Uncle Vanya
by Anton Chekhov
State Theatre of Lithuania
Scott Theatre
Reviewed by Murray Bramwell
Accustomed as we are to mixed styles and hybrid forms, their presence in the plays of Anton Chekhov can still surprise, even alarm us. Few playwrights have had their work subjected to such a variety of interpretations. There have been faithfully naturalistic readings of Chekhov, melancholy, languid ones, giddy comic ones, proto-revolutionary versions, even determinedly erotic ones. Chekhov himself was forever signalling that his intentions were complex and multiple. In the case of Uncle Vanya, Stanislavsky, his often-perplexed collaborator, recalled the playwright’s observation of Astrov – “He whistles. Listen. He whistles ! Uncle Vanya is crying and Astrov whistles.” How is this so, asks Stanislavsky, himself cast in the role of Astrov -“sadness, hopelessness and merry whistling ?” But when he tried the combination, it worked.
The State Theatre Company of Lithuania, under the direction of Eimuntas Nekrosius, knows all about sadness, hopelessness and merry whistling. Their Uncle Vanya is a long way from Stanislavsky -as far, you might say, as Lithuania from Moscow- but it is, unmistakably, a triumph of intelligence and theatrical flair. Instead of palely loitering around the samovar these characters have a hectic, often alcoholic energy. Here is a lively household, full of beans and eccentricity. There is passion in their conversation even if it sounds as though it should presided over by a mad hatter.
Astrov is fervent about the forests and full of a doctor’s grief for medical failures, Telyegin, better known as Waffles, clowns about dabbing his jowls with perfume, Sonya, in plaits worthy of Rapunzel, displays a sharp intelligence which makes her unrequited love for Astrov even more painfully absurd, and Marya, mother of Vanya, is an old dragon who slaps her forty-seven-year-old son in the face and sulks until he apologises.
In amongst these histrionics comes Yelena, leggy and fatale in leather tunic and riding britches, her hair slicked and spiked with a peacock feather – modishly modern, woman of the future, two decades ahead of her time. On the other hand, Serebryakov, her fellow cosmopole, looks like something Ralph Steadman might have dreamed up, parading a Japanese umbrella and tortuously performing the quintessential silly walk. This is the prat for whom Vanya and Sonya have slaved for twenty years.
Nekrosius has quite uncannily found the truth of Uncle Vanya by means of comic grotesquery. Everyone is revving with futile energy. The men are forever lifting doorstops as if they were dumbbells. Between scenes the servants skid among the furniture like demons, or, shickered and staggering, serve drinks with mocking derision. This is a society on the skids, the centre isn’t holding and, revelations, surely, are at hand. Focussing on Astrov’s sense of environmental apocalypse, Nekrosius has the characters wrap themselves in wolfskins bespeaking their loss of vitality and nerve- this is most evident in the final scene when Astrov makes his wounded departure and Vanya, in extremis, is given desolate consolation from Sonya. Having been propelled by a dark and sensual satire, the play concludes at a point of extraordinary pathos.
The performances are splendidly judged and richly funny. Kostas Smoriginas as Astrov, intently showing Yelena his maps the size of postage stamps, is as deadpan as a frame from Glen Baxter. Vidas Petkevicius’s Vanya has a sardonic dignity and Vladas Bagdonas and Juozas Pocius devise eerie comedy for Serebryakov and Waffles. Dalia Storyk finds in Yelena the right mix of coquetry and dutiful denial and Dalia Overaite’s Sonya is refreshingly red-blooded.
The ensemble acting is playful and inventive -never more so when the household poses for a photograph while singing the slave chorus from Nabucco. The lighting, by Romualdas Treinys, is outstanding, allowing everything from honey tones to smartly managed melodrama. The organ themes and hypnotic polka figures in Faustas Latenas’s music insinuate themselves through the proceedings as insistently as Chekhov’s own stage instructions and Nadiezda Gultiajeva’s designs are striking and functional – the set consisting of two large horizontal crosses and an unpedantic but shrewdly furnished open plan acting area. The costumes, similarly in period, are wittily stylised.
Despite disconcerting freight delays, the Lithuanian State Theatre Company opened in the Scott Theatre with a stunning performance. The simultaneous translation provided through individual headsets is deft and unobtrusive, it is like a spoken subtitle and is an ideal adjunct to the performance. This valuable innovation will undoubtedly increase the audience for foreign language performances. The Festival has hardly begun and already with Uncle Vanya it has given us a treasure.
The Adelaide Review, March, 1992. p.32.