The plane tree covered the Seagull – Newspaper Kommersant No. 41 (7486) of 03/13/2023

The legendary Berlin theater “Schaubühne am Leniner Platz” hosted the premiere of “The Seagull” based on the play by Chekhov, staged by the well-known German director, including in Russia, the artistic director of the theater, Thomas Ostermeier. Tells Esther Steinbock.

“What tree is this?” Nina Zarechnaya asks Treplev in the first act of The Seagull. “Elm,” Konstantin replies. But no, no elm, there is a plane tree on the stage of Schaubühne. Yes, such that all the plane trees are plane trees, in the whole space and stage, and the auditorium, so that not only the actors, but also the audience, as if under a huge umbrella, fit under its spreading crown and carefully made green leaves. The first rows of spectators are arranged semicircularly, and the actors have only a small space in front of the tree to play, and behind it is a backlit screen in full back. The plane tree serves both as a witness and a participant in the action: before the start, Masha reclines on a thick branch, as it should be, all in black, from there Nina Zarechnaya then calls out to people, lions, eagles and partridges, and even later she drags the awkward Trigorin to the tree. Yes, and Treplev makes the final shot, hiding behind a mighty barrel.

In the first act, the sun breaks through the crown, the carefree chirping of birds is heard in the leaves, Treplev even sticks a microphone into the leaves so that everyone can hear the bird concert. In the fourth act, crows croak and rain drips. The naturalistically made tree and the sounds of nature suddenly make seasoned theater workers recall the great Chekhov performances by Peter Stein, once staged in the same theater. But the treacherous nostalgia quickly disappears – in the new performance of the artistic director of the “Schaubühne” Thomas Ostermeier, as you might guess, there is neither hermetic, almost archaeological historicism of Stein’s works, nor reverence for the canonical Chekhovian text, nor passion for the mysterious Russia. The circumstances of the scene from the play seem to have been “washed out”: neither Kharkov, nor the “bank in Odessa”, nor the “Kiev tradesman”, nor Yelets, nor the “Slaviansky Bazaar” are mentioned. Arkadina once exclaims something about Moscow, but it is she, the modern absurd actress, apparently, who simply remembered another play by Chekhov. (Of the signs of the homeland, there is only a jar of pickles, which the clown Masha brings to Trigorin.) There is no hint of the “fourth wall” once reconstructed by Peter Stein: the actors gathered on a small platform willy-nilly turn to the audience. Without involving them in action, they appeal to them, as if they are consulting, looking for support for their thoughts and words.

Without deviating from the play either in terms of plot, or in the sequence of events, or in the structure of the text, Thomas Ostermeier allowed the actors to improvise in order to bring the text of the play closer to modern speech and modern people. Being a subtle and sensitive master, at the same time he did not allow them either excessive radicalism, or an uncontrolled “stream of consciousness”, or vulgar actuality. He only clarified, sharpened in some places, revived and brought the text closer to reality to his taste. And now Treplev wants not only “new forms”, but also “new perspectives and new protagonists”, accusing his mother of commercial success and that she loves to sign collective letters. Shamraev swears at the drivers who park cars near the gate. Dr. Dorn, speaking about women and his glorious past, specifies his medical specialization – a gynecologist, and calls Calcutta the best city of his long foreign trip (well, who, right now, you will surprise Genoa, which is an hour and a half to fly, and its crowd of people). All these are just a few examples of changes made, I repeat, under the supervision of a clever director’s eye.

So, a politely corrected Chekhov, found under one of the most photogenic scenery of recent times and performed by the brilliant (mostly) Schaubühne artists. In general, Ostermeier is not staging the first of Chekhov’s four great plays for the first time – before there were performances in Amsterdam and at the Vidy Lausanne theater with French actors. All performances were different, nothing alike. And in all Ostermeier is looking for an answer to the question, where is the art in The Seagull and how much love is in it. The Berlin version is perhaps the most beautiful, the most ironic, but probably also the most sober, the most hopeless. There is no point in weighing and comparing which of the main characters is measured out more talent, and who – success. It is unlikely that Laurenz Laufenberg’s Treplev is talented. A nervous and ambitious young man, he easily goes into hysterics, but is not able to present anything worthwhile – in his performance he acts as a dancer: practically naked and wrapped in a transparent flesh-colored cloth, he pretentiously, but awkwardly wriggles, then receiving a well-deserved derogatory assessment of his mother – “the day before yesterday’s avant-garde!”.

It is unlikely that Nina is talented here either. Actress Alina Wimbay Strehler is darker than everyone else in the ensemble, but this is hardly a circumstance that modern norms of civilized behavior require not to notice. After all, Nina is different, she is the only one who does not live in the house. At the beginning of the story, she is a guest, at the end – an unfortunate woman abandoned by Trigorin, a victim of the “successful (white) world”, which, it seems, is not destined to take place in life. Arkadina, as she came out with Stefanie Eidt, has completely taken place, but her well-being does not in any way indicate either the scale of her personality or her stage talent. No, under the Schaubühne plane trees, this time neither art nor love is believed. Thomas Ostermeier is skeptical of today’s “Chekhovian” society, but this masterful disillusionment is fascinating to watch.

The brightest character of the play was the brilliant actor Joachim Meyerhof. His Trigorin is a witty and accurate caricature. He is not a youthful lover at all, but a shabby narcissistic type who writes down on paper cards not just successful expressions, but almost everything that he hears from the people around him. Absent-minded and infantile, but at the same time a tenacious and mocking writer with glasses set on the tip of his nose and long hair around the rim of a shining bald head, which he combs nervously every now and then. Explaining to Nina the secrets of creativity, he sits down at a folding table, all covered with his blank cards. Trigorin is ridiculous and absurd, but invulnerable in his own way. As well as a huge tree, which by and large does not care about people playing life under its branches.