UNCLE VANYA

By Diana Simmonds

August 2 2024

UNCLE VANYA, Ensemble Theatre, 31 July - 31 August 2024. Photography by Prudence Upton: above - John Gaden, Abbey Morgan, Yalin Ozucelik, Vanessa Downing; below - Gaden and Downing; below again - Gaden and Abbey Morgan

Audiences are rightly suspicious of “adapted” classics. We have seen so many mutilated on the altar of an adapter-director’s ego, or “goldfished” (staged in a glass or perspex container). You can probably tell I’m one of those who sees “adapted” with a sinking heart and wonders whether to stay home and watch Tom Gleeson or Netflix.

But wait!

This adaptation, commissioned by Ensemble artistic director Mark Kilmurry, is the work of Joanna Murray-Smith. Things are already looking up.

Murray-Smith is one of Australia’s foremost playwrights, both at home and internationally, critically and popularly. Now Murray-Smith turns her attention to Chekhov and one of his most loved plays, Uncle Vanya. In her program notes she writes: “As a consummate ‘technician’ of storytelling, Chekhov knows how to say so much more about the human condition than in what is actually spoken. His brilliance is in the nuance of his revelatory writing, in the power beneath what is said.”

In listening hard, understanding, and simplifying the language of the 1899 text, Murray-Smith has re-energised it with similar subtlety and nuance. It’s neither slavish nor a rip-off; not redundant but vital. Within minutes the audience is chortling when not quietly absorbed in the tooth-aching ennui of rural, middle-class, pre-Revolution Russia. The humour is partly due to Vanessa Downing (doubling as decrepit old Nanny and snarky mama Maryia) and John Gaden (lugubriously decrepit retainer Telyeghin). Both could extract laughter from a shopping list, or from the gift of this script. Nevertheless, beneath the laughter is pathos and they are also affecting when suffering the vicissitudes of their station in life, mostly brought about by…

… pompous professor and lifelong sponge off the family estate, Serebryakov. Puffed up like a pouter pigeon and high on his imagined intellectual superiority, David Lynch makes a welcome return to the stage. His heedless pomp is at once pathetic and also a perfect reason for the crazed exasperation and eventual homicidal intent of Yalin Ozucelik’s Vanya.

Vanya has run the estate for his brother-in-law for years – keeping him in comfort in Moscow. Now, however, Serebryakov has a gorgeous young wife Yelena, and in Chantelle Jamieson, it’s easy to see why he feels the need for more cash. He plans to sell the estate, even though it actually belongs to Sonya, the daughter by his first wife – Vanya’s sister. (Got it?) As the young woman who’s worked beside her uncle to keep her father in the style to which he accustomed himself, Abbey Morgan is a delight. At once intelligent and immersed in the innocence of her character, she confidently occupies her place beside the top-rank members of the company.

Last but not least of these is Tim Walter as local doctor Astrov. He and Vanya spend way too much time upending vodka bottles and being depressed. While Vanya mourns his pointless life, Astrov’s concern is de-forestation. He plants trees in response (a famously early eco-warrior). Meanwhile, both are mad about Yelena and Sonya is in love with Astrov. The samovar gets a good workout by supplying soothing cups of tea – to no avail.

As director, Mark Kilmurry deftly finesses the changing relationships and circumstances across two hours (including interval) of a play filled with rich humanity, sadness, laughter, and meaning, even as it’s about nothing in particular. That is, aside from a well-choreographed scene with a revolver and behaviour from Vanya that would make most want to give him a good slap. That the play generates poignancy before evening’s end is a tribute to playwright, director, and – in her final speech – Abbey Morgan too.

Matt Cox’s gas lamps, candle, and oil lamp make properly soft, long ago illumination for Nick Fry’s set of cobwebby farmhouse living room. Both elements are enhanced by Fry’s tweedy, frayed costumes that neatly signal straitened times and period. Composer and sound designer Steve Francis also adds vivid underpinning to the show. This Uncle Vanya is fresh, funny, and acutely aware of its small tragedies. Recommended without reservation.