By Dan Collins
Lopakhin just doesn't get it.
For the former peasant's son, now burgeoning millionaire, the matter is clear. The once wealthy Ranyevskaya family is wealthy no more, so to avoid losing their ancestral home, they need only raze their cherry orchard and lease the land for "summer cottages." Otherwise, lose everything.
For Lopakhin, it's an easy choice. For the Ranyevskayas and their servants, it's rather more complicated, a morass of emotions, loyalties and remembrance, a matter of class and social status, a genteel way of life that has become honored tradition. The cherry orchard is the stuff of childhood memories, a fragrant, flowering symbol of family and all that single word truly means.
This is, of course, the work of one of drama's great playwrights, Anton Chekov, a master of telling what appears to be a simple story, but revealing so much more; the issues, conflicts and passions burst in color, like a cherry orchard in bloom, on the stage.
Happily, the 14-member ensemble that director Vincent M. Lancisi directs at The Everyman Theatre, are more than up to the task of bringing this 105-year-old play to life, making it as relevant today as it undoubtedly was to audiences more than a century ago.
Frequent patrons of the Everyman will recognize old favorites like Megan Anderson (Varya), Deborah Hazlett (Ranyevskaya) and Stan Weiman (Firs) who do their usual exemplary job in lending warmth, humor and a bittersweet quality to their performances. When Trofimov (Clinton Brandhagen), a symbol of the very intelligentsia he berates, declares "I am above such things as love," Ranyevskaya scoffs, "I must be below them." The give and take between the two actors, one representing the passion of youth, the other, the wisdom of a life lived, is charming, as one feels Ranyevskaya's frustration toward Trofimov's philosophical posturing, but her love for him too, as one loves a stubborn child.
The role of Lopakhin is beautifully cast as Craig Wallace creates a character that could easily be one-dimensional, i.e. the nouveau rich displacing old world wealth. Though triumphant in his scene when he declares himself -- the former serf "not even allowed in the kitchen" -- now the master of the house, he maintains his love for the Ranyevskaya family which he fights not to destroy, but to preserve. Mr. Wallace is African-American, bringing a particular poignancy to this scene, for as serfdom ended in Russia, so slavery was ending in the Civil War-era United States.
In The Cherry Orchard, the Ranyevskayas live in a state of denial, cocooning themselves in the finery and Old World manners of which they are accustomed. Particularly adept at this ability to shun reality is Carl Schurr's Gayev. Savoring his fruit drops like an addict regularly anesthetizing himself, life is all fine meals and funny stories-his ode-to-a-century-old-bookcase elicited numerous laughs from the audience - but behind this façade is fear and sadness. Schurr does an excellent job in revealing Gayev's struggle to maintain his role as the family's loquacious and whimsical uncle, breaking only once in the play's final act as he must walk his sister from their home for the last time.
There are many moments like this in Chekov's play -- Chekov himself referred to his works as "moments" in life -- as each character faces change in their own way. Perhaps most piteous is Stan Weiman's Firs, the elderly servant who finds himself abandoned with the terrible thought that perhaps his life has had no meaning at all. Weiman brings a quiet dignity to the role of a man who has learned that he is, in essence, obsolete.
Costume designer Kathleen Geldard deserves much credit for the beautiful and colorful costumes that adorn the actors, evoking a 19th century European opulence and Russian flair, seen particularly in Hazlett's gowns and in the folkish sashes and furs of Wil Love's Simeonov Pishchik.
