A wise man never told me: ‘Make ‘em laugh, son. Make ‘em laugh.’ Whether it’s the opposite sex, victims or audience members you’re trying to attract, dangling the possibility of laughter before their eyes is a sure-fire way to reel ‘em in. So the team behind this production of Uncle Vanya have played a crafty card in declaring their comedic intentions from the outset.
But they’re also running a bit of a risk. It’s one thing to say your play is funny, another to deliver to the giggling masses, and late 19th Century Russia doesn’t immediately bring a smile to your face.
That said, I reckon there’s plenty of occasion for a guffaw in the script, and I certainly commend the principle of their approach. The preview had some smirkful moments, too, but generally the cast need an extra dollop of comedic confidence to properly bring it home.
This Chekov fella ain’t no Spike Milligan, so it was all going to be in the acting. And turning to more serious waters, the emotive force of the script is heavily dependent on the actors’ taking quite highbrow writing and making it personal. So the pressure’s on.
In general the acting is pretty strong, but I would hope that in the week running up to opening night they start to have a bit more fun with it, to get into the roles they clearly know well, and thus give the audience something to write home about.
Lizzie Hunter in the unflattering role of Sonia (‘Why am I so plain?’) has really got to grips with her character, and gives a strong performance which pays off in the later, more tragic, scenes, though she could take it up a notch before they hit the garden proper. The enviably-bearded Calum Mitchell was also pretty convincing and Tim Smith-Laing brought his less noteworthy facial hair to the title role well, though it remains to be seen how he’ll carry off what is clearly a very demanding part.
The vodka-swilling character of Astrov – played by the scandalously clean-shaven but fantastically named Bevil Luck – provides several opportunities for humour, but unfortunately (pun carefully avoided) a couple of them were missed in the preview, and I craved more drunken variation in his performance. When Sonia uses the old ‘what-if-my-imaginary-friend-fancied-you’ line, for example, Luck’s dismissive response was skated over, dampening what clearly could have been a gagtastic moment.
Maybe it was the combination of sun and aphids flying into my eye (both of which I’m sure will be absent from the real thing), but I felt that Chekov’s humour was still yet to be caught. Hopefully it will be well and truly nabbed by 7th week, as there’s real potential here. With a bit of fine tuning and more gusto from the actors, this production could give its audience that half-grin which makes the more tragic theme of ‘wasted life’ all the more penetrating.
All in all, this is worth a watch. You’re unlikely to get many chances to see such a classic play for such a price and in such a lovely location (the action takes place among three conveniently placed trees in Merton gardens).
Not yet at the standard it could be, but such is the peril of the press preview, and the finished product could well offer up a nice slice of… whatever people eat in Russia.
