Cherry Orchard

Chekhov translates remarkably well into modern life; much as opera does, although with greater ease given a common language to the audience in translation. That language is ‘human life’ and Anton Chekhov understood the peccadilloes of humankind.

Recently I saw a diva-laden cast, directed by Philip Franks at the Chichester Festival Theatre with Dame Diana Rigg as the lead player. Supporting actors included John Nettleton, William Gaunt, Jemma Redgrave, Maureen Lipman and Frank Finlay.

As there is no proscenium arch here, there is no curtain to open. The sparse set of pale greys and white works well on this stage; it extends deep into the auditorium. A stylised branch of cherry blossom set against a window above the stage gives the cue for spring and similar designs ring the changes for other seasons. Chekhov himself called for decor to be minimised in what he called ‘a comedy’, although it is one tinged with pathos.

Michael Siberry opened with what seemed, initially, to be an irritatingly melodramatic performance as Lopakhin, a self-made man who aspires to ownership of the house and grounds encompassed by The Cherry Orchard. Soon, however, I realised that stage presence at The Festival Theatre requires ample projection; there are no modern aids to the human voice. Siberry settled down comfortably in his acerbic role as the peasant turned tycoon, one that might perhaps be modelled upon Sir Alan Sugar in that real life TV comedy, The Apprentice.

Lopakhin’s role becomes a pointer to the way life was changing during the early 1900s in Russia. As he declares his dishonourable intentions, the family arrives home from Paris. In a dire kind of partnership with him, the champagne-swilling footman, Yasha, played by Oliver Kieran-Jones as a particularly irritating young man of the sort who would blow cigarette smoke in the face of a dying man, further dispels any notion of the servant class still knowing their place. Incidentally, an occasional cigarette is smoked on stage: this is not unpleasantly redolent.

The plot revolves around a once wealthy Russian woman, Lyuba Ranyevskaya (Diana Rigg), who returns from Paris to find that her estate has been put up for sale due to mismanagement and mounting debts. Lopakhin plans to put up holiday villas on the lakeside but would dance to any tune of Mme Ranyevskaya’s if she but knew it.

Gradually, we realise that Mme Ranyevskaya is dealing with multiple losses: that of the estate, the loss of a young child in an accident, and finally the loss of her lover.

Although the years have taken a certain toll, Diana Rigg has a remarkable ability to light up the stage. Her body may - in role or actuality - be that of an older woman but her face remains luminously alive: young, in a word. Somehow, everyone else fades into the shadows as she prattles, sighs, occasionally cries and acts out the role of an outrageous spendthrift who finally gets the chance to return to the life she knows best, that of spending money with mad abandon. The sub-plot is grief.

Miss Rigg does frivolity with a slightly austere touch of irony. This is more than can be said of the actress playing her young daughter, Anya. Pretty she may be but Charlotte Riley brings no real gravure to the role.

The loyal family retainers include Maureen Lipman as a governess with conjuring and shooting prowess. She is quick to show her ability to bring outright laughter in the midst of confusion with her portrayal of an unnecessary governess still kept on retainer. (It wouldn’t happen, these days.)

One of my companions asked why Lipman was there at all but I felt both the role and Lipman herself provide welcome relief to the somewhat vapid Anya. Like many a young women of our own time, there is scant thought in her mind but amusement with the nearest available young male. In this case, the marginally romantic interest for Anya is a bespectacled, self-important student of communism, Trofimov (Simon Scardifield). As a character, he is no more loveable than Yasha.

William Gaunt plays Gayev, Ranyevskaya’s ineffectual but charming brother, and Jemma Redgrave shows real mettle as Varya, the adopted daughter who grimly asserts self-control in the face of the opportunity to marry Lopakhin and then collapses in despair when he misses his cue. His clumsiness and her stubbornness contrive to leave them both alone.

Amongst other roles in The Cherry Orchard, there is a remarkably sensitive portrayal by Frank Finlay as Firs, the head valet, who takes the last act as the family scatters abroad. Abandoned carelessly like a broken toy in the darkened house, he lies on the floor, surprised at his dying.

This production provides an opportunity to see actors of rare calibre in a play showing that human emotions transcend time. Perhaps even more importantly, it shows what a good writer can do with a fairly simple idea.

Whilst browsing Amazon for this title, I just found a double DVD with Dame Judy Dench screening in the 1962 and 1981 versions of the Cherry Orchard, produced for the BBC.

Judy Dench in The Cherry Orchard, DVD

Chichester Festival Theatre

www.cft.org.uk/