MaineCourse

Cross Off Checkov

Dan Downing

And by deliberate association, cross off The American Repertory Theatre.

At Michael's suggestion, for Christmas I gave Linda tickets to see The Three Sisters, and so we pilgrimaged into definitely-not-our-old-Harvard Square Thursday evening.

We dined at The Harvest, and began feeling like interlopers in a wealthy-Cambridge-academia milieu that is not us. Good, but way overpriced, oysters, Caesar’s salad , and Tuna.

As we approached the ART, I prophetically said to Linda, “you know, hun, this may not be our scene”.

It wasn’t.

The theatre was small, our seats had a good view -- but not the intimate feel-the-actors-sweat Mike experienced when he and Di saw Desire Under the Elm Tree (or something like that) earlier this year. The main thing is we had aisle seats (I can explain to anyone interested how I managed to trick the on-line box office into giving me those).

The play was supposed to be about three unmarried sisters stuck in a provincial Russian town, yearning to go to Moscow, and finally being wooed by soldiers stationed in the local garrison.

Within 15 minutes I thought we’d mistakenly walked into Sartre’s No Exit, with the audience, rather that the actors, trapped in hell.

The action was glacial. What passed for dialog were meaningless utterance separated by 45-second pregnant pauses that were acoustically hard to hear. The characters had to have been insane.

“Delirious ennui”, the Globe said about the first act. We agreed. We up and left before the intermission, having given the drama more than enough time to unfold and explain itself, along with another couple.

On the walk back to the car, Linda and I mused about how many empty seats there would be after the intermission, versus how many would stick out the 3 ½ hour production.

Definitely not our scene.

We learned later that Mark and Ginger saw this play in London and loved it. Go figure.

Here’s $100 to send Director Krystian Lupa packing back to Prague.

Precise, withering description of a bad night out. And funny too, cause, well, shoot, I wasn't there.

I thought I recommended The Huntington Theater... .

Posted by michael.

Now that I've had time to wake-up and read the linked review, it does indeed read like an unnecessarily heavy-handed approach to a more-than-heavy-enough topic. Great last line in that review:"Small wonder that many of the performers in this dispiriting production seem content to spin about like malfunctioning windup toys rather than flesh-and-blood human beings."

However, the theater was full and there are other ways of seeing it I suppose. Here's Ed Siegel of the Boston Globe.

PS Thanks for the good time last night.

Posted by Michael.

Siegel says "magnificent first-half highs as well as [ a ] sagging second act" ... Guess you left after the good stuff, which is good timing. But he also found the silences "golden" and masterful, the whole a success. Go figure.

Well-told tale of discontent. But if you're going to pay too much for dinner in the Square, why not go someplace brand new, where you've never been before, and where a friend of yours designed all the lighting ... ? OM, @ 57 JFK.

Posted by adam.

The Harvest was a spontaneous decision, Adam, as we were originaly headed for Iruna--but wished we'd known (remembered?) about OM. Will look for it another time.

Missed you two last night. (I know, my bad). Only M&D and M&G and Greg joined us to watch the ball fall. Then we chased everyone out into the snow.

Feliz Año Nuevo!

Posted by smiling Dan.

Sounds like Elton John and Chekov are in the same boat. I think you were a good sport to give it a go in the first place. If I ever asked El Rad to go see Chekov it would entail tearing him away from his R Crumb books that he got for Christmas and he never would have made it thru the first act. Bring Fritz the Cat to the Brattle Theatre and he'd be there in a heartbeat.

Posted by la Rad.

I found this http://www.byu.edu/tma/production/studyguides/ChkhvStdyGd.pdf and extracted this: “Taken as a whole, The Three Sisters anticipates Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. The title characters are trapped in a pointless, absurd existence, marking time as their dreams dim, their memories fade, and even their physical space shrinks around them. Moscow, remembered only as an indistinct medley of impressions, becomes the psychic equivalent of Godot: that which is awaited to give ultimate meaning to existence. But Chekhov’s detailed warning differs fundamentally from the absurdist’s sparse analogy, in that the Russian playwright had more hope for the future than would Beckett a half century and two world wars later. In Godot, the protagonists wait, apparently in vain, for what they believe must come; in The Three Sisters, the characters still have the possibility of movement, mobility, authentic action—even though Moscow itself is probably beyond their reach. The Prozorov family loses its place through inaction when action was possible. Their own indifference to practical enterprise dooms them. But at the end of the play there is still hope that these characters will wake up and save what is best and noble in them, rather than succumb to either a beastly, meaningless existence or death. Chekhov warns the audience through them that all of us must make the same choice.”

You’ve got to love that second sentence. To whom does that not apply? Reminds me of a Louise Gluck poem which reminds me of my most recent issue of Poetry magazine. I laughed as I read the second of two she had published, titled something like “I Want To Slit My Wrists.” It took her four entire lines before she mentioned death. Now, I’ve got no problem with that or at least I didn’t until La Rad compared her poems and the “D” word to a bowel movement. You know she’s gonna get around to it, it’s just a matter of when.

In that vein, I used to enjoy tuna packed in water until Adam asked me how I could enjoy rotting fish in a can. I know, I’m a bit off track, but since we can’t really argue with Dan about why he thinks sitting in front of his TV or reading the newspaper or clicking his mouse is really better than watching live human beings, no matter how glacial their movements, then the only thing left is the play’s content.

Posted by michael.

Thanks for the warning, Dan. If we're ever given tickets to Chekhov's Three Sisters, we'll pass them on to someone else. Life is too short (and Beth will second me on this) to see depressing plays or movies or read books that will make you go slit your wrists, no matter how authentic the acting or how well-reviewed they are. But others may differ.

Posted by rakkity.

Michael, as discussed in other venues, pointless or point-ful existence is intended by the point-er.

I respectfully disassociate myself from the group to whom you would apply that second sentence.

I derive a lot of meaning to clicking my mouse in front of my computer in both personal and professional ways. I suspect you would too, if you would allow yourself to reflect on the richness that you bring to many people though the creation and nurturing of this blog.

For me, better than watching live human beings is being one, acting like one.

Making the decision to make for the exit before the Three Sisters intermission was one such action.

(La Rad: very different boats, Elton and Checkov. I did not walk out on Elton :-)

Posted by smiling Dan.

Posted by Michael at January 1, 2006 12:56 PM