Hedda is radiant. I mean that assertion to be as literal as it can be meant. Nia DaCosta’s inventive adaptation of the classic Henrik Ibsen play Hedda Gabler is exceptional in all the ways that would customarily earn that descriptor. It’s beautifully shot by cinematographer Sean Bobbitt, and both the production and costume design are sumptuous. The film is polished to such visual perfection that at times it seems to veritably gleam. Where I really think the film becomes radiant, though, is in the furious intensity of its emotions. The tale of passion and duplicity is at such a rolling boil of feeling that it’s liable to scald anyone who dares approach it incautiously. DaCosta’s screenplay takes liberties with its source material to allow for florid turns as the characters stalk around a lavish party like caged animals who are one inspired thought away from springing the lock and devouring the gaping onlookers. The dialogue cuts like razors, especially when delivered by Tessa Thompson in a performance of forthright cunning. DaCosta presides over the film like a maestro, guiding her collaborators to, through, and around every one of the film’s considerable crescendos. It is like its own heat source, leaving ash and burn marks behind.