In this raucous, arresting staging, Kristin Scott Thomas and Stephen Mangan join the ranks of those proving that Chekhov, like Shakespeare, can take rough handling. In Ian Rickson’s production of Conor McPherson’s new translation, costumes are untethered from the 1900s and language from decorum. “F***ing try me, I’ll bite your balls off,” the ancient servant Firs snaps to the arrogant valet Yasha, who’s wearing a mod-style suit and knit polo shirt.
It adds to the play’s sense of old orders decaying, norms of behaviour spinning out of control. Scott Thomas gives a twitchy, strained, rictus-smiling central performance as Ranevskaya, the adored but terminally feckless landowner who seemingly can’t bear to be in a room with herself. She’s always slipping out of embraces and tricky situations, squirreling secretive drinks.
