Sell the Damn Orchard and Move to Bali…

The Cherry Orchard, by Anton Chekhov, presented by Theatre by the River & Little Echo Theatre, runs at Frame Art Warehouse,  January 26 – Feb. 6, 2014

Reviewed by Chandra Mayor 

Let me tell you what I wish I’d known before attending this production – or what I wish that the program or the box office had made explicit: first, wear a sweater (or, you know, a skidoo suit). And second, if you have any issues with physical mobility, from creaky joints onwards, go see a different show.

In the lead-up to ChekhovFest, which this production is part of, much has been made of the weather-induced spiritual kinship between winter-bound Winnipeggers and the stark Russian soulscape of Chekhov’s plays.  Presumably, life in our not-actually-colder-than-Mars city gives us the leg up on Chekhovian insight over theatre-goers in warmer places… Brazil, say, or maybe Bali or Bangkok. Or just about anywhere other than the Frame Art Warehouse on Ross, the very cold venue for this particular production. Most of the audience members wore their parkas throughout the entire production; the woman beside me surreptitiously slipped her gloves back on just before the intermission. I kept wishing that I’d worn warmer socks.

The icy temperature did not inspire me to deeper communion with Chekhov’s world. I just felt cold, distracted, and occasionally resentful of the characters as they lolled and lounged on a make-believe summer riverbank. The venue’s chill is a real challenge to the suspension of disbelief; it’s just hard to forget that you are sitting on a folding chair in a cold warehouse, rather than experiencing that theatre-magic of discovering yourself transported into the lives and rooms of a pre-revolutionary Russian estate.

Then again, you might count yourself lucky to find yourself on a folding metal chair. The play consists of four acts, and in this production, each act occurs in a different curtained-off section of the warehouse. The audience finds itself wedged and squashed into extraordinarily tightly-packed rows of seating – and the back-numbing metal folding banquet-hall-overflow chairs are the best in the house. Some spaces also feature rows of those low-rider Folk Fest-approved lawn chairs, impossible to get in or out of with any grace or dignity, especially in such tight quarters; without room to stretch your legs out in front of you, you end up sitting with your ears nearly between your knees.

The space used for acts one and three adds in a few back rows of tall bar stools. Between acts, the audience is admonished to get up (often with difficulty, while wearing bulky coats) and tromp, single-file, through the cold warehouse to the next set, and the next set of sardine seating arrangements. During the intermission, we are led into the same grey makeshift anteroom that we were held in while waiting for the production to begin; we stand around, only surmising that this is indeed an intermission when the ushers disappear. We are not told about this four-act roving structure.

There aren’t enough seats in each section (either because the house was over-sold or because the chairs were miscounted; either way, the ushers and the stage manager sound angry), and we are commanded to occupy any and all empty seats; senior citizens are ordered to wedge themselves into low lawn chairs and to perch on the bar stools, and some people find themselves standing uneasily at the back of the room. During the opening night performance, one older gentleman was very sternly and repeatedly admonished by the ushers for taking up too much of the aisle space that was needed by the actors for their incessant entrances and exits; he just didn’t have anywhere else to shift his folding chair, although he tried.

Perhaps he didn’t feel bothered. But to me it all felt very unwelcoming, much more Solzhenitsyn than blossoming cherry orchard. And while the crowd gamely schlepped from room to cold and crowded room (with only the occasional sotto voce Soviet breadline comment), some visibly struggled with the (entirely unexpected) physicality required of the audience.  This is more than a structurally inaccessible venue. This is a production staged in a way that can cause discomfort, embarrassment, and anxiety, and can potentially even prohibit the full audience experience for anyone with mobility concerns – without the advance notice that would empower potential audience members to make informed decisions about the situation and their own abilities.

Unfortunately, in addition to the uncomfortable conditions for the audience, this staging does not add to the performances or the production. While Daina Leitold’s sets are lovely, it is difficult to see why it is the audience (and not the bits of furniture and furnishings) that is moved about between acts; the different rooms are not really different enough to create a uniquely encompassing experience in any of them, and the time it takes to shift the audience from room to room detracts from the both the action’s momentum and the audience’s emotional engagement. The most effective and compelling of Leitold’s set designs are the silhouettes of Act Three’s party guests, as seen through a simple white curtain. It provides a small and convincing moment of visual metaphor; this way of life is just about to disappear, and already these last participants are becoming shadows.

The sightlines in all of the spaces are problematic, especially as so much of the action occurs while the characters are seated on low furniture or the ground. Everyone except for those seated in the first few rows must twist and crane our necks to see what is happening, and even then there is much that is only heard, rather than actually seen. Perhaps if we could see all of the actors all (or even most) of the time, the performances might feel stronger.

A little like a Russian Downton Abbey, this is a play that is meant to be both funny and tragic, about people caught in a social and economic system about to change utterly and irrevocably. The upper class Liubov (Melanie Whyte) has lost her wealth, and is unable to pay the taxes and debts on her family estate, including the famed and beautiful cherry orchard which is about to be auctioned off. Liubov’s daughters and brother (persuasively played by Blake Taylor), as well as the various servants and staff, each struggle to find solutions and meaning in their lives and circumstances.

Kevin Klassen gives a powerful and convincing performance as Lopahkin, the energetic capitalist, and Toby Hughes is equally excellent as the idealist Trofimov. The energy between these two actors enlivens the play, which is otherwise marred by uneven performances, too much tromping around and coming and going (by both the audience and the actors, especially in a venue that echoes, thuds, and creaks), and some unconvincing directorial choices.

This is a production with worthy aspirations and genuine potential, and while it ably conveys the story and situation, it does so potentially at the expense of the audience’s ability to physically (and therefore emotionally) participate, or to make informed decisions. And even for those physically able to cope with the demands of the venue and the staging, it doesn’t ever quite cohere enough to soar – or to make us forget how cold our hands are.

Just sell the damn orchard and move to Bali, we want to say… and please take us with you. Much like each of the characters, I wanted more – and different – than what I got from this production. At least I got a ride home at the end of it.

The Cherry Orchard, presented by Theatre by the River & Little Echo Theatre, runs at Frame Art Warehouse,  January 26 – Feb. 6, 318 Ross Ave., Winnipeg MB.