Seriously funny

Orchard fuses drama and comedy

by Bill Rodriguez

By Anton Chekhov. Directed by Kate Lohman. At Alias Stage through October 26.

The Alias Stage staging of The Cherry Orchard certainly pays attention to Chekhov's insistence that his play is a comedy. From mumbling butler to eager marriageable daughters to suicidal optimist, this doomed household could populate a delicious Russian sitcom set at the turn-of-the-century. The production doesn't cohere as a whole, but we do get some very funny moments.

Of course, at heart this is a serious story revolving around a spendthrift woman who can't bring herself to make the hard decision that would save her estate, and its precious cherry orchard, from the auction block. Stanislavsky was so taken with the underlying social commentary that he directed the premiere production as a tragedy. (Which infuriated the playwright, who insisted that some moments should be played as farce.) Wisely, Alias artistic director Kate Lohman sends the characters all a aswirl in a heedless danse macabre more antic than frantic, as though everyone knows that a bomb is going to go off at a certain time but shrugs fatalistically.

Our frustration powers the play, since we see that landowner Lyubov Ranevskaya (Joanne Gentille) can readily, though not easily, save her estate. (It's like watching a horror flick, only this time we want her to open that door.) The way to economic salvation is patiently explained by Yermolay Lopakhin (Nigel Gore), a rich merchant who is fond of the family because his father and grandfather were serfs on the estate. Simple, he advises. Just cut down the cherry orchard, parcel up the land along the river for summer cottage rentals, and make a fortune. But the mistress of the house is addicted to both indecision and fiscal irresponsibility. The widow Lyubov has just returned from abroad after five years, and we see her soften at each telegram from Paris, where the lover who stole from her and abandoned her now needs her back.

Mini-comedies and dramas play against that backdrop. Adopted daughter Varya (Kathleen Moore Ambrosini) manages the estate and has been engaged in serious flirtation, though not betrothal, with the wealthy Lopakhin. She faces a life as his wife or as a poor housekeeper. Dunyasha (Sharon Carpentier) loves valet Yasha (David Lockhart), who has traveled so much abroad that he feels she is beneath his station. Boris Simeonov-Pishchik (Chris Byrnes), a neighboring landowner, has lost two fortunes and is always borrowing money. The estate's bookkeeper, Yepikhodov (Bob Grady), speaks of always looking on the bright side but also always carries a revolver, deciding each day to not kill himself. There is Petya Trofimov (Tony Estrella), the perpetual student. He gets to spout Chekhov's own concerns for social justice and be in uneasy love with the 17-year-old daughter of the house, the idealistic Anya (Jeanine Kane). Fatuous brother Gaev (Jack McCullough) issues pompous pronouncements and draws life lessons from playing billiards. For overt comic relief there is the governess, Charlotta (Rae Wilson), who performs amazing card tricks, and the butler, Firs (Sam Babbitt), who responds absurdly to questions he can't hear and dodders about muttering advice and the family's history to the audience.

Every actor could be singled out for at least a moment or two when they illuminate their character especially brightly. Yet this production remains by and large an assemblage of exchanges and declarations that don't manage to connect with one another. In such a well-constructed play, a web of relationships needs to form, so by the end we know the emotional undercurrents so well that mere glances among characters can speak volumes. That kind of ensemble accomplishment is crucial with The Cherry Orchard, since there is profound poignancy between the glib lines. As it is, when strong emotion wells up, it fails to inform the play as a whole; it just lingers in the air a moment and dissipates. For example, Gentile gets a chance to have Lyubov unload all her frustrations, not just a jibe at Petya having no mistress, and he flees her horrified. But when she immediately calls him back, saying she was just joking, the moment rings false. By this point, in the third act, such a daring take on the scene could have been quite powerful. But between poor timing and the lack of clear emotional links, her outburst and his immediate return seem capricious rather than inevitable.

You'll get a good picture of the humor and observations of The Cherry Orchard in this rendition, but you'll have to take the brilliance of the classic on faith.