Irony Meets Cinematic Grace
Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard
At The Huntington Stage Company, Until February 4th
By Richard Campbell
Nicolas Martin’s direction of this impressionist production of Chekhov’s final masterpiece, “The Cherry Orchard” is flawless. Even though Chekhov insisted this was a comedy, and the play’s story commences upon a joyous aristocratic reunion, a cloud hangs over celebrations: the loss of the family estate. The beauty of this production is that tears and mirth come to the audience in a series of well crafted waves. This is the most solid acting ensemble to grace the stage at The Huntington this season, and perhaps symbolically, it represents just how far Martin has taken this company. We are not so much wowed as we are brought to understated awe.
Starting with a fresh translation by Richard Nelson, which clears away linguistic cob webs and provides a truthful voice, Martin shrewdly chose Kate Burton to play Madame Ranevskaya. Ms Burton gives us a nuanced performance, neither given to hysterical highs, or earth shattering woes. When she returns to her estate to mend familial ties, penniless after a long absence in Paris, Madame Ranevskaya’s appeal is an immediate charm, suffused in repressed despair, beneath an engaging cheerfulness. Her character is the very definition of a confused aristocrat searching for momentary stasis and happiness by pretending to arrange the lives of others.
Anton Chekhov would have been pleased with Ms. Burton’s delicate interpretation: the malleable, sweet denial of a fallen aristocrat, who continually places herself in the proper position to allow others to enable her spendthrift ways. She comes and goes with blissful disregard for the serfs she leaves behind holding the bags. Mark Blum perfectly plays her enabling brother Leonid Gaev, who supports her action-less path in the face of a mortgage crisis by blathering nonsensically, and helping her remember the good old days. The comic relief in this play comes largely in the form of the personal idiosyncrasies, but don’t look for big laughs, for this is Chekhov, the master of ironic humor masked as social commentary. During the plays premier, Konstantin Stanislavski, the renown director of The Moscow Art Theatre had big fights with Chekhov over the “comedy” in this play, as well as the convoluted tragic back story.
Audiences may easily miss the fact that before Madame Ranevskaya arrives at her estate she has buried an alcoholic husband, been robbed by her lover, and her son has drowned in a river. Amid the joviality, Lopakin, a local money grubbing merchant, begins earnestly trying convince Ranevskaya to save the estate by selling off plots in her beloved cherry orchard- an idea that is dismissed as being too vulgar. He ends by taking control of the situation himself, in a class climbing act that this reviewer tastefully refuses to give away. Suffice it to say, it is an act for which he might be forgiven, unlike his unnecessary stringing along of Varya, Madame Ranesvkaya’s adopted daughter. Will LeBow plays lowbrow Lopakin as suitably odious, and Varya is portrayed with extraordinary range by Sarah Hudnut, who, encouraged by Ranevskaya, puts all hope into the pending marriage only to be crushed. Stanislavski was right about this play. So much for comedy.
Jessica Rothenberg plays Anya, Ranesvkaya’s younger daughter by birth, who with youthful infatuation and care free joy engages us in her relationship with Petya that adds an element of humor. Enver Gjokaj as Petya, encapsulates the untried collegiate youth armed with a set of precocious mannerisms and glib life answers Bostonians will immediately recognize. Joyce Van Patten skillfully contrasts the youthful comedy as Charlotta, the earthy governess who performs magic tricks, yet represents isolation of servitude of people born without class distinction. The senility of Firs, the perennial house servant, played with absurd economy by Dick Latessa, and the sheer stupidity of Gene Farber’s Yasha, are two clowns that provide consistent, buffoonish slapstick. Throughout we are captivated by Martin ‘s staging that contrasts the grace of the female characters gliding cinematic like across the stage in long dresses, to the men who are frequently abrupt, or stationary for more comic-tragic effect.
One is always struck in Chekhov’s plays by the amount of time characters spend talking directly to the audience, or past each other, and how directors choose particular staging to give lines actionable movement. The proletariat wardrobe palettes of subdued colors, are contrasted with creams and vibrant hues of the aristocracy, revealing a class structure and impressionist early century vision in Robert Morgan’s beautifully crafted costume designs. Ralph Funicello’s complimenting set design, is replete with magical scrims that depict the orchard in various seasons. Dream like intense forests contrast nicely with the chalk grey elegance of the old villa that is lit to perfection by Donald Holder. In every respect, this is a production that should be filmed for posterity.
