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http://www.omniture.com --> Sections Home Page Local News AP News Blogs Archives Business Classifieds Event Calendar Forums Life Opinion Obituaries Multimedia Photo Gallery Readers Photo Gallery Sports Tempo Weather Road Cams Special Coverage 2006 Britt Festivals --> Shop Our Valley AutoFinder HomeFinder JobFinder Search Our Valley Special Sections Distinctly Northwest Readers' Choice Homelife Magazine Joy Magazine Oregon Golf Info Oregon Wine Info Other Publications Local Links Ashland News eSouthernOregon Newspapers In Education Personals Moving Here Movie Listings TV Listings Volunteer Customer Service Advertise With Us Media Kit Place Classified Ad Contact Us FAQ's Home Delivery Site Map --> Email Story to a Friend February 26, 2007 'Cherry Orchard' is a love letter to Chekhov In the fourth act of "The Cherry Orchard," the rich peasant Lopakhin has promised Madam Ranevskaya that he will propose to her daughter, Varya. When they are finally alone, the two talk instead of the weather. It is nearly unbearable. Ranevskaya's (Judith-Marie Bergan) aristocratic Russian family is losing its ancestral estate to this newly rich son of a former serf, and the family matriarch has done nothing but dither. In this crucial moment, Lopakhin (Armando Duran) dithers too. In Anton Chekhov's plays, nothing much happens on the surface. His method was to set his small characters about the minutiae of daily life while tension roils beneath the surface. He insisted that despite its ending — the family turned out of its ancestral home to become strangers in a changing world — "The Cherry Orchard" was a comedy. And Libby Appel has staged it that way, with great precision, in her new adaptation, which opened Saturday afternoon in the Oregon Shakespeare Festival's Angus Bowmer Theatre. Directors are often inclined to see the play as romantic tragedy, and indeed the characters spend most of their time on the edge between laughter and tears. Appel has cast it as darkly comic and ironic but never maudlin, a prose poem about life passing by these flawed, touching people while they are busy making other plans. Advertisement It is the culmination for Appel of a half-century love affair with Chekhov and a two-and-a-half-year project that began with a literal translation by the University of Denver's Allison Horsley. The result is like Appel channelling Chekhov. The language is direct and accessible and rises to a certain plain poetry. It sounds right. Chekhov should not be declaimed or orated. The pet word of the ancient servant Firs (Richard Elmore, proving once again there are no small parts) is "nincompoop." Lopakhin gets a bump on his head that is "humongous." There could hardly be a better description of the comic estate clerk, Yepikhodov (Christopher DuVal), than "a disaster waiting to happen." Actors love to play Chekhov's characters because each seems to have some kind of interesting core to inhabit. But Chekhov is precise about his charcters. They have sadness in their lives, but it's often absurd and ironic in particular ways. Bergan plays Ranevskaya as a spoiled, self-indulgent elitist participating in her own ruin, yet she endows her with charm, wit and a big heart. She is right in a great role. She breaks up in laughter at the memory of her gabby brothers "talking to the waiter (at a lavish dinner she couldn't afford, but paid for) about the Symbolists." Richard Howard as Ranevskaya's feckless brother, Gayev, lives in the past and sees the world as a billiards game. It's a nice portrayal, although Gayev is in his early 50s, and Howard plays him somewhat older as if to underscore his irrelevance. If Gayev is the past, Lopakhin is the present (1903 Russia). He buys the estate, but he's no grasping parvenu, nor does Duran play him as such. Rather, he is a friend at his wits end trying to talk sense to Ranevskaya and her brother. At the same time, he knows he's a peasant, and now he possesses a great estate. The purchase, which happens off-stage, is the main action of the play. The future is the eternal student and intellectual Trofimov (Gregory Linington), who keeps envisioning humanity marching off toward some higher truth. He has an eye for Ranevskaya's daughter Ana, and he is a fool. But like the others, he's drawn with affection. Gwendolyn Mulamba brings pathos to poor, efficient, doomed Varya, a role Chekhov described as the play's only crybaby. Tony Heald, in his return to OSF, is a perfect Pischik, the chronically broke neighbor. The plot is non-linear, the lives are small, and the ghosts are all up in the attic. People talk, and others drift away, and connections are missed. Ranevskaya exults, "I cannot bear this joy!" at the moment Lopakhin is telling her straight out the estate will be sold on August 22. Appel has staged the play on a rather spare set by Rachel Hauck with scrims that suggest the estate grounds and the orchard. It doesn't looked thoroughly ravaged, but maybe a bit down at the heels. On one level the orchard is a metaphor for a romantic past that is becoming moot. On another it is a modern way out: Lopakhin's plan is to turn it into a development for summer homes for people from the city and make a bundle. The feeling we get is that of being an innocent bystander watching other innocent bystanders seeing a movie of their lives slipping by. The famous mysterious sound that comes from off-stage twice — it's described as sounding like a string snapping — underscores the terrible beauty of this feeling. The production's after-image is a lingering silhouette that is gently and profoundly disturbing. Would you like to respond to this story? If so Click Here to visit our forums. Advertisement Copyright © 1997-2007 Mail Tribune, Inc. All rights reserved. Privacy Policy | Terms & Conditions | Website Feedback online casinos news Home Security Systems Online Casino Reviews Trunks, Footlocker Fundraisers UK Homeowner Loans Casinos Canada Cord Blood Banking Discount Hotel Reservations Texas Electric Choice Compare Electric rates in Texas Windermere Van Vleet Men's Clothing Debt Help New Hampshire Primary