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It’s
night in a forest in Russia. There are
candles burning on tree stumps and roughhewn
benches. Amidst a stand of trees, there’s a
young man, as slender as the bare trees
around him. The mood is elegiac, and yet,
with the sound of animated voices
approaching through the woods, also
anticipatory. Such is Chekhov: rueful,
though not without hope, as if to say: This
is life; we must endure with humor. And make
no mistake; there is much amusement to be
found in the Royal Court’s critically
acclaimed production of The Seagull, now
transferred to the Walter Kerr.
In Chekhov’s world, there are those who
suffer—and those who suffer more. Everyone
in The Seagull is so caught up in the drama
of his/her own life, seeking an ear wherever
one can be found—to unload, to complain, to
self-aggrandize. For the truth is, everyone
in The Seagull is an actor, nearly always
performing on a stage of his or her own
imagining. These are characters who seem
possessed of an unwavering belief that every
life merits a full-length play. And the
marvel of Chekhov’s tragicomedy (and for
this production, Christopher Hampton’s new
version) is how even the supporting
characters are rendered fully imagined—and
fully desirous of their own center stage
monologue.
But then that’s to be expected, given that
every character in The Seagull orbits in the
incandescence that is the actress Arkadina.
And while it’s likely that Kristin
Scott-Thomas is the draw for a significant
part of the audience, her Arkadina does not
monopolize a viewer’s attention at the
expense of the other players. Scott-Thomas’s
portrayal offers a woman in poignant denial
of her imminent eclipse, as she rallies her
wiles and talents in an effort to stave off
the inevitable. For as the once-illustrious
Arkadina knows all too well, the light
changes—and adjustments must be made.
Skillfully directed by Ian Rickson, this
Seagull has flown almost completely intact
from its London run, thereby lending an
additional layer of camaraderie amongst the
actors—that is, save for new-to-the-family
Peter Sarsgaard who plays the outsider,
Trigorin. Perhaps then it’s fitting that
Sarsgaard employs a broad American accent,
whilst everyone around him sounds a product
of Rugby and Eton—yet it proves to be a
discomfiting choice for some in the
audience, several of whom spent the entirety
of intermission unable to speak of anything
else.
The truth is, as played by Sarsgaard,
Trigorin hardly seems to possess the
attributes ascribed to him by both Arkadina
and Nina—a situation that leaves a large
hole in this production, and one is grateful
for the scenes where Trigorin is offstage.
For it’s then that one sees a Seagull that
beautifully mines the humor in the inherent
promise of life’s dreams—and the poignancy
in their passing.
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