You can wait ages for a cinema adaptation of Henrik Ibsen's "A Doll's House", and then two come along at once. Like London buses. There had never previously been an English-language feature film of the play, but this was one of two versions which came out in 1973; the other was directed by Joseph Losey and starred David Warner and Jane Fonda. Such coincidences occasionally happen in the cinema; there was another one in 1973 when two studios were independently working on disaster movies about a fire in a skyscraper. When they discovered the coincidence they combined forces to produce the film now known as "The Towering Inferno". There were two biopics of Oscar Wilde in 1960 and two of Coco Chanel in 2009.
Torvald and Nora Helmer are a well-to-do middle-class couple in nineteenth century Norway, living the middle-class Norwegian dream. (He works as a bank manager). They have a beautiful house, beautiful clothes and two beautiful children. And then, as often happens in films that present us with an idealised middle-class couple, the dream becomes a nightmare. Nora receives a visit from Nils Krogstad, an employee of her husband's bank who has recently been dismissed for suspected dishonesty. Several years ago, Nora borrowed money from Krogstad, and he has now discovered that she obtained the loan by forging her father's signature on a guarantee. He blackmails her, telling her that he will inform her husband of the forgery unless she uses her influence with her husband to get Krogstad reinstated in his old job. The film then follows all the consequences of this event, culminating in Nora leaving her husband and walking away from their marriage.
I have always thought that there is a hole at the centre of Ibsen's plot. Krogstad, a widower bringing up two young sons, is clearly much less wealthy than the Helmers and is living in very straitened circumstances. So how was he in a position to lend Nora a considerable sum of money? And surely she would have had much richer friends whom she could have approached for a loan? Yet, somehow, this plot-hole does not diminish the power of the drama.
The writer May Sinclair said of Anne Bronte's "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall", which also deals with a woman who leaves her husband, that the slamming of the heroine's bedroom door against her husband reverberated throughout Victorian England. The ending of this play had a similar effect throughout Europe, not just Norway. Torvald is what Robert Graves (in "I, Claudius") would have called a "stony-hearted virtuous man". He prides himself on his virtue, integrity, reputation and sense of honour, but is lacking in affection and emotional warmth. When he discovers what Nora has done, he predictably reacts with fury, even though it was done for his benefit. (She needed the money to send him on a rest cure at a time when he was seriously ill). What drives Nora to leave him is the realisation that he has never really loved her but has simply regarded her as a doll that he can play with. (Hence the play's title).
I felt that Anthony Hopkins was miscast in this version. This is not intended as a criticism of Hopkins, one of my favourite actors and a man with a vast range. It is simply that this role came too early in his career; had the film been made twenty, or even ten, years later, with a different leading actress, he could have made an admirable Torvald. In 1973, however, he was only 35, six years younger than Claire Bloom, who plays Nora. It seems clear from the play that Torvald is considerably older than his wife, even referring to her as a child. He is also supposed to be around the same age as Krogstad, who was at school with him, but Denholm Elliott was fifteen years older than Hopkins.
Bloom is rather better, especially in the final scene when she explains to Torvald why she is leaving him, but my favourite of the three main actors is Elliott as Krogstad, a seedy little man who suddenly finds himself in a position of power over a woman of higher social standing and who abuses that power shamefully. In his dealings with Nora he initially addresses her with an obsequious and obviously false politeness, but quickly shows her, and us, that he has a nasty streak a mile wide.
On a final note, the nineteenth century sets and costumes were very detailed and elaborate, in keeping with the British "heritage cinema" style of film-making. This was a decent effort, and I look forward to seeing Losey's version if I can track it down. 7/10.
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