The Cherry Orchard

This is a competent, often engaging production of Chekhov’s famous 1904 classic about people lost in social transition.  Today we arguably face even more upheavals but, despite Jonathan Hindmarsh’s modern costuming, such a contemporary take on Chekhov is not explored here. 

We’re still back on that crumbling Russian estate with its honoured cherry orchard.  The costuming does no more than cover over nice subtle class distinctions of how this rambling group of family, servants and hangers-on react to the estate’s imminent sale and destruction.  This snappy translation however by America’s David Mamet certainly gives focus to their stories. 

Director Clemence Williams keeps all the balls in the air as her dozen, inevitably varied actors rush on and off with their little agonies and ineffectual relations.  

That much debated Chekhovian tragi-comedy lies in their isolating egocentricity, as they bang into each other like sad bells, instead of the face-pulling and slapstick which sometimes happens here.

But many performances are true and thoughtful, such as Josephine Starte as the returning daughter Varya; Alex Bryant-Smith as Lopakhin, her gauche and ineffectual wooer who looses her but wins the estate; Jasper Garner Gore as the cool, perpetual student Trofimov; and Nicholas Papademetriou as the doddery old servant Firs.

Hindmarsh’s raised living room set opens up the interactions and even more so  when Williams steers the action outside around the house.  The cherry orchard was presumably nearby but I didn’t feel its presence or its changing seasons.  In the “garden” corner, musician Eliza Scott strummed numbing, repetitive chords on her guitar, constantly filling silences better left to good actors.

Martin Portus

Photographer: Bob Seary.