s Jørgen veers between melancholy and sudden volatility.

Alpha Sylla’s Ejlert is a recovering alcoholic celebrity who appears to have rebuilt both his career and his life, only to find himself drawn back into Hedda’s orbit as another pawn. Sylla delivers an appealing vulnerability throughout his increasingly bleak trajectory. The conceit of casting Hedda’s former lover as the actor playing her former lover is a clever one, yet as we watch Hedda systematically destroy him, the fallout feels strangely muted.

Jane Angharad’s Berta is one of the few characters who appears to understand that actions have consequences. As the set’s safety officer, she capitulates to the the reckless decisions unfold while being routinely silenced, patronised and bullied. Angharad brings calm authority and common sense to the role, making Berta a welcome grounding presence and voice of reason amid the escalating chaos.

Ironically, Kasper Erlandsen, as an ad hoc crew member and clapperboard operator, is difficult to ignore. Whether by design or happenstance, he moves benignly through the action, watching the unfolding chaos from the sidelines with a level of detached indifference that becomes increasingly unsettling.

This production boasts some impressive design. A sunken centre-stage pit, overhead lighting catwalks and two upstage trailers whose opaque windows alternately reveal and conceal the action create a world that feels both cinematic and metaphorical. Yet these same elements can distance the audience from the drama. Scenes that should crackle with tension are often watched rather than felt, limiting the claustrophobia and psychological pressure the material demands.

By its final act, Shooting Hedda Gabler has largely surrendered to surrealism, embracing Hedda’s fractured perspective and steering the production towards a conclusion that is as disquieting as it is bizarre. In many ways, the play’s more audacious choices pay greater dividends here, where heightened reality feels less like a stumbling block and more like a deliberate expression of Hedda’s psychological collapse.

Bold, bewildering and frequently unsettling, Shooting Hedda Gabler is ultimately more interested in the act of destruction than the reckoning that follows. It may not always hit its target, but it certainly leaves a mark.

Shooting Hedda Gabler plays at The Seymour Centre until June 21. For details see : https://www.seymourcentre.com/event/shooting-hedda-gabler/

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