Rosmersholm

Sheer respect for Henrik Ibsen (even Ibsen at his worst), provided the momentum for last night's production at the Loeb. Director Caroline Cross persistently believed in the applicability of the play, and a good cast went far toward transforming grandiose chit-chat into drama.

But if The Wild Duck is tough to digest, the left-overs of The Wild Duck are even tougher. Picking up the theme of idealism's tragic inefficiency, Rosmersholm concerns a gritty, ambitious woman who imposes on a respectable pastor the belief that he can improve mankind. While the scene never shifts from the house that has been Rosmer's family bastion for cons, Ibsen reports that there is a great liberal-conservative struggle going on outside. He also assumes that "the poor people" are more or less milling about, waiting for a self-sacrificing word from Pastor Johannes Rosmer. So much for the widely advertised politics.

Unfortunately, the idealism that Rebecca West (Andrea Peterson) would instill in Rosmer (Thom Babe) is both archaic and syrupy in sound, making the actress' job incredibly difficult. For example:

REBECCA: You were to go as a messenger of emancipation from home to home; to win over minds and wills; to create noble men around you in wider and wider circles. Noble men.

ROSMER: Happy noble men.

REBECCA: Yes--happy.

Miss Peterson is not up to the changes the role demands. Her ambition is but coquetry, her acute sympathy for Rosmer comes through as mere casual interest, her strength is undermined by a whining voice. Nor does her stiff body prove her capable of the regeneration which she might have offered the house of Rosmer.

Playing opposite Thorn Babe, however, is a demanding assignment for anyone. Praising this versatile actor's performances can become monotonous, but there seems little he cannot do magnificently. Babe made the good pastor ingenuous without making him stupid, introspective but not self-centered. And Babe did not have to salvage the production single-handedly.

Ulrik Brendel, an old mentor of Rosmer's whose life has corroded through his own illusory ambitions, was given a Chaplinesque twist by Joel Henning. As Professor Kroll, the pompous but observant conservative, Richard B. Stone heroically varies his redundant lines. Had he used his torso as flexibly, the visual effect would have been similarly less monotonous. Joel Crothers as the opportunistic radical leader whose dreams never exceed his political capabilities, and Beryl Kinross-Wright as a housekeeper, turn in two excellent performances.

What Miss Cross's show lacks is organic motion (for which it substitutes masterful blocking), and the tragedy that Ibsen failed to provide. What recommends it highly is its speed, color, and clarity.

This reviewer's biases should be taken into account, because they obviously deflect the conclusions. Ibsen's no favorite of mine, and Rosmersholm is not among his finer plays. But even these biases could not blur the polished stagecraft clearly displayed at the Loeb.