A critwink from the Intelligent Showmosexual
My friend Lowell recently shared that he likes to listen to audiobooks at 1.5x the regular speed. He played a clip for our book club, and it felt like the aural equivalent of a sprint (which made sense because Lowell is a runner). I couldn’t catch my breath or fully process anything because it was all going by so fast.
And that’s also the experience I had during The Real Ivanov, Laura Strausfeld’s 100-minute adaptation of Ivanov, the first full-length play of Anton Chekhov’s to be produced in his lifetime. Traditionally, it clocks in at over three hours. In a statement, Strausfeld, who also directed the production, justifies her extensive edits by explaining that she has “remove[d] repetition characteristic of plays from Chekhov’s era when theatre acoustics were less optimal, actors demanded more material, and audiences loved to see and be seen at intermission.” Her reverence for the playwright is clear, and it’s reasonable to believe those were some contributing factors to the play’s length.
At the same time, though I would never claim to be a Chekhov scholar—as the first sentence of Strausfeld’s program bio says she is—I did study the playwright and his plays at both the undergraduate and graduate levels. I was taught that his frequent use of pauses and silences in stage directions was highly intentional, a byproduct of and contributor to the dramatic tension. For example, all those lines about the weather? They grow out of someone’s desire to diffuse the awkwardness of quiet. Without that space between lines, a quintessentially Chekhovian element is lost.
Many of the other elements that frequently recur in Chekhov’s plays can still be found: depression, unrequited love, a desperate need for cash, and classism. Ivanov (Sam Underwood), a formerly wealthy landowner, is now in such dire financial straits that he cannot afford medical treatment for his dying wife Anna (Ivory Aquino). However, his monetary woes may simply be an excuse, as Ivanov has fallen out of love with Anna, perhaps due to a festering sense of antisemitism (which Strausfeld seems to have deemphasized). Either way, he is desperate for an extension on the loan he owes Lebedev (Spencer Aste), whose daughter Sasha (Amelia Mason) longs for Ivanov and may be the key to having his debt forgiven. The large ensemble also includes his estate manager, Borkin (Sam Adegoke); his scoundrel of an uncle (Jordan Lage); and sundry servants and partygoers.
If that partial list of characters strikes you as long, know that there are a handful Strausfeld didn’t even include, which should give you an idea of just how much she cut. Her efforts are interesting, but ultimately feel more academic than theatrical, particularly when Ella Matza’s costumes are so generic and Jiyoun Chang’s scenic design is borderline nonexistent. (To be fair, Chang and Strausfeld’s collaboration on act four results in the production’s cleverest and most tension-filled staging.)
The sense that you’re watching a drama school exercise rather than a full-fledged production is further exacerbated by the shocking unevenness of the cast. They are all working VERY HARD. In some instances, it pays off. Adegoke and Lage inject life into the proceedings whenever they appear, even if the latter reminded me of the notorious exchange between Bette Davis and Celeste Holm about how hard it is to laugh on cue, while Mason and Aste are mostly successful in negotiating the fine line between urgent and manic. Aquino, on the other hand, delivers one of the most stilted performances I’ve ever seen in professional theatre. She also appears far too radiant to be on death’s door.
At the center is Underwood, who’s also one of the show’s producers…and probably would not have otherwise gotten this opportunity. He believably conveys Ivanov’s depression, but doesn’t find what’s dramatic about it—why this depressed person’s story is worth telling. His performance also lacks levels. When Ivanov’s malaise must become more confrontational, he doesn’t sufficiently differentiate between mild irritation over Borkin’s drinking and such resentment toward his wife that he blurts out her terminal diagnosis. Primarily known for television, like The Following and the reboot of Dynasty (they rebooted Dynasty?!?), Underwood has potential as a stage actor, but he’s not ready for a role as complex and anchoring as Ivanov. Late in the action, when he laments, “I lost the thread of who I am,” it feels true of the performance and the production.
the not-a-bottom line
🌈🌈½ (out of five)
a guide to ticket-buying
The Real Ivanov is playing at the Lynn F. Angelson Theater through September 19. Tickets start at $35 and can be purchased on their website.
$35 rush tickets are available on the TodayTix app.