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THE CHERRY ORCHARD
by Anton Chekov adapted by Bart Lee.

Blackeyed Theatre in association with South Hill Park Arts Centre Tour to 28 March 2009.
Runs 1hr 30min One interval.
Review: Stoon 16 March 2009 at Buxton Opera House.

Published on Reviews Gate

No tree left uprooted.

'I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!” shouts ageing anchorman Peter Finch on-air in the 1976 film Network. Adapter-director Bart Lee has applied this sentiment by abandoning any semblance of a conventional staging; undoubtedly some purist onlookers would concur that he is mad.

This version delves deep into the play’s comic roots, then keeps digging. The characters are familiar but the servants are given enhanced parts along with certain eccentricities. Such good intentions alone do not make a play; the credibility and ultimate success of this production lies in the absolute commitment of the cast. They believe, we believe, and they mercilessly shake every tree till no fruit remains.

Gabrielle Meadows (initially Dunyasha) sets the tone, and is the easiest character to identify with, though even she reincarnates as a fruity black suited-‘n-moustached version of Diana Rigg in 1973’s Theatre of Blood. Mathew Roland-Roberts is the man with multiple frocks, most memorable when playing Charlotta Ivanova, the German governess who fancies herself a bit of a teutonic David Blaine.

Not to be outdone, Paul Taylor wears Prada too, mainly as Lyuba Ranyevskaya. She’s perfectly laid bare, flaws and all, but the tragedy of her situation is lost; it takes a female to truly express her own pain. But pity and pain are not what this camp comic caper’s all about. That leaves Tom Neil to Pot The Black (or play a safety) – he carries a Cue, when of course he’s not carrying a Banjo, when of course he’s not cleaning windows.

Initially it’s a series of sketches, lacking a sense of underlying narrative, but we soon accept this is character driven and settle to enjoy the respective interactions. From its start, Act Two feels like one long farewell, tinged with sadness. Regardless of what went before, the final scene with Firs is as Chekov would have intended, even though the piece is worth seeing solely for the rendition of “Those Were the Days”.

Producer Adrian McDougall describes this as ‘Marmite’ theatre – love it or hate it. If the former, then spread thickly and enjoy.