Kevin Jackson directs a reverent production of Chekov’s Three Sisters, in a new translation by Karen Vickery, that lets the Russian’s wordy play unfold at a very breathable pace.
In this Sport for Jove production, the stage overflows with people, very naturally inhabiting a provincial Russian house. The exposition of the three sisters and their entwined relationships is given detailed veracity. In the first act, it is like watching a painter sketch and then fill in the colour on a large scale 19th century canvas. If sometimes it felt like watching paint dry – the careful detail was enough to hold interest.
These three sisters are young and edgy, and almost always believable. The dynamics of their varied hopes, the search for meaning and value, was like one jewel with various facets. Their different yet related predicaments were clearly outlined.
As Olga, Janine Watson channelled a crystalline beauty as eldest child, acceptor and comforter, but as febrile as the repressed Masha (Paige Gardener) and the life force Irina (Zoe Jensen). The playfulness between the sisters was unforced.
We do care about the sisters, though sometimes it was as though we are seeing their lives through gauze. The obsessions and angst of their rural lives are revealing if not always endearing. The plays riff on unfulfilled expectations is a touch obsessive. The motivations of Olga and Masha were more clearly articulated than those of the youngest, Irina.
The men were a little less illuminated. The military crispness of Russian soldiery was only fleetingly in attendance, nicely managed by the young Fedotik (Michael McStay) after his life’s possessions are burnt clear in a street fire.
The dark force that emanates from Vershinin was only fitfully realized by Justin Stewart-Cotta. His languorous approach to his character was interesting to a point, understandably aligned with his circular philosophising, but the energy levels from his first entrance were so low that no spark of disorder emerged from this portrayal, just a handsome face, and a gentle smile and a certain playfulness in his flirtatious seduction of Masha.
The atrophying life of Andrey was pecked at by Tom Campbell, the trademark repetitions of Chekov, as a character seeks to convince themselves that life is good, were effectively negotiated.
Likewise, Kenneth Moraleda as Kuligin trode the tightrope of his characterisation, all flashing good will and fear, as though he perilously stands above his hollowed out life and clings desperately to order and protocol. His performance delivered the best diction of the evening and many of its laughs. His tenderness towards Masha after her lover has departed was frail and yet believable.
The two servants, Ferapont (John Grinston) and Anfisa (Lynne Pierse) were lively generational contrasts, near to serfdom but coated with the cragginess of survival – etching both the deeply loyal and slyly rebellious.
When Natalya (Lauren Richardson) lashed out at the peasant ancestry of Anfisa and demands her removal from the house, the simmering tensions of class and its underlying disorder were on show and the temperature on stage rose significantly.
Baron Tuzenbach (Graeme McRea) has his best moment in his farewell to Irina, before the duel. Solyony (Dorje Swallow) was dashingly handsome and pressingly romantic when pursuing Irina and obsessively haunted when in company. The drunk Chebutikin (Noel Hodda) lacked the lacerating tone that would have made his interventions interesting.
The use of music throughout the production was apt, the cluttered stage full of period detail and well navigated by the cast. The intervention of the various servants, soldiers and civilians sought to engender a lively Mise-en-scène, and did just that.
Four acts of Chekov is a big ask, particularly as the sisters swirl around in ever diminishing reflective circles, sometimes in a joyous embrace, sometimes in a near dance of death – but riffing on the same themes. As Ira Gershwin might have said about Chekov and love: ‘With love to lead the way, I found more clouds of grey, Than any Russian play could guarantee’
Apart from its gloomy length there wasn’t too much to criticise. This was a well-wrought production of the play. That is didn’t leave me energised, haunted or challenged, might very well be my fault.
Sport for Jove – Reginald Theatre, Seymour Centre, Sydney – August 13, 2016
Kevin Jackson directs a reverent production of Chekov’s Three Sisters, in a new translation by Karen Vickery, that lets the Russian’s wordy play unfold at a very breathable pace.
In this Sport for Jove production, the stage overflows with people, very naturally inhabiting a provincial Russian house. The exposition of the three sisters and their entwined relationships is given detailed veracity. In the first act, it is like watching a painter sketch and then fill in the colour on a large scale 19th century canvas. If sometimes it felt like watching paint dry – the careful detail was enough to hold interest.
These three sisters are young and edgy, and almost always believable. The dynamics of their varied hopes, the search for meaning and value, was like one jewel with various facets. Their different yet related predicaments were clearly outlined.
As Olga, Janine Watson channelled a crystalline beauty as eldest child, acceptor and comforter, but as febrile as the repressed Masha (Paige Gardener) and the life force Irina (Zoe Jensen). The playfulness between the sisters was unforced.
We do care about the sisters, though sometimes it was as though we are seeing their lives through gauze. The obsessions and angst of their rural lives are revealing if not always endearing. The plays riff on unfulfilled expectations is a touch obsessive. The motivations of Olga and Masha were more clearly articulated than those of the youngest, Irina.
The men were a little less illuminated. The military crispness of Russian soldiery was only fleetingly in attendance, nicely managed by the young Fedotik (Michael McStay) after his life’s possessions are burnt clear in a street fire.
The dark force that emanates from Vershinin was only fitfully realized by Justin Stewart-Cotta. His languorous approach to his character was interesting to a point, understandably aligned with his circular philosophising, but the energy levels from his first entrance were so low that no spark of disorder emerged from this portrayal, just a handsome face, and a gentle smile and a certain playfulness in his flirtatious seduction of Masha.
The atrophying life of Andrey was pecked at by Tom Campbell, the trademark repetitions of Chekov, as a character seeks to convince themselves that life is good, were effectively negotiated.
Likewise, Kenneth Moraleda as Kuligin trode the tightrope of his characterisation, all flashing good will and fear, as though he perilously stands above his hollowed out life and clings desperately to order and protocol. His performance delivered the best diction of the evening and many of its laughs. His tenderness towards Masha after her lover has departed was frail and yet believable.
The two servants, Ferapont (John Grinston) and Anfisa (Lynne Pierse) were lively generational contrasts, near to serfdom but coated with the cragginess of survival – etching both the deeply loyal and slyly rebellious.
When Natalya (Lauren Richardson) lashed out at the peasant ancestry of Anfisa and demands her removal from the house, the simmering tensions of class and its underlying disorder were on show and the temperature on stage rose significantly.
Baron Tuzenbach (Graeme McRea) has his best moment in his farewell to Irina, before the duel. Solyony (Dorje Swallow) was dashingly handsome and pressingly romantic when pursuing Irina and obsessively haunted when in company. The drunk Chebutikin (Noel Hodda) lacked the lacerating tone that would have made his interventions interesting.
The use of music throughout the production was apt, the cluttered stage full of period detail and well navigated by the cast. The intervention of the various servants, soldiers and civilians sought to engender a lively Mise-en-scène, and did just that.
Four acts of Chekov is a big ask, particularly as the sisters swirl around in ever diminishing reflective circles, sometimes in a joyous embrace, sometimes in a near dance of death – but riffing on the same themes. As Ira Gershwin might have said about Chekov and love: ‘With love to lead the way, I found more clouds of grey, Than any Russian play could guarantee’
Apart from its gloomy length there wasn’t too much to criticise. This was a well-wrought production of the play. That is didn’t leave me energised, haunted or challenged, might very well be my fault.
Sport for Jove – Reginald Theatre, Seymour Centre, Sydney – August 13, 2016
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