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Having made his debut as a film director last year with The Happy Prince, Rupert Everett turns his attentions to the stage, directing himself in a production of Chekhovs play of melancholy, longing and wasted lives. Everett initially presents himself as a faintly Withnail-y presence as Vanya, sporting an impressive Slavic moustache and wearing a belted tunic. Hes first revealed to the audience pissing luxuriantly in silhouette before reclining in tipsy slumber on a pile of cushions. But, unfortunately, this playfulness rarely resurfaces in a subdued production shot through with that peculiar English-Russianness that characterises so many stagings of Chekhov in the UK. Part of the problem is David Hares condensed, ambiguity-resistant adaptation. The relationships have little room to build and develop, and the same is true of the sense of place and stasis. The emotional implications are diluted. The quietly devastating moment when Yelena is denied the opportunity to play her beloved piano barely registers. But Michael Byrnes Serebryakov has a lucid and potent moment when he expresses his dismay about the affront of ageing and his acute awareness of how his decline is repulsive to others. It doesnt quite justify his tyrannical manner, but it makes him more comprehensible and human than hes usually allowed to be. Its a handsome production, undoubtedly. Charles Quiggins verdant set consists of walls of greenery, thick and confining as those of a hedge-maze. A curtain of leaves drifts prettily across the front of the stage. Gradually, all the green is stripped away. The staging becomes plainer until all we are left with is an illuminated cabinet of Orthodox icons and the ever-prominent samovar. A sense of time passing is palpable, but the set cant compensate for whats lacking elsewhere.

Address : Theatre Royal
Saw Cl
Bath
BA1 1ET

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