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“When did ‘facts’ become subjective?” roars Matt Smith, as his character, Thomas Stockmann, reaches breaking point in An Enemy of the People. It’s a line that could have been written yesterday. Yet Henrik Ibsen wrote the play in 1882, long before terms such as “fake news”, “deep state” and “alternative facts” became common currency.
It’s shocking that it still rings so true, surging across the footlights in Duncan Macmillan’s English translation and Thomas Ostermeier’s blistering, modern-dress production. The story of whistleblower Dr Stockmann, who discovers pollution in the waters of his local spa town but is shut down by the authorities, is always resonant. It arrives in the West End at a febrile moment, with elections around the globe, widespread scepticism about politics and crucial issues reduced to mudslinging on social media.
But Ostermeier’s staging is less about individual contemporary events and more about a fundamental problem: the repackaging of truth, the damage done to democracy and the critical gap between opinion and action. Ibsen’s drama might be set in a small town, but it cannily traces the way people back away from uncomfortable facts when faced with cost or inconvenience. The moral arguments scissor back and forth: keep the water as it is and people will get sick; reveal its condition and the town will be bankrupted.
It’s easy to side against Stockmann’s brother, a local politician played with wonderful, disdainful prissiness by Paul Hilton (who surreptitiously wipes down Thomas’s sofa before he takes a seat). The journey of newspaper editor Hovstad (Shubham Saraf) is a queasier one, however, as we watch his zeal for campaigning journalism fade in the face of economic pressure.
And at the core of the play is Stockmann. At the outset he’s a cool thirtysomething: a new parent who still jams in a band with his journalist friends. He’s a scientist; his wife, Katharina, is a teacher: he’s confident — even cockily so — that the authorities will listen to him. When that’s not the case, shock gives way to disillusionment and, ultimately, extremism. In Smith’s superb performance, the wired, near-manic Thomas who rages about the stupidity of the majority at a public meeting feels worlds away from the genial, puppylike man we first meet, pushing a pram.
In Ostermeier’s hands, that public meeting becomes critical, with the theatre audience encouraged to react. It’s a brilliant idea, driving home the resonance of the play but also responding to its central issue by giving people a platform for engagement, before abruptly returning to the action. Have we participated? Or just aired our views? Who took part? Do we still side with Stockmann? The questions hang in the air.
That section could be longer and riskier. And both adaptation and production have flaws: the kiss between Katharina and Hovstad feels tacked on, partly because some characterisation is limited; the pacing feels a bit spongy at the outset and sometimes a lack of nuance grates.
But the performances are great, particularly from Zachary Hart as the funny, dopey Billing and Jessica Brown Findlay as the long-suffering Katharina. And Smith is terrific. His Stockmann blusters, rages and despairs, but ends up (unlike Ibsen’s original) exhausted, tugging on a bottle of beer and contemplating compromise. Thus Ostermeier’s urgent, passionate and quizzical staging asks its final question: do we all, ultimately, have a price?
★★★★☆
To April 6, anenemyofthepeople.co.uk
