April 22, 2000: Chekhov, The Seagull
Barbican, Royal Shakespeare Company (originating earlier this year at the Swan, Stratford), directed by Adrian Noble
A production that grows on one as the evening proceeds. Much emphasis on passion, on feeling, along with a very much extroverted dramatic action: a very effective combination. In Act I the irascible, preoccupied Konstantin fusses with his makeshift stage, criticizes the workers for being late in finishing the construction, and sends away some who have come too early. But then Nina appears, running on from downstage right, all the way across the stage and, still running, into Konstantin’s arms—in the air. Holding her off the ground in a tight embrace he backs a few steps to ease the momentum; then, still in his arms, Nina and he begin their dialogue. This combination of extravagant expressiveness, of super-strong impressiveness, with a boldly rendered action sets the directorial keynote for the production. This is Adrian Noble, artistic director of the RSC, at work.
In Chekhov, placement of characters and action is particularly important; a well-maintained sense of ensemble is crucial to the articulation of Chekhov’s sense of the interpenetration of the characters’ lives. Noble’s blocking and movement in this respect are well-nigh flawless, and show themselves most effectively in the penultimate scene of the last act. Here, the rest of the company retreat for a late supper behind the conservatory doors upstage, where we can still see them and hear the murmur of their voices in conversation, leaving Konstantin alone, in despair over his failure as a writer, at his desk. The outside/inside effect of the wide, deep platform raised perhaps six inches off the stage floor and serving for an exterior setting in Acts I and II and an interior for the rest of the play lends scope for Noble to bring Nina on in Act IV, once again from extreme down right; but in great contrast to her Act I entrance, she wanders slowly across the stage, along the downstage perimeter of the platform, then up the far side, where Konstantin having heard a noise “outside” finds her and draws her inside for their final scene together.
The play is full of clear, effectively stated sequences like this. The ending, too, is effective in the same way. After Nina leaves, Konstantin methodically tears up all his writings; he tears up a lot of writings and not merely a metonymic page or two; then exits. We surmise what he is going to do, for we have seen him bandaged earlier, after a botched attempt at suicide. The stage is vacant for a good moment — time enough to register the emptiness — and then the chair placed against the upstage doors is pushed away; the company having finished their supper return and begin to play cards. They play cards. Then we hear the noise of a gun going off, startling the company and interrupting the game. Doctor Dorn goes to investigate. They wait. He returns and makes light of the event: it was only a medicin