The first play, Platonov, began at 10.30am. It’s a ludicrous time for Chekhov. I just don’t think attempted suicide, drunkenness, murder and seriously despoiled undergarments are the sort of thing that you associate with brunch. Does brioche go with gunshots? But, hey, I’m not Russian.
What a day! The idea is to present Chekhov’s first three plays as a way of tracking his genius. All of them, reinterpreted smoothly by David Hare, were directed with fizz by Jonathan Kent. The set, with ceiling topping trees, a marsh and a lake, not to mention birdsong, was romantic and amazingly versatile. And just to make sure we knew what we were in for, there was a notice on the way in to the theatre: “Productions contain smoking, haze, smoke, live gunshots, loud sound effects and flashing lights.” But they forgot to add depression, suicide, vodka and giant ruffled collars.
How to survive total-immersion Chekhov? It’s easy, as it turns out. Platonov was a revelation. Chekhov never saw this play staged, not least because he wrote the seven hours (!) of material when he was very young. I think he would heartily approve of Hare’s pared down version. It is a wild, tragic ride, but mostly hilarious as we see the eponymous dedicated womaniser, played with perfect comic timing, not to mention a Scottish accent, by James McArdle, twist and turn in his awful longjohns as he tries to decide which woman suits him best.
Platonov was the best part of three hours, including the interval (and yes, people were drinking and I didn’t blame them). Ivanov started at 3pm. This was shorter but, my, Chekhov knew how to pack in the despair until you feel like you are drowning in it (and not just because there’s so much water in that set). Samuel West is our man who exists only to talk about his self-loathing. It’s me, me, me and, yes, more me. I felt like shouting: “Go get therapy!”
Instead, we went for dinner and then, at 7.30pm, The Seagull which, we all noticed with relief, was beautiful to look at and far easier to love. Anna Chancellor (of Four Weddings and a Funeral and so much more) is the scene-stealing vain-glorious actress (and terrible mother) Irina and West is the novelist Boris Trigorin. Both are superb. This was a treat to watch and, I can report that after almost 12 hours, the gunshots do not even surprise.
Box office 01243 781312, until Nov 14. The plays can be seen separately or on trilogy days, Oct 31 and Nov 14