Sinead Cusack and Simon Russell Beale take on Chekhov's 'The Cherry Orchard' in an Anglo-American production directed by Sam Mendes.
A Bank of America, the Bridge Project presentation of a BAM, the Old Vic, Neal Street Prods. production of a play in two acts by Anton Chekhov in a new version by Tom Stoppard. Directed by Sam Mendes.
Ranevskaya - Sinead Cusack
Anya - Morven Christie
Varya - Rebecca Hall
Gaev - Paul Jesson
Lopakhin - Simon Russell Beale
Trofimov - Ethan Hawke
Simeonon-Pishchik - Dakin Matthews
Charlotta Ivanovna - Selina Cadell
Yepikhodov - Tobias Segal
Dunyasha - Charlotte Parry
Firs - Richard Easton
Yasha - Josh Hamilton
Two seasons ago, Lincoln Center Theater's knockout three-part production of "The Coast of Utopia" underscored just how much New York theater could benefit from a British-style repertory acting company. That call has been answered by the Bridge Project, a trans-Atlantic venture that regroups a number of collaborators from the Tom Stoppard trilogy in its inaugural production of "The Cherry Orchard." It's no match for this season's haunting reinvestigation of another Chekhov play, "The Seagull," but Sam Mendes' robust staging of Stoppard's witty new adaptation boasts strong ensemble work, centered by the gravitas and emotional nuance of Simon Russell Beale's riveting Lopakhin.
The Bridge Project is a three-year collaboration among Brooklyn Academy of Music, London's Old Vic and Mendes' Neal Street Prods. Its debut season features an even split of British and American actors in "The Cherry Orchard" and "The Winter's Tale" (beginning Feb. 10). The double bill runs at BAM's Harvey Theater through March 8 before a string of international dates and a London engagement May 22-Aug. 15. Similarly large-scale productions of two more classics will be mounted each year through 2011, again plucking on- and offstage talent from both London and New York.
Perhaps in a nod to Peter Brook's highly regarded production of "The Cherry Orchard," which played BAM in 1988, Mendes and designer Anthony Ward summon the doomed privilege of Chekhov's fading Russian aristocrats by draping the bleached-wood stage platform in a patchwork of dark Persian carpets. But the theatrical minimalism ends there.
For much of the action, the actors sit on nursery furniture, indicating their characters' precarious perch on a diminishing world; chairs figure prominently, both as props and in the glowering shadows of Paul Pyant's lighting. Mark Bennett's shimmering score adds another cinematic flourish. The orchard itself remains an offstage symbol, represented only by a warming bath of light that hypnotizes Sinead Cusack's dreamy-eyed Mme. Ranevskaya or is heard in the thwack of the axes that signal its destruction.
As always, landowner Ranevskaya and Lopakhin, the self-made merchant descended from generations of servants on her estate, constitute reverse sides of the same coin -- one stuck in the past, the other hopelessly eyeing a future in which his origins will be erased.
Both imperious and fluttery, Cusack's Ranevskaya is willfully deluded, lost in the reverie of memories or lapsing into romantic distraction over the ailing lover in Paris who squandered her fortune -- rather than shake off her torpor to face reality and take steps to save her estate. Lopakhin fools himself into thinking his offer of a financial solution will make him respectable in her eyes. In an early speech, he recalls Ranevskaya caring for him as a teen, saying, "Don't cry, little peasant" after his father had bloodied his nose. The odd mix of tenderness and resentment in his voice sets the tone for the complex layers of Russell Beale's performance.
It's a moving, wordless testament to the nouveau riche merchant's irreversible status in the landowners' minds that after bobbing about excitedly wondering how he'll be greeted by the returning family, Lopakhin is next seen shuffling across the stage mute and alone, carrying their luggage. Indeed, he appears almost invisible to Ranevskaya and her pompous, speechifying brother Gaev (Paul Jesson) until his seemingly innocent observation, "Time passes," stops them in their tracks like a hurled profanity.
Even as he's knocking over furniture in a furious display as newly entitled lord of the manor, there's a strong suggestion of Lopakhin's unrequited love for Ranevskaya. But Russell Beale maintains the mystery as to whether it's genuine love, hunger for approval or mere aspiration to a higher society that's already obsolete. That confusion also feeds his inability to propose to Ranevskaya's adopted daughter Varya (Rebecca Hall), who's barely a notch up from housekeeper. Her wounded frustration in the beautifully gauged scene in which his proposal finally appears to be forthcoming provides one of the play's most poignant moments.
Elsewhere, the production is engrossing and effective but seldom genuinely affecting.
The chief strengths of Stoppard's adaptation are its conversational ease and erudite humor, but there's a slight chill to the playwright's gaze that undercuts the melancholy strains of a great Chekhov production. And Mendes and his cast seem still in the process of nailing that essential-but-often-elusive fluidity between comedy and pathos.
As much as we feel for these characters, particularly the thwarted central triangle played by Russell Beale, Cusack and Hall, their agonizing stasis only occasionally gets under the skin. At a moment in history in which people's income is dwindling, their debts are mounting, and their property is slipping through their fingers, this play might be expected to resonate more sorrowfully.
There are lovely comic touches, notably from Dakin Matthews as a narcoleptic neighboring landowner, and the invaluable Richard Easton as ancient manservant Firs, who rues the day serfs were granted their freedom. Charlotte Parry is touching and funny as a housemaid desperately cultivating airs, throwing herself at Josh Hamilton's pretentious would-be aesthete Yasha -- both of them representatives of the serving class inching toward the bourgeoisie. And Ethan Hawke channels echoes of his "Coast of Utopia" character as idealistic eternal student Trofimov.
With the exception of North Americans Matthews and Easton, whose mid-Atlantic diction betrays their experience with the classics, Mendes has the cast members use their respective American or English accents in a mix that plays seamlessly enough.
Some of the director's more flamboyant strokes -- a raised rear wall suddenly revealing an accusing lineup of serfs; a masked ball, with dancing couples whirling around a deer-in-the-headlights Ranevskaya, costumed by Catherine Zuber in flaming red -- are a little overworked. And the actors tend at times to swim in the vast emptiness of the Harvey stage, suggesting that a more intimate theater might better suit the production.
But, particularly on this side of the Atlantic where the classics rarely receive the same hand-tooled treatment as in London, "The Cherry Orchard" represents an auspicious promise that the creative team behind this ambitious multipart project is taking its mission seriously.
Set, Anthony Ward; costumes, Catherine Zuber; lighting, Paul Pyant; original music, Mark Bennett; sound, Paul Arditti; music direction, Dan Lipton; choreography, Josh Prince; production stage manager, Jane Pole. Opened, reviewed Jan. 14, 2009. Running time: 2 HOURS, 40 MIN.
With: Gary Powell, Mark Nelson, Aaron Krohn, Michael Braun, Jessica Pollert Smith, Hannah Stokely.
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Date in print: Fri., Jan. 16, 2009