In their new adaptation, Thomas Ostermeier and Duncan Macmillan revel in the metatheatrical potential of Chekhov’s masterpiece. It isn’t hard to see the opportunities in a play with so many actors and so much talk about writing. But the fun had here makes the night entertaining and brings out its humour in a fresh and exciting, way.
The updated touches in the script feel light under Ostermeier’s direction. You might expect vaping and VR headsets to appear, but credit where it’s due – Billy Brag songs and bingo weren’t on my card, and a Bella Freud-inspired T-shirt is an excellent touch (Marg Horwell’s costumes are terrific).
The stand-up microphones on stage throughout, used by characters to address the audience and emphasise lines, might be used too much. But the idea is effective. It’s clear everyone is ‘performing’ their roles and there’s a brilliant moment when amplification is removed. Combined with a thrust added to the Barbican’s stage we see a lot of action in The Seagull as contrived – which is often funny and also moving.
If this were all, I’d be happy. The Seagull is a legendary text and to have left a mark on it is an achievement. But it gets better, as some of the most memorable characters in theatre are brought to life with a stellar cast of players who do each role proud.
Megastar Cate Blanchett does not disappoint as the famous actress Irina Arkádina, matching Ostermeier in balancing the comic and tragic. All eyes are on her, of course, which is appropriate for the role, and that’s a fact Blanchett uses intelligently. Irina’s counterpoint is the writer, her lover, Trigorin. The reserved performance from Tom Burke is in danger of fading into the background, but this is deliberate, and Burke uses great skill to prevent it happening. A more sympathetic and tormented figure than you might expect, his watching – which sets him at a remove – is worth watching.
The whole cast is superb, and the stories of frustrated lives and loves are evenly handled. Jason Watkins is a particularly touching Peter, the retired civil servant who fears he will die before he has lived, while Paul Bazely, Priyanga Burford and Paul Higgins are strong enough to make you reconsider the middle-aged love triangle with Doctor Dorn and the Shamrayevs. Which is all part of the production being especially strong when highlighting the generational divides in the play. This is a credit to all, of course, but the younger characters truly shine.
There are raw performances from Tanya Reynolds and Zackary Hart as Masha and Medvedenko (now a factory worker rather than a teacher) making the theme of unrequited love heartbreaking. Emma Corrin’s Nina is distressingly vulnerable, an admirable departure for the actor. And it is a thrill seeing Kodi Smit-McPhee as Konstantin. Like his fellow author, there is a deal of restraint here that is impressive and allows us to wonder about Irina’s cruel observations on Konstantin’s immature works, his “immersive Cirque du Soleil”. It’s the first time I’ve considered that maybe Konstantin’s art isn’t very good.
It’s not just their clothes (praise again for Horwell) or nods to nepo-babies that make these Gen Z figures topical – there’s also a sense of impending doom that fits Chekhov well. The frustration is more urgent than the original (current affairs get a mention), which might remind audience members of Ostermeier’s politically engaged An Enemy of the People early last year. Such forced contemporaneity can be a turnoff. But together with the strong comedy and careful attention to all characters, even purists should be pleased with this tremendous show.
Until 5 April 2024
Photos by Marc Brenner
