Above: Ranevskaya (Kate Duchêne) and Lopakhin (Dominic Rowan) in The Cherry Orchard at the Young Vic. Photo by Stephen Cummiskey / courtesy of The Telegraph

The raspy sound of a stopping train pierced the darkness of the auditorium. Comedies do not start like this, right? However, on this October evening the audience filled the Young Vic theatre, ready to see yet another staging of Anton Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard, which he clearly identified as a comedy in 1904. This performance is a collaboration by renowned director Katie Mitchell and Olivier Award winner Simon Stephens, who has written a new English version of this play. Willing to modernise the play both in terms of theatre practice and contemporary audience, Mitchell and Stephens bring out jokes and irony from the text, which is often staged as a drama.

Starting in the pre-dawn hours of a May morning in the Russian countryside, the first act brings the audience inside the Ranevskaya estate, surrounded by the cherry orchard in a tender haze of bloom. Lopakhin (Dominic Rowan), a local businessman and a friend of the family, and Dunyasha (Sarah Ridgeway) await the arrival of Lyubov Ranevskaya (Kate Duchêne), the owner of the estate. She is coming back to Russia after five years in Paris, impoverished and abandoned by her lover. She is returning to the house of her childhood and the beloved orchard, which is soon going to be sold to cover debts. Entering the nursery room, the characters remain there for the rest of the play, remembering, arguing, and contemplating life. Placing all scenes of the play in the nursery, Chekhov draws the attention to the imperishable immaturity of all characters, despite their actual age and occupation, which leads to a bitter ending.

Ranevskaya (Kate Duchêne) and Trofimov (Paul Hilton) Photo by Stephen Cummiskey / Courtesy of The Art Desk

Mitchell’s version of The Cherry Orchard really develops the atmosphere of yearning for a past childhood first of all through the acting. Stephens’ interpretation of the play, where he changes the original order of some lines and emphasises awkward and funny moments, makes actors behave like small children, who are constantly hopping from one subject or emotion to another, unable to take responsibility for their life, even in some everyday situations. Kate Duchêne passionately performs Ranevskaya’s careless character, who grieves her lost son, but the next second rejoices at the orchard view from the window. Angus Wright, as Leonid Gaev, creates one of the best images of an ‘old child’ in the show. It seems that his jacket is too small for him, making Gaev stoop and look extremely uncomfortable with everything around him. He mumbles and his eyes are almost always half closed as if daydreaming or recalling lightheaded days of the past. Wright has captured very well this image of a man in his fifties, who is still a small boy inside, living in his own world, where even an old piece of furniture could become a loyal companion.

The performance in general has its own rhythm, mostly comical and farcical, alternating with poignant scenes, such as the uninvited appearance of a wanderer (Andy Cresswell) or a farewell dialogue between Lopakhin and Varya (Natalie Klamar). These scenes, though, are quickly forgotten by the characters, who are easily distracted by music in the distance or the sight of the ‘dear and honoured case.’ Emphasising the recklessness of the characters, the actors’ lines at the same time are sometimes too scattered and disconnected, reflecting the style of Chekhov’s writing, of course, but making it slightly confusing for the audience to follow the story. The fact that sometimes actors speak with their back to the audience does not benefit to the performance either.

The theme of lost childhood is well supported by Vicki Mortimer’s stage design. The nursery is a very simple room, but its walls and objects demonstrate how old and shabby everything is. Children’s drawings, old photographs and scattered toys remind the audience about the only real child in the story, Grisha, the drowned son of Ranevskaya, who will never grow up. The idea of the hovering past is well presented in the use of the set design. We see only one room, but could imagine the whole house and the garden around through the actors’ engagement with the set. Some music or parts of a conversation may be heard from another room, while the main scene takes place in the nursery. It creates the illusion of the whole house, but at the same time resembles echoes of the past, approaching characters as scant memories.

Pyotr Trofimov (Paul Hilton) Photo by Stephen Cummiskey / Courtesy of The Art Desk

Lighting by James Farncombe puts an interesting touch to the performance, creating an atmosphere around the house, outside the stage. The moment Lopakhin opens windows the fresh light fills the nursery, animating the space. But nobody wants to enjoy this new brightness, closing their eyes and turning away from the window. As small children, they squint at the bright morning light of a new day. When Ranevskaya and others do look outside, they see nothing, but their childhood memories.

The Cherry Orchard is a play with numerous themes and aspects to explore, and it seems almost impossible to fulfill them in one single production. Focusing on the theme of one’s immaturity, Mitchell transforms the story about changes in the Russian society into more personal narrative, suitable for every country. We were all children, but even as grown-ups we still act spontaneously and gullibly. Chekhov envisaged this play as a comedy, and Mitchell has realised his intentions with the house welcoming cues with laughter throughout the performance. The audience is presented with a great opportunity to see characters’ childish behaviour and, by laughing at it, look at their own life and become more mature themselves, because, as was suggested by Freud, a good sense of humor is a vital factor of maturity.

The Cherry Orchard is on at The Young Vic until 29 November.

This review was originally published on Russian Art and Culture.