The Seagull (Sydney Theatre Co) ★★★1/2

Written by Anton Chekhov. Adapted by Andrew Upton. Sydney Theatre Company. 21 Nov – 16 Dec, 2023.

Sydney Theatre Company closes out 2023 with as close to a “safe bet” as they’ve had all year. A familiar, classic play, adapted by a familiar, acclaimed playwright, starring a lot of familiar, adored faces. This should be an end-of-year showstopper, but as good as it is The Seagull is a bit less than the sum of its excellent parts.

Andrew Upton’s return to STC will excite many (and frighten a few I’m sure) and his new version of Chekhov’s The Seagull seems pitched at the creatives in the audience, mocking the world of artistic endeavour and the fame/artistry divide with almost pantomime glee. Original Russian names are Anglicised (Konstantin is Constantine, Trigorin is now Boris, Sorin is just Peter etc), the overly self-aware script front loads the tale with comedy (ably delivered by this great cast), but the haze of depression and danger hangs over proceedings. This is Chekhov after all, it’s never going to end well for everyone.

Among this cast of excellent-as-ever returning STC players like Toby Schmitz (Blithe Spirit), Sigrid Thornton (The Lifespan of a Fact), Megan Wilding (The Importance of Being Earnest), Brigid Zengeni (Do Not Go Gentle) and Markus Hamilton (Fences), it is Harry Greenwood who steals the show as Constantine. While the romantic farce plays out around him, Greenwood’s Constantine is foppishly fragile and broken. He manages to be both marvellously comedic and desperately pathetic at the same time. His conflicted relationship with his mother (Thornton) is beautifully realised as they lovingly tears strips off each other – the moment is bizarrely tender and cruel.

Despite the zingers in the script and the all-round fun performances, this production starts to feels flat, almost literally so in many instances with the cast arranged in neat lines along the wide set. David Fleischer’s set design is claustrophobic, full of boxes within boxes, keeping a constant pressure on the characters that feels at odds with the script’s humour (but in keeping with the tension of the story). This is matched with unrelenting lighting that offers little reprieve. The result is a show that is hard to physically take in at times. By the end my eyes were in need of a break or refresh in the visual palate to stop from feeling drained. 

The space however is filled with some brilliantly funny moments. Wilding is at her frazzled and frantic best (though I do worry she’s being awfully typecast now). Schmitz has perfected his middle-aged-man-child and shines giving his “writers lament”. Sean O’Shea delivers a killer monologue… about goats. Thornton gets to stick it to every pretentious performer you’ve ever seen give an ingratiating interview. Mabel Li’s Nina is charmingly dim, without a hope in the world. Through each of them Chekhov, via Upton, mocks the ridiculousness of our human nature before diving us headlong into the tragedy of our existence. 

Upton’s adaptation of Chekhov is full of irreverent, modernised humour (the purists will be mad) and this comedic ensemble bring The Seagull to life. I just wish the direction and design were filled with the same emotional dexterity as the text.