Rating: 2.5/5
Starring big names, primarily Kenneth Branagh and Helen Hunt, the RSC’s debut of Laura Wade’s new version of Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard was sure to attract thespians and the general public alike. Indeed, as this RSC season launched I found myself waiting in a queue for an extended period of time only to be left with only the choice of restricted view tickets. Nonetheless, the excitement slowly rose for me to see this play for the first time and to make an out-of-term trip back to Stratford.
Arriving to the Swan Theatre, we took our seats and I found myself part of the set: a withered tree running up the wall and splaying out at the level of our Gallery 2 seats. Looking through the branches, the set was immediately elegant. Whitewashed and empty feeling, at first, but managing to convey the grandeur this house would have had. White covers were stuck to the floor, pulled one way and another, as if the painters and decorators were in. Ghostly faces just fading through the material from some long ago covered up artistic flair; an apt reminder of the passage of time, and the eventual loss of this house to the family it had hosted for generations.
The visual aspects continued to be arguably the best, certainly most solid, part of this production. Whether the sunrise streaming through the window, or the near-blinding full light of day in the garden, the lighting team has managed to convey exactly what was intended here. The set is both simple enough to give the actors space to control the stage but not so bare as to feel lifeless. The costumes are without any massive flourish but seamlessly fit in with the theme of the set and the story as a whole.
As Branagh’s capitalist success story Lopakhin jumps out of bed to deliver his first lines, there was a perceptible confusion in the audience… why is he speaking with an Irish accent? Later we would find out that Helen Hunt’s Ranyevskaya and her brother Goev (Bill Pullman) present North American accents whilst the West Midlands accent gets a showing too, such as in Esther Smith’s Varya. A mix of accents isn’t inherently a problem but it feels like this was a deliberate choice and yet the production never backs it up with any substance, never justifies it to the audience. One can’t help but think Russian might have been a more fitting accent to imitate for a production not shying away from the fact it’s set in Russia.
For a story with such moving themes, such thoughtful ideas, the audience is left with a knowledge of them rather than a feeling. They experience a glimpse of a ‘higher meaning’ to their theatre-going but never a full or proper exploration. This seems to be a symbiotic problem between the directing of Tamara Harvey (who also somewhat disappointed me in Henry V earlier in the year) and many of the actors involved. Helen Hunt strikes a tone and barely varies an inch, approaching full monotony at times. Hunt cannot be the only one blamed for the shortcomings of this production, however. Much of the acting in tender moments seemed flat, lacking a certain quality to convey emotion. Many interactions, especially those between the women and girls of the story, feel empty and awkward; moments with brief dialogue are played as brief, losing opportunities to connect the audience emotionally to the characters at certain times.
It isn’t all bad, though. The saving graces come with Branagh and Alfred Enoch. Here Branagh shows why he’s made such a name for himself; among the lack of emotion elsewhere he presents a complicated character with seeming ease and feels like one of the only members of the cast that the audience can actually connect to. He manages to never fail to bring us back into the story, controlling the stage with a superb spatial awareness, and (whether naturally or for the minor plot point) swinging his arms about in every direction, somehow making him feel more alive, more real than the majority of the cast. I must admit, I have been surprised when reading the discourse around this production to see very little applause for Alfred Enoch’s undergraduate activist (as we’d probably call him today) Trofimov. Personally his monologues were the closest we got, except maybe the ending with Firs’ (Michael Elwyn) return, to the contemplative manner which I think this play would have been better embracing further. Enoch again shows his command of the theatre medium, his voice stronger and clearer than many others and yet remaining endearing. (I will admit I may, however, be biased by my own plans to ‘forever be a student’ of sorts). Although his Henry V was a bit flat for my liking in Harvey’s production earlier this year, I still came away from it thinking he had been the strongest note, and he manages to move me to that conclusion again for The Cherry Orchard.
I am no musician but it is worth celebrating the music in this production. Laura Rossi’s score gives a sense of rhythm as it is performed live by a quartet. The score is neither particularly complicated nor memorable, but it does fit the unfolding narrative and theme very well. It feels ever present in the second half, pushing the story forward with a much needed increase in pace. This may be a reason that the second half felt simply much better in general than the first.
So after the queues and the out-of-term-time travelling, was it all worth it? I would say yes, but it cut it too close for comfort. If not for a few performances dragging the entire production up whilst others seemingly put in little effort to try to do the same, this would have been an abject disappointment. Thankfully there was just enough to make this overall enjoyable, if only mildly, rather than the mere ‘comfortable’ it was at many a time. The playtext I bought before the show (a tradition of mine) speaks as if this RSC run is just a world premiere, aspiring to tour the globe… I think big changes will have to be made if that is to happen under the merit of Wade’s new version and not just the big names attached to it.
The Cherry Orchard runs at the Swan Theatre (RSC, Stratford-Upon-Avon) until the 29th August.