With so few contemporary Russian plays making it to the stage these days, it is cause for a minor celebration when one does. Especially if it is done as sincerely as Yury Volkov's production of his own play, "Anton," playing irregularly at the House of Actors and other venues around town.
Anton was the name of Volkov's grandfather, a man that the playwright suggests in a narrated prologue might have been a writer were it not for an exhausting, unhappy marriage, and for his arrest which led to his death in the camps in 1936. So, while the play actually takes its name from the great Russian writer Anton Chekhov, it is the specter of Volkov's grandfather that transforms it from a mere stage bio into a work shaded with the intimacy of personal attachment.
It isn't surprising that Volkov was intrigued by Chekhov, certainly one of the most fascinating figures in the rich pantheon of Russian cultural giants. The grandson of a serf who bought his own freedom, and the son of an oppressive, impoverished shopkeeper, he was a striking example of one who, to use an only partially adequate American phrase, pulled himself and his family up by the bootstraps. He was a man of extraordinary will, focus and talent, all of which he used to a degree that only a select few can.
That, as strictly applied to Chekhov's flourishing as a writer, is the crux of Volkov's play. He explores the personality of a man willing to make hard decisions and painful sacrifices in order to sustain his literary gift. A favorite and an admirer of women, he avoided binding ties until a late and very long-distance marriage. A devoted friend and a lover of good company, he essentially remained a loner until his death.
Volkov traces these traits with persuasive efficiency, portraying Chekhov (Andrei Smolyakov) in various states of entanglement, either with such women as the Blonde (Olga Chernook), the Dazzling Woman (Nadezhda Butyrtseva), and the Meek Woman (Vera Kharybina), or with his two friends, the moody painter Isaac Levitan (Kirill Kozakov) and the colorful writer Vladimir Gilyarovsky (Igor Zolotovitsky).
The scenes with Levitan and Gilyarovsky are especially insightful, revealing both Chekhov's distaste for the kind of florid philosophizing of which the great landscape painter was capable, and his lack of interest in the frivolous escapades of which Gilyarovsky was such a champion. Not overlooked is the close, highly complex relationship between Chekhov and his sister, Masha (Marina Shvydkaya), on whom the writer was so jealously dependent that he went so far as to sabotage her own potential marriage.
Volkov's decision to direct his own play -- a common move in the West, but rare in Russia -- produced admirable if unspectacular results. As would be expected, the play is treated with care and insight, while a more experienced director might have got more from the actors.
Smolyakov's sympathetic Chekhov -- thoughtfully obsessed with his privacy and genuinely regretful that literature leaves no room for other "lovers" -- provides a solid center supported by performances ranging from the effective (Kozakov and Zolotovitsky) to the earnest. Characteristic of this raw production is Vera Kharybina's nice scene as the neighbor woman Dunyasha following her barely competent interpretation of the Meek Woman shortly before.
Nikolai Epov's set, on a platform raised over the front rows of seats, keeps things clear and simple. Beside Chekhov's stand-up desk are stacks of papers, his doctor's bag and a curtain hung in a tight ring that allows actors to hide and make "unexpected" entrances.
"Anton" is an elegy for a grandfather; an exploration of one of Russia's most innovative writers; and, perhaps, an act of self-encouragement on the author's part.
If the performance doesn't always share the play's reach, it is still noteworthy for its conviction.
"Anton," a production of Olga Garibova's All the World International Theater Center, plays Sunday at 7 P.M. at the House of Actors, 35 Arbat. Tel. 248-1967/0857. Running Time: 1 hour, 55 mins.
Anton was the name of Volkov's grandfather, a man that the playwright suggests in a narrated prologue might have been a writer were it not for an exhausting, unhappy marriage, and for his arrest which led to his death in the camps in 1936. So, while the play actually takes its name from the great Russian writer Anton Chekhov, it is the specter of Volkov's grandfather that transforms it from a mere stage bio into a work shaded with the intimacy of personal attachment.
It isn't surprising that Volkov was intrigued by Chekhov, certainly one of the most fascinating figures in the rich pantheon of Russian cultural giants. The grandson of a serf who bought his own freedom, and the son of an oppressive, impoverished shopkeeper, he was a striking example of one who, to use an only partially adequate American phrase, pulled himself and his family up by the bootstraps. He was a man of extraordinary will, focus and talent, all of which he used to a degree that only a select few can.
That, as strictly applied to Chekhov's flourishing as a writer, is the crux of Volkov's play. He explores the personality of a man willing to make hard decisions and painful sacrifices in order to sustain his literary gift. A favorite and an admirer of women, he avoided binding ties until a late and very long-distance marriage. A devoted friend and a lover of good company, he essentially remained a loner until his death.
Volkov traces these traits with persuasive efficiency, portraying Chekhov (Andrei Smolyakov) in various states of entanglement, either with such women as the Blonde (Olga Chernook), the Dazzling Woman (Nadezhda Butyrtseva), and the Meek Woman (Vera Kharybina), or with his two friends, the moody painter Isaac Levitan (Kirill Kozakov) and the colorful writer Vladimir Gilyarovsky (Igor Zolotovitsky).
The scenes with Levitan and Gilyarovsky are especially insightful, revealing both Chekhov's distaste for the kind of florid philosophizing of which the great landscape painter was capable, and his lack of interest in the frivolous escapades of which Gilyarovsky was such a champion. Not overlooked is the close, highly complex relationship between Chekhov and his sister, Masha (Marina Shvydkaya), on whom the writer was so jealously dependent that he went so far as to sabotage her own potential marriage.
Volkov's decision to direct his own play -- a common move in the West, but rare in Russia -- produced admirable if unspectacular results. As would be expected, the play is treated with care and insight, while a more experienced director might have got more from the actors.
Smolyakov's sympathetic Chekhov -- thoughtfully obsessed with his privacy and genuinely regretful that literature leaves no room for other "lovers" -- provides a solid center supported by performances ranging from the effective (Kozakov and Zolotovitsky) to the earnest. Characteristic of this raw production is Vera Kharybina's nice scene as the neighbor woman Dunyasha following her barely competent interpretation of the Meek Woman shortly before.
Nikolai Epov's set, on a platform raised over the front rows of seats, keeps things clear and simple. Beside Chekhov's stand-up desk are stacks of papers, his doctor's bag and a curtain hung in a tight ring that allows actors to hide and make "unexpected" entrances.
"Anton" is an elegy for a grandfather; an exploration of one of Russia's most innovative writers; and, perhaps, an act of self-encouragement on the author's part.
If the performance doesn't always share the play's reach, it is still noteworthy for its conviction.
"Anton," a production of Olga Garibova's All the World International Theater Center, plays Sunday at 7 P.M. at the House of Actors, 35 Arbat. Tel. 248-1967/0857. Running Time: 1 hour, 55 mins.
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