NW Dance Project’s Artistic Director Sarah Slipper has a literary soul and a deep affection for translating iconic writing into dance theater choreography. 

Over the past decade she has steadily built a body of work inspired by writers including Harold Pinter (Betrayal), Virginia Woolf (Mrs. Dalloway), James Joyce (The Dead), Dorothy Parker (But the One on the Right), Edward Albee (Marriage Play), and Henrik Ibsen (Hedda Gabler).

What they have in common is an expression of complex inner lives, quiet discontent, and unspoken desires. They explore themes of time, memory, and the haunting weight of choices made or not made. There is often a feeling of constraint, whether through marriage, social expectation, or self-imposed roles, with women at the center navigating identity, longing, and regret. 

Slipper’s Hedda, based on Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, returned to the Newmark last month, shedding what had seemed its previous ambiguity for a newfound clarity. Where the 2018 iteration left me feeling disconnected, this restaging, featuring a cast of beautifully symbiotic dancers, presented a matured and refined vision. The dance, a seamless, almost cinematic experience, felt like a faithful adaptation, delving into the play’s depths without resorting to melodrama. Contributing significantly to this effect was Owen Belton’s masterful score, a narrative force unto itself, guiding the audience through Hedda’s emotional landscape.

The story follows Hedda Gabler, the intelligent and restless daughter of a general, who returns from her honeymoon already disillusioned with her new husband, George Tesman. George is an academic who spent their honeymoon focused on researching for a new book. When George’s rival, the passionate and self-destructive Eilert Løvborg, reenters the scene with a brilliant new manuscript and a romantic history with Hedda, tensions rise. Bored and craving power, Hedda manipulates events, steals, and burns Eilert’s manuscript, leading to his death. When her involvement is uncovered, and she faces the threat of blackmail, Hedda, in a final act of defiance and desperation, takes her own life.

When the curtain rose on Slippers’ production of Hedda at the Newmark Theatre, it unveiled a striking, minimalist contemporary living room designed by set designer Luis Crespo. This space perfectly balanced light and dark, elegance and tension, creating dramatic contrasts with flair.

The back wall featured three floor-to-ceiling strips of white fabric against a black background, the central strip positioned slightly higher to suggest a window to the outside. Two additional strips were placed at right angles on either side, with the left one rising later in the dance to indicate an event that occurred outside. In the right corner, an upright piano and bench sat diagonally, accompanied by a dozen or so galvanized metal cans filled with colorful bouquets of flowers.

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Framing the stage were two feathery curtains of black fringe cascading down from above, one on either side, drawing the audience’s attention inward toward the center of the action and adding an element of anonymity to what occurred behind them. Behind the left fringe, a lone chair sat in stark solitude while the right side remained open. The overall image was crisp, featuring clean lines and deliberate contrasts, offering no unnecessary distractions, only the essentials.

The dancing was also minimal and to the point, perfectly matching the restraint of the period and the edginess of Hedda’s vindictiveness and boredom. Each of the characters had their own distinct movement language that reflected their personality. A favorite moment of mine was Slipper’s choreography featuring four drunk men walking home after the party when Løvborg loses his manuscript. They looked like four playful puppies jumping, rolling, weaving in and out of each other, and falling all over. It was lively, physical, and filled with carefree energy. The accompanying music was also dynamically different, and included sounds of crashing objects, breaking glass, and laughter. This moment created an uptempo beat in an otherwise somber atmosphere.

I loved this cast. Hedda, the new wife, was danced by Ingrid Ferdinand; Tesman, the academic, by Mateo Vidals; and Løvborg, the writer and ex-lover, by Armando Brydson. Thea Elvsted, a visitor, was danced by Alejandra Preciado. Berte, their maid, was danced by Beatriz Garcia Diaz; Brack, the judge, by Anthony Milian; Diana, the madam, by Samantha Aymong; and the Party Goer by Gabriel Canepa.

Sometimes I enjoy seeing dancers wildly different in shape, size, and style, but in this case, the uniformity of training and approach worked well. The ensemble felt cohesive, like a true company. The dancers’ commitment to the work was visible and magnetic: I could feel the connections between them, not just through choreography but in real, lived chemistry.

That said, I did lose track of some of the male characters. The women looked more distinctly different, but the men blended together visually at times.

I could clearly see all of Hedda’s manipulations, though sometimes the repetition dragged a little. I assume that was intentional, meant to reinforce emotional patterns. Still, I occasionally wished for more variation. At times, I found Hedda’s characterization too overtly seductive — always swishing and sashaying. Her movements didn’t always feel real or grounded, and I wanted them to feel more lived-in and less stylized. Sometimes, the characters felt like symbols rather than people.

Yet one moment that stood out vividly and effectively was when Hedda, in a burst of frustration, yanked flowers from their pots and smashed them on the floor. It was such a visceral moment, and the scent of the flowers even wafted into the audience. It broke the fourth wall in the most surprising and sensory way.

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When Hedda brought out the gun, I felt uneasy. With the reality of gun violence today, seeing one onstage, even as a theatrical device, hit differently. I’ve seen guns in plays before, but something about the current climate made it more jarring. I wondered how other audience members felt.

The couple next to me in the theater had never seen contemporary dance before, only ballet. They told me they were skeptical when they sat down about its ability to communicate in a way they would understand, and then were blown away by the experience. They left wide-eyed and excited and wanting to dig more into the story read the play. The exchange with them was deeply satisfying: I love such random exchanges when I go to the theater.

The final image of Hedda’s lifeless body on the floor while Brack lounged nearby, drink and cigarette in hand, was especially disturbing. It felt like he had manipulated her into killing herself, and that her death was inconsequential to him. I could swear he pulled the trigger. And yet, the gun was in her hands. Was it suicide or a slow-motion societal murder?

Slipper’s choreography often feels like a gateway drug, leading me into other art forms like literature or history through movement. The piece ran just over an hour, around 65 minutes, but it covered a lot.

Ibsen was a Norwegian playwright and poet, often called the “father of modern drama.” He introduced theatrical realism, the style we commonly see in theaters and films today, in contrast to the Greek tragedies, romantic plays, and melodramas that came before. He had a remarkable ability to peel back the facade of polite society, revealing messy and raw truths. Ibsen’s goal was to challenge the patriarchy from inside the drawing room. His works, including Hedda Gabler, continue to resonate today, addressing issues of power, control, and the constraints of societal expectations. People were afraid of what would happen if women took him seriously. And they did!

In Ibsen’s highly popular play A Doll’s House, the third act culminates in Nora’s decision to leave her husband, Torvald, and their three children — an unprecedented act in 1879, when it was first performed. This moment remains one of the most significant instances of gender politics in world literature. Nora’s character has achieved iconic status; UNESCO’s Memory of the World register refers to her as “a symbol throughout the world for women fighting for liberation and equality.”

This was a more than solid production — and its story is also upsetting in a way that lingers. It left me thinking about how much (or how little) has changed for women since Ibsen’s time. In just my lifetime, we’ve watched freedoms gained and then taken back. Hedda’s story may be rooted in another era, but the feelings it surfaces—entrapment, dissatisfaction, longing for agency and freedom—are still deeply present.

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Beyond the story itself, it’s rare and refreshing to see a dance production this fully realized. A commissioned score, an integrated set, theatrical lighting, and a cast of skilled, committed dancers — these are luxuries in the world of contemporary dance, which remains one of the most underfunded and undervalued of art forms. When all those elements come together, as they did here, the result is powerful. It makes the case, quietly but clearly, for why dance deserves more.