Uncle Vanya
After the great popular success of the all-male Russian version of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night at the 2006 Sydney Festival, the arrival of St Petersburg's fabled Maly Drama Theatre ensemble with their already internationally acclaimed Uncle Vanya has been much anticipated.
Founded in 1944, the Maly company - these days led by director Lev Dodin - is a globe-trotting troupe whose extensive touring schedule not only affords rare insights and pleasure to foreign audiences but also is a vital foreign currency earner for the troupe. In an oligarchical, corrupt Russia where much of the public infrastructure is in tatters, just about the only institutions that function properly are the valiant performance companies such as this one. In the face of these hardships, it makes their obvious dedication to high standards and dramatic innovation even more amazing.
Not that these constraints visibly impinge on the company whose members will spend years developing a production. When Professor Serebryakov (Igor Ivanov) announces to his startled family: "Ill health I can cope with, but not country life," as an explanation for his overwhelming desire to quit the provincial estate and return to the city, there would be many sympathetic, espresso-addicted metro-dwellers in the audience quietly giggling and shuddering in agreement.
There is something truly terrifying - if droll - about Anton Chekhov's depiction of Russian rural life as lived by the bourgeoisie of the 1890s. The levels of boredom and pointlessness are breathtaking, particularly for the women who don't even get to go shooting or riding, or even throwing back vodka. Instead their days are occupied by longing for the bright lights of Moscow and weakly railing against the unaccustomed heat of a brief summer.
In this Uncle Vanya, the translation as it appears in the surtitles even has the professor's young wife Elena (Ksenia Rappoport) "practically toppling over from sheer idleness," as she negotiates the shoals of her deadly relations and relationships. In one of his declamatory moments Dr Astrov (Petr Semak) temporarily enlivens the household with his views on the superior quality temperate climates. Everything is better in temperate climates, he says. Which explains a lot about Russia and, perhaps, Australia too.
Subtitled "scenes from village life in four acts" Uncle Vanya is generally played either as an aching tragedy with echoes of Nora in The Doll's House or as a more light-hearted and ironic portrait of the idle middle class. Although the surtitles play havoc with the comic timing of the Maly's production (they're probably accustomed to having an audience laugh early because the punchline has already been read) this version lies somewhere between the two extremes.
There is tragedy in the emptiness of provincial life coupled with the underlying cruelty of a society where the supposed intellectual of the family (the professor) automatically makes life-changing decisions on behalf of the rest - although, of course, faithful donkey Vanya finally kicks up his heels and then digs them in. At the same time, in his perfect portrayals of these bored parasites, Chekhov is able to inject wicked humour and extract wry quips even as the all-enveloping ennui of their situation threatens to stifle what little life is left.
[page]And if anyone is in any doubt about the boredom of the Russian provinces at the turn of the 20th century (excepting peasant life which was too backbreaking to be boring) the Maly company adopts a stately and uncompromising pace in the wooden-floored emptiness of the Serebryakov country home. Beyond the french doors day and night follow one another; rain falls, a cricket trills - and a revolution is brewing. But inside, a samovar keeps tea in constant supply and is the only source of heat in a household of frozen or suppressed emotions.
The certainty and three dimensional quality brought to their roles by all the actors is engrossing (Elena Kalinina as Sonya, Tatiana Schuko as Madame Voinitskaya, Sergey Kuryshev as Vanya, Alexandr Zavialov as Waffles, Nina Semenova as Marina and Vitaly Pichik as the servant). Significantly (for a largely non-Russian speaking audience) some of the most memorable moments occur in the tiny gestures, tics, smiles and flutters of wordless response that only come from characters who have been absorbed into the skins of the actors.
Set design by director Dodin's long-time collaborator, the late David Borovsky, is an interesting mix of logic - a large and virtually empty drawing room with bentwood dining chairs, a rocker and the tea table is flanked by doors that lead to the outside world, life and even happiness. Above them meanwhile, suspended from the gods and ignored throughout, are three shaggy haystacks and lighting (Ekaterina Dorofeeva and Igor Tupikin) that alternately signifies the sunlight of the summer beyond the house and the gloom of its inhabitants and interior.
The point of Uncle Vanya is the realisation by some of the characters that they can either engage with the hand capricious fate has dealt them, or in age-old Russian style, capitulate to cruel fate. As Lev Dodin observes in his director's notes: "the terminally ill Dr Chekhov knew this paradox only too well and he analysed it with amazing tenderness and desperate ruthlessness. This, as well as many other things, makes Chekhov's plays and the most beautiful of them - Uncle Vanya - a simple but eternal melody with simple but eternal themes."
And the Maly Drama Theatre ensemble plays the melodies and themes with unerring skills and compassion. After some three hours in their company it's impossible not to leave the theatre with their unheard and unwritten tunes echoing exquisitely for hours - days - after this wonderful production is over.
Uncle Vanya, Maly Drama Theatre of St Petersburg, Sydney Theatre to January 27; ph: 9250 1999; Festival Ticketek 1300 888 412, or www.sydneyfestival.org.au
