BACK
STAGE WEST
April
16, 1998
THE
SEAGULL
at
A Noise Within
Reviewed
by Rob Kendt
When
any play transports us to a distinctly observed world, and makes us forget for
long moments at a time that we're sitting in a theatre at all, that is one
level of success--a triumph, even.
Director
Sabin Epstein's new production of Chekhov's early masterpiece The Seagull (in a new translation
by Allison Comins-Richmond) is as perfectly conjured a physical production as I
can recall on A Noise Within's raked in-the-round stage, with an open, airy
design backed by a diffuse midday light, and later, by the sepulchral glow of
candles (sets and costumes are by Angela Balogh Calin, the magical lighting by
Ken Booth). And the mutual familiarity and ease of ANW's reliable and gifted
ensemble players make for the kind of seamless, natural acting all around that
is said to have distinguished the Moscow Art Theatre's work. Indeed, some of
this production's best, most memorable moments crop up in its characters'
distractedly intent attempts to kill time and stave off boredom, from their
reading Maupassant aloud to each other in the garden to a late-night game of
lotto. The importance of this lived-in feeling to a Chekhov production cannot
be overstated, and Epstein's production nails it with seeming effortlessness.
Interweaving
the threads of Chekhov's uneventful but high-stakes drama, however, is a
knottier challenge, as it must also look as effortless as knitting. Here
Epstein falters, though not for lack of ambition: He has clearly tried to
radically reimagine the central Treplev/Arkadina relationship, casting the
lumbering, awkward Patrick Richwood as the frustrated young writer whose mother
(Jenna Cole) is a self-involved stage star. Treplev is most often cast and
played as a quasi-Hamlet, a tortured son with Oedipal issues and a fundamental
indecisiveness; here he's cast as Quasimodo.
The
shock of Richwood's sibilant, frayed-nerve portrayal never subsides, even when
he quiets down near play's end, and despite the actor's noble, even moving
efforts, he can't make sense of this choice. It's a play, after all, about
self-dramatizing people who can't see the folly of their own dilemmas, like
mournful Masha (flawless Hisa Takakuwa) or pining Paulina (sharp Emily
Heebner). But with a Treplev who comes off this pathetic and disturbed, rather
than as merely the most tragically deluded member of this troupe of drama
queens, the balance is off; the detachment and disdain of his mother and his
erstwhile squeeze Nina (Gail Shapiro) looks exceptionally cold, while the
special pleading on his behalf by Sorin (Mark Bramhall) and Dorn (Joel Swetow)
seems especially simpering.
Elsewhere,
Epstein's passionate approach pays off, in a few clinches and squabbles that
register a bit more steam and boil than the usual autumnal Chekhov. As the
deceptively retiring novelist Trigorin, Robertson Dean is charmingly dry if a
bit smarmy; it wouldn't hurt if we saw a little more wear on his treads. As
Arkadina, Cole magnificently captures the moral smallness of a grand manner,
even as she hints at a molten core. And, miscast as the nubile country girl
Nina, the very fine, 30ish actress Gail Shapiro is not many years away from
playing a good Arkadina herself.
Call
this new Seagull, then, a beautiful mistake--the kind of bittersweet, joyful
failure which, in human form, was often the subject of Chekhov's drama.
"The
Seagull," presented by and at A Noise Within, 234 S. Brand Blvd.,
Glendale. Apr. 10-May 24. (818) 546-1924.