My first brush with A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen was in 1988. The play was a text for Theatre Studies ‘A’ Level. Our study of the Norwegian classic coincided with the Second Summer of Love. We were listening to French Kiss by Lil Louis on pirate radio, as E-fuelled Acid House swept the nation. Ibsen’s critique of the claustrophobic strictures of 19th century society, with its heavy sideboards and gloomy dialogue did not jive with the vibes of my fellow drama students. We yawned, eye-rolled and gurned, wearing smiley face t-shirts and muddy Kickers.
In 2022, in the crazy throes of lockdown, Soho Theatre produced an online adaption of Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler. It was created, written and directed by Jen Heyes and starred the avant garde legend David Hoyle. HEDDA (after Ibsen), blew my mind. Using the original text, but chopped to a 60-minute monologue, it was a cinematic and disturbing production. It proved to a wary old raver that Ibsen could be framed in contemporary way that was both exciting and haunting.
In the current production of A Doll’s House at The Almeida, Anya Reiss has kept the plot points intact, but entirely reimagined the dialogue and characters. Set in 2026, this highly modern version is less concerned with stifling patriarchy and instead, sinks its teeth into late-stage capitalism. The obsession with status remains at the play’s core, but in this scenario, Instagram, Waitrose and drug addiction are thrown into the mix.
Romola Garai’s Nora is a semi-charming narcissist, maxxing out the credit cards, hoofing cocaine and outsourcing the care of her children to nannies and babysitters. She is compellingly awful. Fresh from an Olivier Award winning performance in The Years, which transferred from Almeida to West End, Garai gives a gripping turn. With nuance, humour and vulnerability, Garai takes a toxic mix of traits and renders them bearable and entertaining. Does she have any resemblance to the repressed 19th century Nora that Ibsen created? No. Does this matter? That depends. The pensioner from Melbourne sat next to me, was so incensed that she left after the interval. It’s not a show for purists. The fact that the first half was 90 minutes long, meant that Miss Melbourne was absolutely livid by the time she sprang from her seat. ‘I hate them all, she said, disappearing into the night.
James Corrigan’s 2026 update of Nils Krogstad is a more sympathetic figure than Ibsen’s unyielding original. He frets about Nora’s conspicuous consumption and in 2026, his wife’s sly financial crime is way more heinous than the unofficial loan which was scandalous in 1879. Women of the 19th century were forbidden from financial affairs such as signing cheques without a man’s endorsement. This Nora has stolen close to £850k from her husband’s company to fund his rehab, following a coke induced heart attack. It’s a wild departure from the minor transgressions which scandalised Victorian society. This is high drama Netflix territory. Corrigan is electrifying in his foul-mouthed rage and disbelief on discovering his wife’s potentially catastrophic deception.
The bold set design by Hyemi Shin frames the action in a plush, loft-style apartment. The minimalist aesthetic feels authentic to this contemporary scenario. It’s a stylistic contrast to the fussy and overbearing décor that’s often associated with Ibsen. Olivier Huband is a pervier Petter Rank than his 19th century version. He is also a terminally ill party animal, who proves impressively resistant to Nora’s overt sexuality. Nora’s infamous tarantella dance sequence of Ibsen’s original becomes an extended and multi-venue lap dance in a PVC kinky nurse outfit.
The writing by Anya Reiss is so sharp and original that it feels like a fresh play, dramatically divorced from its inspiration. As a tense and explosive window onto the perils of greed, online bragging and economic instability, this production delivers with bells on. The focus on neo-liberal avarice in the aspirational middle classes is a winning and pointed formula. With taut direction from Joe Hill-Gibbins, it’s a rollicking ride. Reiss has written an alternative ending for The Almeida, where Nora doesn’t walk out on her oppressive husband and their children. Instead, the play concludes with the couple entangled and paralysed, seemingly bound forever by their crimes and misdemeanours.
Ibsen’s original ends with an emotional punch and a concept of liberty that was both terrifying and inspirational to audiences of that era. This finale was horribly realistic, but coldly depressing. Perhaps that reflects the grim nature of capitalism, but it lacked the swaggering nerve and brilliance that crackled through the rest of the show.
A Doll’s House is at Almeida Theatre until 23rd May 2026, Almeida Theatre | London
Reviewer: Stewart Who?
Reviewed: 10th April 2025
North West End UK Rating: