Most of the Chekhov dramas I recall seeing on other stages were what I remember as ‘drawing room’ comedies where aristocratic Russians arrived in their own coaches to doff fur coats and silk wraps to deferential servants and fall into each other arms — their host presiding warmly. As I sit at my desk, my memory of the Arlekin Player’s guests is altogether different: gone are the furs and silk, the languorous embraces, the sips of champagne. Instead I’m remembering guests who relished undressing and then skinning their opposites while they clinked goblets of each other’s blood, grinning toothily. Oh, the stage directions stipulated a mansion in the countryside and woods surrounding a tranquil lake, but these directions were not interpreted literally. And who amongst those thirsty cannibals spared a glance at the lake, filled with (Ugh!) weak water, let alone wandered its … [Read more...] about THE ARLEKIN PLAYERS PLAY CHEKHOV’S THE SEAGULL
