“Who’s up for a bit of Chekov?”
Not everything called comedy in the theatre is necessarily funny but this version of Chekov’s ‘The Seagull’ is hilarious. At least until the interval, writes Katie Kelly.
The opening is arrestingly energetic, involving a quad bike and a great cover of a Billy Bragg number by character Simon Medvedenko, factory worker and class warrior. When he puts down his guitar and delivers the line, ‘ Who’s up for a bit of Chekov?’, the answer is everyone.
The writer and producer have gone for a contemporary staging of the play. There is nothing obviously Russian about the lakeside setting. The group of townies who find themselves thrown together at a country house are dressed for the most part like they have washed in from Dalston. The story is that the famous actress Irina Arkadina and her son, have come to the country estate owned by her ailing brother Peter Sorin. The action begins with a play put on by Irina’s son, Konstantin. He is desperate to impress his mother and emerge from her shadow. Long story short, he fails at both. Aside from this attempt at avant-garde theatre, the real drama comes from a series of love triangles. When, with nothing better to do, the characters busy themselves falling in love with all the wrong people.
Cate Blanchett is luminous as Irina. There is something liberating about a character who gets away with being a bad mother and she plays up to this wonderfully. Not since Moira Rose in Schitts Creek has someone been so terrible and wonderful. Self indulgent, sassy, sequined and tap dancing utterly self absorbed, even when she appears to show some genuine emotion as she fights for the affection of her lover, the writer Tregorin, she only just stops short of taking a bow.
Although Blanchett is the biggest name, this is by no means a one woman show. The rest of the cast a mix of famous names and new faces, work beautifully together to create a genuine ensemble piece.
Chekov wrote this play against a background of turbulent change when the world he depicted was about to be overturned by revolution. The irony of a group of mostly well off people sitting in the Barbican watching actors pontificate about the point of art in a time of crisis, in a week where Russia is very much on our minds, is not lost on the director and writer – there is a whole scene where Konstantin breaks the fourth wall to metaphorically wink at the audience, look at us. Look at you… what are we all doing here indulging ourselves?
If you draw attention to your own self-indulgence, does that excuse it? I pondered this question at some point in the second half of the play during what felt like an interminable self-indulgent monologue by Irina’s lover Trigorin about the trials of being a wirter.
The first couple of acts fizzed. After the interval the whole play slowed down. There was an intensification of emotion towards the dramatic end but one that could have been bettered by some judicious editing. This is a fresh production with some great writing, superb set and dazzling acting. If it were half an hour shorter it would have earnt an ‘encore’.
Barbican Centre, Silk Street, London, EC2Y 8DS until April 5th. Sold Out.
