2012 has been a notable year for
competing productions of the same play. Aside from Shakespeare, whose
works often travel in convoy, London has seen three
Duchesses Of Malfi this year, and
now for the second time a brace of
Uncle
Vanyas square up to each other. In spring Iain Glen’s Vanya at
the Print Room jostled against Roger Allam’s at Chichester, but now a
mere weekend has separated the openings of two West End productions,
one laden with prominent domestic names, the other a one-week visit
from Moscow’s Vakhtangov Theatre.
Expectations were that the contemporary Brits would prove more vibrant
than the reverent Russians. In the event, the reverse is true: Lindsay
Posner’s production is straightforward and unexceptional, whereas Rimas
Tuminas (who is in fact Lithuanian) and his Vakhtangov company play
almost as fast and loose with Chekhov as did Benedict Andrews a few
weeks ago with
Three Sisters
at the Young Vic.
Posner’s Vanya is Ken Stott; his brother-in-law Serebryakov, the
self-regarding academic, is Paul Freeman; his second wife Yelena, with
whom Vanya is infatuated, is Anna Friel; the comparatively magnetic
Doctor Astrov is Samuel West; the comic neighbour Telyegin is Mark
Hadfield. This list serves also as a succinct description of the
production; 95% or so of the characterisation seems to arise directly
from the casting, with Posner simply staying out of the way. The only
surprise is a slight one, namely that Friel finally has a stage role in
which she shows the acting abilities (in terms of subtlety if not,
here, of personality type) which she has long since demonstrated
onscreen.
The Vakhtangov production looks and feels radically different. Put it
this way: the British production has a samovar onstage, the Russian one
does not. The central element of Adomas Yatsovskis’ set is a large,
brutal workbench on which the characters’ emotional dilemmas are,
sometimes literally, hammered out. Samuel West’s Astrov may be
transparently fibbing when he promises he will never drink again, but
his Russian counterpart (two actors alternate in the role) is actually
siphoning home brew into a tumbler within five minutes of the same
promise; he also, even whilst harrying Vanya for the return of a stolen
bottle of morphia, shoots the protagonist up.
Tuminas’s production runs half an hour longer than Posner’s at three
hours, and is played at a noticeably slower pace, but is not at all
duller for it. Rather, every character is constantly self-dramatising
his or her assorted distresses. Vladimir Simonov’s Serebryakov is so
vigorous in his nocturnal illness that he resembles the late madcap
Kenneth Mars. The departure of all visitors in the fourth and final act
is what finally drains off this histrionic energy, leaving Sergey
Makovetsky’s Vanya (along with the injection) so inert that he is posed
and moved by Sonya like a mannequin.
Posner’s is a perfectly serviceable entry-level
Vanya with a generous handful of
big-name “scalps”, but anyone either familiar with the play or of an
adventurous bent would be far better served by catching the Muscovites
on their too-brief visit.
Written for the Financial
Times.