Guy van Egmond
Photo credit: Josh Hopton-Stewart
A good theatre adaptation is one that retains the core of the original piece; one that culminates in the same emotional revelation, leaving an audience feeling altered and not wanting. Director Josh Hopton-Stewart hit it bang-on with Stagecraft’s production of The Seagull, by Anton Chekov.
The show is tight and snappy, condensing what can take two to three hours to get through into a one-hour-twenty whirlwind. Yet I could not, for the life of me, recall any scenes that were missing. Chekov has been gone at with a scalpel and a vision, entire soliloquies were shot down and the flowery dialogue pruned back to a pointed glance or two. It was marvellously done.
The story studies the interplay between a group of artists, spending the summer on an idyllic lakeshore, where egos and desire run free. A healthy relationship is nowhere to be found, instead there’s mommy issues galore and desperate attempts to cling to fame and fortune. Tensions run high and frequently boil over in a delightful mess that quietly becomes a painful tragedy about the desire to simply be held and heard and understood.
In this blitz adaptation, the progression from rowdy introduction into a deeper reflection lost some nuance. There was a lot of subtext that had to happen in between scenes in this adaptation, which resulted in occasionally jarring tonal shifts and forced performances to border on melodramatic. But despite a want for more padding to smooth things out, this was nonetheless a strong, self-assured play that cut to the heart of its source material.
A strong plot is only words without a good cast to carry, and the production delivered on both counts. While it was definitely an opening night’s performance, with a number of jittery lines and some stilted performances to start, this mellowed out very quickly as the cast found their momentum together.
Zachary Klein’s Konstantin Treplev, the frustrated and longing playwright, is melancholy in the flesh. Constantly on a knife’s edge, he could sink into tears at any moment and his longing to be understood is palpable. I found him at times to be overly twitchy, the stutters and fidgets distracting from his dialogue, but he delivered what few monologues that were left to him with clarity and focus.
Opposite Klein is Tess Lavanda, rapturous as Nina Zarietchnaya. Her performance put me very much in mind of Emilia Clarke’s West End debut in the same role, with that wide-eyed aspiration and exuberance. But Lavanda brought her own darkness when she appeared in the play’s second half, now weary and caustic from life’s cruelty.
The catalytic Boris Trigorin is embodied by Jimmy Sutcliffe: his presence is disengaged but provocative, through artful acting in silence. When we do get flashes of a deeper turmoil, it’s only self-pitying anger; I would like to see him explore a level of vulnerability or explicit immaturity, which would help him stand on his own as an independent character.
Last to round out the lead quartet, and certainly not least, is Sarah-Beth Brown as Irina Arkadina. As Konstantin’s actress mother, who clings to validation of her youth and beauty, Brown produces a performance with a sucker-punch of emotional variety. She is fortunate enough to have notable scenes with almost every other character, but each one of them is utilised to build a character who is conceited and insincere; also joyful, immature; dependent and yet maternal.
Beyond those four and their mess of relationships, the rest of the ensemble isn’t afforded much narrative weight. Nonetheless, every actor holds their ground and individuality. Julia Harris plays Petra Sorin (surreptitiously gender-swapped from ‘Pyotr’) with a delightful power and zest reminiscent of Julie Walters. Her delivery is impeccable for necessary moments of tenderness and wit, while her vocal command lets arguments grow to be loud but not incomprehensible. Lucy Bowden and Sean Farrell work together well—ironically—as the loveless Masha Shamraeff and Simon Medviedenko. They play what are basically stock characters, but are nonetheless engaging and enjoyable to watch. Unfortunately, Aroha te Whata and Tom Kereama as Polina and Elijah Shamraeff have very little they can flex within their roles, and Chris O’Grady as Doctor Eugene is also left with a half-developed role. In a play so focused on the interplay between its leads, there is very little meaningful spotlight for anyone else.
I haven’t lived in Wellington for too long yet, but already I’ve come to recognise Stagecraft as a company that can be relied upon for high-quality, punchy productions of classic theatre for modern audiences. The Seagull is no different: a sharp and succinct story with a stellar cast of talent. The stage design by Hopton-Stewart and Sam Perry—with its clever pier-stage-bench-table—is effective, while the subtle sound and lighting work by Mike Slater and Emma Bell elevates the performances. This show ticks all the boxes: it’s witty, tragic, and wholly satisfying, plus it all wraps up before the double-digit hours of the night.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
The Seagull is playing at the Gryphon Theatre until September 14; tickets available through iTicket.