Writer: Anton Chekhov
Director: Trevor Nunn
Is there any other play in the modern canon quite as desolate as Uncle Vanya? Just last year Andrew Scott in Simon Stephens’ shorn adaptation revealed the enduring sadness of every character in Chekhov’s tragedy as if they were hewn from the same block of wood, perhaps collected from the forest that surrounds the country estate. In Trevor Nunn’s more traditional production, regardless of moments of broad comedy, the weight of melancholy persists like the toll of a funeral bell.
So intent on highlighting the human connections, Stephens did away with Chekhov’s early warning of ecological disaster, but here, in Nunn’s show, the deforestation of Vanya’s part of Russia is reinserted as a major theme. Dr Astrov worries about the lack of fauna and flora since the trees were felled; no longer do wild goats and elks roam the countryside. Inside man, he proclaims, “is a demon of destruction.” When Sonya explains the consequences of deforestation to Elena she is full of passionate anger about man’s disregard for nature, but her enthusiasm is all for the doctor’s sake. She’s desperate for him to notice her.
Even though her love is unrequited, Madeleine Gray’s Sonya is surprisingly happy. She hasn’t quite surrendered her fate like Andrew Scott’s Sonya who was efficiently phlegmatic as she moped around the house. Gray’s Sonya appears to be younger, still able to see the light in the darkness that slowly falls around them. Even through her tears, in the play’s final devastating minutes, rendered here perfectly by Nunn, Sonya clings on to some semblance of hope.
It’s easy to see why she is attracted to the doctor. Handsome and idealistic, even when he is drunk, Astrov is acutely alive when the others seem to have given up on life. He rages against the self-pity of others, unaware that he is the most indulgent of them all, and yet this anger animates him into a man of action. The other men in Sonya’s life, her uncle and her father, are sullen world-weary defeatists. Andrew Richardson’s Astrov brings such energy to the room, when he’s not in it the stage appears darker.
Of course, Elena is also enamoured with Astrov. For a start, he’s so much younger than her neurotic husband and his youth and confidence are seductive. She’s reduced to silence when she first meets him. But Lily Sacofsky’s Elena, 27 in Chekhov’s script, acts more like a giddy teenager. She may feel trapped and bored, but there’s an effervescence about her that suggests that she won’t be unhappy for long. There is a lovely scene between her and Sonya where they appear more like two sisters than stepmother and stepdaughter, both giggling about their crush on the doctor.
If Elena, Sonya and Astrov are loveable in their own ways, then James Lance’s Vanya is not. Lance portrays him as a facetious trustafarian who does “sod all” around the estate. In contrast to the others, this Vanya is mostly deadpan and speaks in a regional accent while the rest of the actors give slightly heightened performances in flawless RP. Indeed, it takes a while to get used to him, and it’s only after his humiliation with the gun that we begin to feel sorry for him.
This scene with the gun is perhaps the only real misstep in Nunn’s production. Of course, there should be laughs here, but it veers into farce a little too suddenly, although it is choreographed well in Simon Daw’s set, full of furniture in the second half. When Vanya reappears for the final act, he is beaten and wears a full suit for the first time symbolising that he has finally decided to accept his fate. Johanna Town’s lights begin to dim at this point underscoring that there is no escape for uncle and niece.
With The Cherry Orchard opening at the Donmar Warehouse next month, the works of Chekhov never age. They will endure like Sonya and Vanya sitting at their table as the world moves on without them.
Runs until 13 April 2024
The Reviews Hub Score
Desolate
