Chekhov "Uncle Vanya" from the Drama Reading List

The above pun was manufactured by Clay von Carlowitz.

Last weekend I took a quick trip to Bath to see Uncle Vanya at the Bath Theatre Royal - I can't quite say it was the most amazing Uncle Vanya ever, as I'm not an Uncle Vanya conessieur (spelling?), but it was good. It was funny, it was quick, and the only part I missed was some chunk in the middle because an old lady fainted two rows in front of us (again, this was a moment where I was apalled by the amount of 'stiff upper lip' shown, though I myself was showing a good deal by simply sitting and watching while the ushers quietly rushed up and carried her away. See the entry 'Stiff Upper Lip.').

It was the first time I've seen Chekov acted by professionals, as well. It played with the old naturalist stereotypes, like a complete set, and random noises that accompany the action to give you "a slice of life." The set, for instance, had a square of floor that was the playing space (for the most part), and then a variety of furniture outisde that space between it and the cyclorama. Doors were designated with two chairs on the edge of this space. And you wonder "Mr. Set Designer, what's all this clutter over here?" Then, Act 4 comes around, and all that clutter is moved onto the playing area, becoming Vanya's room. The set from before is pushed to the back, and so the entire estate is always onstage, if not always being used. There was also an autumn birch, which didn't move, but which set the mood.

What astounded me was how funny Uncle Vanya was. I guess a lot of people say that. But they really got it down. And that they were talking about conservation and deforestation a hundred years ago - it had a particularly green resonance for me. Astrov keeps asking "how will people remember us, one hundred years from now?" His response is to plant forests to preserve the wild. I find myself asking the same question about how people will think of us 100 years from now, especially if the world tanks and global warming kicks in (I, unlike certain readers, am concerned about this...). But even then, I got a flashback to Our Town. Autumnal is how it left me.

British acting, also, amazes me. I mean, I have my qualms with the Exeter Drama department, yes, but every show that we've seen here has always been so exceptionally acted. Maybe it's just my American upbringing that gets me tricked by the British accent into thinking that everything is under control and professionally handled. That is what I wanted to get a snapshot of, and sadly (since I was denied my acting class) I don't think I will.

Moan moan moan, blogs aren't for moaning, right? (Millions of teenagers would care to disagree) I did find myself in a particular autumnal funk, though, and it stayed with me through that day in Bath, and I'm sure Ken and Clay can vouche for that. We caught some food and went to see There Will Be Blood at a tiny theater in Bath, which put me in even more of an autumnal, satirizing mood, and by the end of the day I was getting royally pissed off because people kept asking me to repeat things or kept saying that I was slurring syllables together.

I like to think it was just a funk, and that further forays into Chekhov won't induce this state in me again, but all in all it was a good day. I miss home, but I guess I can't keep saying that. I'm studying Wagner and Brecht in my Music and Theatre class, just finished reading The Weir for Contemporary British Drama, and I've got to write a paper on Safety Last, a silent film, which has ignited in me a giddy dream of running a game of Changeling: The Dreaming, set in the Roaring Twenties. Mainly, Roaring Twenties New York City. 'Twould be fun indeed...

Peace.