This is an
appealing work for those immersed in the esteemed Anton Chekhov’s oeuvre
and who want to see a contemporary world premiere adaptation with a rather
unique twist. This is no half-hearted variation of costume changes and
frothy accents. This The Seagull is a gutsy, distinctive turn that
brings forth issues of faith that Ari Roth found present in Chekhov’s
century old original. In his adaptation, Roth superimposes matters
regarding the Jewish faith and the struggles of prominent characters to
either reconnect with their former religion or continue on their path to
assimilation and integration into society. This newly-minted theme is
overlaid on Chekhov’s bracing work regarding artistic creativity as well
as the consequences of mismatches of love. Does the adaptation work? More
so for Chekhov aficionados who want to size up an interloper’s efforts.
The needy diva and verbally bullying mother is played with a flip of the
hand by Naomi Jacobson. She lives for the external validation of audience
applause. Alexander Strain, her extremely sensitive and psychologically
unmoored playwright son is inevitably outwitted or outmaneuvered and not
just by Jacobson. Surrounding them are assorted others, each with an
emotionally unstable life story that captures the essence of people who
have little to keep themselves vibrant unless “an other” is present to
shine a light or provide warm hugs. The underlying original, The
Seagull (1896), still connects with its dark humor; a son crushed,
feckless males hurting impressionable young women and languid, dreamy
people grappling with their needy natures. This is ultimately a heady
rendering of drama kings and queens living self-indulgent lives.
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Storyline: Youth is envied, challenged and mortally wounded in
this tale of lovelorn artists, civil servants and household workers. In a
new adaptation of Chekhov's play, there is a contemporary portal though which the production
journeys back in time to the Russian countryside revealing the clash
between mother and son affecting others.
Anton Chekhov (1860–1904) was a pre-eminent
Russian playwright and a major short-story writer. He produced four
theater classics including Uncle Vanya (1897), Three Sisters
(1901), and The Cherry Orchard (1904) as well as The Seagull. We
will never know what Chekhov would think of this adaptation, but he did give a
nod with Seagull lines such as “we need new forms of expression”
matched with “in all the universe nothing remains permanent and unchanged
but the spirit.” Rather than reflecting upon the oft-revived playwright
Chekhov, your reviewer notes that adapter Roth wrote in length regarding
Theater J’s “first foray into fully producing classical work” and the
liberties taken to connect with the Theatre J mission to “celebrate the
distinctive urban voice and social vision that are part of the Jewish
cultural legacy.” John Vreeke’s direction is crisp with a speedy sense of
time even with a stage clock in the audience’s view stuck at 8 PM. He
has blocked this work so that the stage is filled not just with objects
but with life. The cast glides and slides, working with their upper bodies,
projecting their inner commotions with a tad of a knowing grin. A curtain
shimmies as if wind is blowing, a shimmering lake is projected at the rear
of the set and later even a visibly dead stuffed bird appears.
Naomi Jacobson’s manipulative, self-absorbed Arkadina is the centerpiece; she willfully pulls focus away from anyone
who dares take her spotlight. She is a bundle of waving dismissive arms,
showering trivializing glances at Alexander Strain’s attempts to live his
own dream even as he surrenders to her seemingly innocent hugs. Yet she
does not seem to fill the stage or suck out the air with her presence.
Strain is artsy sensitive with his struggling soul visible, finally
gaining control with one final act of off-set uncoupling from Jacobson
after a showy bit of frustration when he has the stage to himself. It is
his journey into forgotten Jewish roots that is the crux of the Roth
adaptation that is met with disdain and derision as his character evolves.
J. Fred Shiffman is the generally cheerful doctor who has lived a
full life and still can turn heads. He has the most realized sense of
decency toward others though he projects an almost disengaged manner.
Veronica del Cerro is the spirited, innocent who describes herself as
a seagull, wanting freedom to do as she desires. She is undone by her ga-ga reactions to the celebrities she meets leading to her loss of
youthful spotlessness … beaten down by the stronger and less caring. Jerry
Whiddon is the dreamy playwright who is an object of desire by women who
find his frailness and words appealing. Tessa Klein is a brooding Masha;
weary and self-pitying living her life in mourning even before mourning is required. Brian Hemmingsen and Nanna Ingvarsson
add working class bite.
The Theatre J stage is decked out in
weathered grey lumber given a sense of the sun bleached outdoors. Chairs,
desks and a small cupboard are moved about to give a sense of time and
seasonal changes; the lighting design producing the cold feel of an autumn
storm. Costumes are not so much of a period, but of a class; no tattered
clothes, but of the natty bourgeoisie and arty set impeccably dressed.
Even those of lesser classes are not unkempt. Snippets of love songs from
the 1950’s onward are sung by several actors to push feelings of
unrequited love to the fore.
Adapted by Ari Roth from the play by Anton Chekhov. Translation by Carol Rocamora. Directed by John Vreeke.
Design: Misha Kachman
(set and costumes) Dan Covey (lights) Matt Nielson (sound) Stan Barouh
(photography) Kate Kilbane (stage manager). Cast: Veronica del Cerro,
Cesar A. Guadamuz, Brian Hemmingsen, Nanna Ingvarsson, Naomi Jacobson,
Tessa Klein, Mark Krawczyk, Stephen Patrick Martin, Jason McCool, J. Fred
Shiffman, Alexander Strain, Jerry Whiddon. |
