The luminous vulnerability of Jack Serio’s Uncle Vanya

I FEEL ALMOST BAD writing about Jack Serio’s new production of Uncle Vanya, because chances are that unless you already have a ticket, you can afford to buy one on the secondary market or have been granted access (like I was) as a journalist, there is little or no chance that you will get to see it. The show, produced by OHenry Productions, has just sixteen sold-out performances and takes place in a private loft in the Flatiron District for an audience of exactly forty people. It’s the Rao’s of Manhattan’s summer theater scene.

Yet, as Pete Wells once wrote, defending his practice of writing about such fine dining establishments that only a small percentage of his readers will ever eat, “in a handful of very good [restaurants], food and room and wine and hospitality come together in a way that expresses something universal about our culture.” This seems to be the goal of many artists, culinary or otherwise, and this or any Vania. Chekhov’s drama, after all, deals with matters of the heart, lingering issues, and fundamental questions about everyday human existence.

Each revival of a classic is necessarily in conversation with those that preceded it. For me, the two productions this one seems to evoke the most are the André Gregory/Wallace Shawn period adaptation (captured by Louis Malle in his 1994 film Vanya on 42nd Street) and Richard Nelson’s 2018 Complete Production at Hunter College with Jay O. Sanders (a kind of companion piece to Nelson’s own Rhinebeck cycle). Like these two adaptations, the power of this Vania stems from a daring and disarming intimacy.

Unlike those previous stagings, Serio’s Vania not meant to break. Elegantly designed by Walt Spangler (whose antique furniture, in concert with tasteful Carrie Mossman accessories, conveys without ever trying to hide the fact that we are in a Manhattan apartment), is instead played in a muted minor key , shaded by a dark, bluesy shame: shame at being flawed, shame at harboring unfulfilled desires, shame at leading mundane lives. The most piercing moments in the production aren’t the loud, screaming moments of the play’s climax, but rather the quiet, melancholic duets that occur between misfits unable to connect – scenes of tenderness and vulnerability that seem almost more aligned with latter-day sensibility and aesthetics. of Tennessee Williams than that of everyone’s favorite Russian doctor. This isn’t a knock on Serio’s vision; on the contrary, it is a refreshing and revealing prism through which to appreciate Chekhov’s infinitely rich story of lives and dreams colliding in a country estate.

I haven’t seen all the plays currently on offer in New York, but it’s hard to imagine there being two better performances than those given in this Vania. And no, I’m not talking about the two leading names in the show, David Cromer and Bill Irwin, two bastions of American theater whose careers and contributions to the living arts are beyond reproach. While it’s thrilling to see them both hard at work in such close quarters, the brightness that overwhelms them, and has overwhelmed me, comes from actors Marin Ireland (as Sonya) and Will Brill (as ‘Astrov).

Ireland is a revelation, its every look and gesture imbued with those longings, anxieties and passions that from time to time keep us all awake at night: if only I were someone else, if only people could see me for who i really am, if only i mattered. Brill, meanwhile, brings a weary, sardonic sheen to his portrayal of a small-town doctor grappling with the realities of aging and ignorance of his place in the world. Together, the duo offers us portraits of lonely people in the throes of desperate longing, wracked with heartbreaking self-doubt and self-loathing, rendered with breathtaking verisimilitude.

And yet, the play is not called “Niece Sonya”, nor “Doctor Astrov”. I so admire David Cromer (his Our city, at the old Barrow Street Theater in 2009, and in which he starred and directed, remains an all-time highlight of my theatrical experiences), but I found it difficult to sympathize with his austere, grumpy, and distracted. (Full disclosure: I saw the show on opening night, and this just might be the kind of thing that gets resolved when he settles into the role.) Shawn gave us a playful awkwardness that makes up for it. the character’s pathetic state and Sanders’ magnetic charisma always make his performances interesting and engaging, but Serio allows Vanya de Cromer to almost disappear into his depression, flattening him and displacing him from the center of the room, and effectively upsetting the audience. overall balance.

Irwin, for his part (and fresh off his memorable turn as Clov in Beckett’s End of Game at Irish Rep), is always eminently watchable, and that is true here. His Serebryakov is haughty, jerky and detached. But the other major star of the cast is Will Dagger’s (aka Waffles) Telegin, a performance rich in subtlety and sneaky, snarky invention, not the least of which are the finely executed acoustic guitar interludes, adding shades of feeling and nuance to the procedure.

But it is the portraits offered by Ireland and Brill that make this Uncle Vanya special, and which remind us that, like all of Chekhov’s plays, this one, premiered in 1899 (Serio uses Paul Schmidt’s translation), is not dated at all. We are still talking about the disappearance of the world we once knew; we are always worried about imminent ecological threats; we still feel bad about getting old. We fear that we are ugly and that the lives we lead are worthless. We always ask ourselves the same questions. How can we achieve happiness? What are the mechanisms with which to tolerate our own imperfections? How will we be remembered?

In this production, ghosts from another time and another culture are reanimated to offer us the same answers we are still stuck with, which is to say very few. We all get confused in the dark, doing the best we can; no one thinks of us as much as we think of ourselves; life is made up of small, insignificant things we do every day. And then there are the curtains.

— Howard Fishman

Uncle Vanya takes place from June 28 to July 16 in a private loft in New York’s Flatiron District.