I am a complete stranger to Chekhov, and to Russian literature in general. It was with some apprehension that I arrived in the Oxford Union to review The Cherry Orchard; I did not really know what to expect. Within minutes, however, I was perched on the edge of my seat, eagerly studying the spectacle that directors Melissa Purkiss and Aurora Dawson-Hunte had prepared for my viewing pleasure. Even as a work in progress, this is an extremely accomplished production, notable for an incredible attention to detail and performances of remarkable versatility.
The most striking feature of this staging of The Cherry Orchard is the density of emotion it crams into every moment. The theme of cultural futility of both the Russian bourgeoisie and aristocracy is at the core of Chekhov’s seminal work, and the audience is treated to a smorgasbord of diverse viewpoints and biases on that issue from each character. Every line spoken provoked a complex, sustained, and distinctive response from every other performer on stage. As the cast warmed up, they began to resemble a fascinating hydra, so that wherever one chose to cast one’s eyes, something interesting was always going on. I have never seen anything quite like it. As “eternal student” Trofimov (Ben Dawes) rants about the hypocrisy of the intelligentsia’s empty talk, witness genial landowner Lyubov’s (Fiona Johnston) embarrassed discomfort alongside the utter disinterest of the servant Firs (Luke Howarth), their mild reactions beautifully juxtaposed with the slightly exaggerated comic puzzlement of the elderly Gayev (Will Law). As I watched Purkiss and Dawson-Hunte deliver their notes after the press preview ended, I understood how such nuance was achieved – each of them has a clear directorial vision for the way they intend every second of every scene to play out, and instruct their actors accordingly so as to prevent any breaks in the audience’s reverie.
As a collective, The Cherry Orchard astounds, but this is not at the expense of individual showmanship. The pillar at the core of the entire production is Johnston’s matriarch, and what a pillar she is – I watched, riveted, as she went from doddering, clueless aristocrat to bereaved mother mourning her child all within the short span of one speech. Patrick Edmond’s Lopahkin manages the tricky task of juggling gravitas and absurdity, and the older characters as played by Law and Howarth shine as caricatures that also come across as completely convincing. The high standard of acting is definitely one of this play’s strongest points; almost every member of the cast is uniformly strong in their own right, and owns their time on stage with confidence and verve.
There were some slight hiccups that marred an otherwise excellent preview; at the beginning, pacing seemed a little patchy, and actors took a while before they began to properly bounce off each other. Nonetheless, for a play two weeks before opening night, this is a piece of art that already shows remarkable polish. I can’t guarantee that The Cherry Orchard will be a showstopper come seventh week. I would, however, be willing to wager a lot of money on it.
