Review of the production of “The Cherry Orchard” at the József Katona Theater in Budapest

The Cherry Orchard was staged at the József Katona Theater in Budapest. Young director Jakab Tarnoczy, as she happily noted Esther Steinbock, meaningfully continued the glorious tradition of Chekhov’s productions by one of the best drama troupes in Europe.

In general, Jakab Tarnoczy was going to stage a completely different performance. But the Katona Theater (despite the fact that the whole theater world knows the troupe) is now in a difficult situation: the state authorities in Hungary do not like it, because the Katonas are too freedom-loving and popular with intellectuals, and there are not enough city subsidies. The hopeless situation prompted the young director to choose Chekhov’s tragicomedy, and the budgetary difficulties of the theater management prompted the scenographic decision. As often happens – both in life and in art – there would be no happiness, but misfortune helped: Chekhov’s last play, performed on an almost empty stage, sounded desperately strong, like a manifesto of the lost, but unconquered.

The images of the house and the cherry orchard, so important for this farewell play, are handled differently by the directors. In Jakab Tarnoczy’s production, a decisive gesture is visible – there is nothing to say goodbye to: there is no house, and its inhabitants have nothing to leave, there is no garden either, so there is nothing to chop with axes. Ranevskaya and her companions with modern suitcases on wheels arrive in the first act like a group of tourists on the ashes, there is nothing for them to touch, they have nothing to learn and nothing to say goodbye to. Apart from the tables and chairs, the only decorative detail is a chandelier made of fluorescent tubes under the ceiling, which is not at all homely, either from the palace of culture, or from the metro, or from a club. When in the third act, while awaiting their fate, Chekhov’s heroes must throw a house party, they are offered a disco at the Katona Theater – a DJ console is installed under the chandelier, and all the heroes, dressed up in something shiny, depict carefree evening life. Of course, this chandelier, which cannot be taken anywhere, can be mistaken for a garden.

Also important here is the silent turning circle, which either imperceptibly begins to rotate in the void, then stops, largely determining the rhythm of the action. One can determine in different ways what motivates these people – the social connections and hierarchies of the original text are destroyed or deformed, and the stage version of the play takes this into account. The heroes come here confused and lost, and each of the characters has a moment when we can examine them: some with their costume, some with their intonation, some with their plasticity “tells” about their lostness, and Chekhov’s plot seems to be reassembled on a new turn, where there is no place for the former sadness – so the famous sound of a broken string sounds more like an explosion, and the famous drunk passer-by from the second act turns into a woman with the same suitcase as the main characters – as if Ranevskaya’s sister.

Everything looks and sounds different than before, but the essence remains the same. In the end, what difference does it make what the rude capitalist Lopakhin buys – non-income-generating junk or a space of memories: both are equally meaningless, and the experience of loss and expulsion still remains an indelible trauma. The “Katony” troupe, brought up in the best traditions of the theater company, one of the strongest in Europe, copes very well with the rather difficult task of coherently and sensitively playing disunity and deafness to each other.

Throughout its forty-year history, the Katona Theater has staged Chekhov more than once, and two of its Chekhov plays, staged by Tamás Ascher, turned out to be masterpieces – “Three Sisters” of the 80s and “Ivanov” twenty years ago. Each of them marked the era in its own way: we found the Prozorov sisters on the eve of the disaster, at the end of the performance they seemed to fall into tartarar; At the beginning of the century, Ivanov suffered in the persistent stuffiness of a society that had already become obsolete, but did not want to leave. It is difficult to say that the performance of the young director taking responsibility for the theater and its troupe from the masters is also a masterpiece, but he recorded the current state of the world around him. In the last act, the stall doors swing open into the foyer, and the house, which was physically absent from the play, suddenly turns into the theater itself, along with the audience. The characters in “The Cherry Orchard” leave through the same doors where the audience will exit in a few minutes. And when old Firs comes out and sits under the chandelier to mutter his last complaints, suddenly for the first time you think: maybe it’s in vain that we always feel sorry for him in the finale? Maybe we should be happy for him. It’s better in the theater than outside its walls.