Lo-rise wood panelling, cream leather sofas with chrome details, tropical fishes swimming in a large glass tank set into the living room wall, this is like a page out of 1990s Wallpaper magazine. Ambient music is playing on the stereo system, there are bright green cocktails on the table, the upstairs landing is dominated by an enormous piece of abstract art and a Christmas tree, the whole is pervaded with a sense of decadent minimalism. The exquisite set and lighting of this production finds a peculiarly apt home at the Barbican. 
      Ostermeier's up-date of Ibsen's middle-class domestic tragedy has an un-British sensibility that - despite the inconvenience of sur-titles for those who don't know German - lends it an authenticity that helps to accommodate some otherwise substantial revisions. Germany has important cultural and linguistic affinities with Norway, Ibsen even resided there for some time during his self-imposed exile, and the combination is a happy one. 
      What is essential to Ibsen's original and to this interpretation is Nora's development from seeing herself merely as an object under her husband's gaze, to a finally violent recognition of herself as a subject in her own right. The catalyst to this development lies in the existence of a secret that Nora feels she cannot reveal to her husband, but which events conspire to render the discovery of both inevitable and terrible. As she becomes increasingly manic and preoccupied, her distance from her husband increases. His insistent sexual attentions and diminutive pet names become less and less appropriate to the role she is now playing, and her self-image finally comes apart from the one her husband wants to impose on her. 
      While the suddenness of Nora's self-realization is often remarked upon, Anne Tismer's portrayal does much to bring out her inner vitality and strength from the very start. Unbeknownst to her husband Torvald, she has already made dubious relations with the outcast Krogstad, forged a signature, and incurred debts in order to save his (Torvald's) life. She dances with her children, loosens her hair, at one moment strangely jumps into the fish tank. She is in many ways self-assured, even slightly eccentric. 
      She is furthermore absolutely complicit and manipulative in her own sexual objectification, and even carries on ambiguous amorous relations with their friend Dr. Rank. Played by Lars Eidinger, Rank is profound and psychologically powerful to an extent beyond what can be found in the text so when he confesses his love to her, and later announces his impending death, it is hard to resist attributing the changes she undergoes largely to him. But this is a nice dimension. 
       So Nora is never exactly in passive thrall to her husband, and in that sense doesn't need liberating. What is shocking and sudden, and realistically so, is her violent recognition of her own independence. Changes in people happen by degrees, but changes in their consciousness of themselves often happen by paradigm shifts. 
      This production's main departures from tradition fall into four categories: (1) the introduction of thoroughly contemporary set, costume, and props, (2) the characters' extensive use of body-language to convey meanings often lewd - not explicit in the dialogue, (3) the use of a new and rather free translation of the text, and (4) a crucial change to the plot in the final act. Some of these devices work better than others, but on the whole the first three are successful and the last is not. 
      While the plays of Shakespeare hardly ever require such tinkering, it is arguable that revisions are necessary to maintain the very precise psychological and cultural realism of Ibsen's works. Especially in the case of A Doll's House, where the plausibility of the plot and of Nora's eventual awakening depends upon certain quite specific social and even legal conventions, what might otherwise seem like gratuitous changes are largely justified. These include strobe lights, mobile phones, plastic guns, and mayhem. 
      One really striking feature of this production, which goes against tradition but is probably faithful to Ibsen, is the sheer youth and sexiness of the characters. The script gives no explicit indication of their ages, but we know from Nora that she has been married to Torvald for eight years so it is likely that she is only in her early 20s. Dr. Rank is we know about die - but it is typical of this production that he is played as a young man who, it is hinted, has AIDS. (There are also definite homoerotic implications between him and Torvald.) Bringing out this youthfulness, the production accounts for Nora's initial coquettishness, as well as making sense of the eventually overwhelming intensity of her need to find herself. 
      Without giving the ending away, it must be said, it has a black-and-white glamour that vitiates what is in other ways a brilliantly suggestive production. Ostermeier's attention to detail is however immaculate right to the end: through a screen at the back of the set, in the midst of Nora and Torvald's row, one just catches a glimpse of the three tiny children in their pyjamas, the au pair pulling on their coats and woollen hats, hurrying, as they wildly looking into each others' faces, and bundling them off into the winter night.
Naomi Goulder