The Books: “The Cherry Orchard” (Anton Chekhov)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

More from The Plays of Anton Chekhov translated by Paul Schmidt. This excerpt is from The Cherry Orchard.

One of the things I love about him is that there always seems to be something new to discover. His plays, while they certainly have plot points, are not really about the plot. At least I don’t think they are. And that’s why he can be so difficult to play, as discussed before – because instead of focusing on the plot, the actors and director focus on a “mood”. Focusing on a “mood” while rehearsing a play is a dastardly mistake. I’ve been in plays where, at the first rehearsal, the director starts talking about the “mood” he wants to capture, and I immediately steel myself for a disaster. Here’s my view: If the director wants to blither on about mood, then he should do it to his production designer. Tell HIM all your ideas on mood, and have him build the mood into the set, the sound effects, the lighting. Set designers are trained to turn abstracts like “mood” into reality. But you talk about “mood” to your actors, and you’re in trouble. Why? Because if we start playing the “mood”, then you get a dreadful general performance, where the actors are trying to fulfill some vague abstract emotional description – as opposed to doing what an actor’s job really is which is: uhm: ACT. (Funny, my great acting teacher Sam Schacht always says, “The name of the job is not FEELER. The name of the job is ACTor.” What are you DOING is far more important than what you are FEELING.)

Chekhov, more than any other playwright I can think of, presents the danger of being a “mood piece”, as opposed to a series of events, presented on stage. Apparently, the production of Glass Menagerie, on Broadway right now with Jessica Lange, has fallen into the “mood piece” trap. Jessica Lange is playing a mood, the entire production seems designed to express a MOOD, as opposed to tell the damn STORY. I haven’t seen it, but I trust Ben Brantley to tell me the truth.

Chekhov called The Cherry Orchard a “comedy”. I’ve read the play many times, and while there are amusing parts in it, and funny lines, etc., the main thing I always remember about that play is the very last moment, where you hear, offstage, the sound of an axe cutting a tree down, and you know the destruction of the orchard has begun. That last moment always struck me as SO TRAGIC – and yet Chekhov calls the play a “comedy”. Fascinating. It helps me to read the play in a correct way, it helps me to find, as a great old mentor of mine used to say, “the pulse of the playwright”.

It’s not about finding your pulse, and how you react to something, and how you respond to something … A play should always be striving to find “the pulse of the playwright”. And you can tell, in productions that are beating along with the pulse of the playwright … You can FEEL the difference.

There was kind of a famous production of Cherry Orchard done at Williamstown, and Blythe Danner played Dunyasha and Frank Langella played Yepikhodov. I’ve seen production stills from some of their scenes together, and even just the stills make me laugh! I wish I could have seen it.

The following excerpt is from the party scene, in Act III. As I read it, it becomes obvious that, despite the tragic last moment, this piece is not only a comedy, but it’s a high comedy. I laugh out loud reading this play.

EXCERPT FROM The Cherry Orchard, by Anton Chekhov

(Anya and Varya dance together. Firs enters, leans his walking stick against the side door. Yasha appears and stands watching the dancers.

YASHA. What’s the matter, pops?

FIRS. I don’t feel so good. The old days, we had a dance, we had generals and barons and admirals; nowadays we have to send out for the postmaster and the stationmaster. And they’re none too eager to come, either. Oh, I’m getting old and feeble. The old master, their grandfather, anybody got sick, he used to dose ’em all with sealing wax. Didn’t matter what they had, they all got sealing wax. I’ve been taking sealing wax myself now for nigh onto twenty years. Take some every day. That’s probably why I’m still alive.

YASHA. You’re getting boring, pops. (Yawns) Time for you to crawl off and die.

FIRS. Oh, you … you young flibbertigibbet. (Mumbles)

(Trofimov and Liubov dance through the ballroom, into the sitting room)

LIUBOV ANDREYEVNA: Merci. I need to sit down and rest a bit … I’m so tired.

(Enter Anya)

ANYA. (upset) There was a man in the kitchen just now, he said the cherry orchard’s already been sold!

LIUBOV ANDREYEVNA: Who bought it?

ANYA. He didn’t say. And he’s gone now. (Dances with Trofimov; they dance off across the ballroom)

YASHA. That was just some old guy talking crazy. It wasn’t anybody from around here.

FIRS. And Leonid Andreyich still isn’t back. All he had on was his topcoat; you watch, he’ll catch cold. He’s all wet, that one.

LIUBOV ANDREYEVNA: I’ll never live through this. Yasha, go out and see if anybody knows who bought it.

YASHA. It was just some old guy. He left long ago. (laughs)

LIUBOV ANDREYEVNA: What are you laughing at? What’s so funny?

YASHA: That’s Yepikhodov. What a dope. Old Double Trouble.

LIUBOV ANDREYEVNA: Firs, suppose the estate is sold — where are you going to go?

FIRS. I’ll go whereever you tell me to.

LIUBOV ANDREYEVNA: What’s the matter? Your face looks so funny … Are you sick? You should go to bed.

FIRS. Yes. Yes, sure, go to bed, and then who’ll take care of things? I’m the only one you’ve got.

YASHA. Liubov Andreyevna, there’s a favor I have got to ask you; it’s very important. If you go back to Paris, please take me with you. Please! You’ve got to! I positively cannot stay around here. You can see for yourself this place is hopeless. The whole country’s a mess, nobody has any culture, it’s boring the food is lousy, and there’s that old Firs drooling all over the place and talking like an idiot. Please, take me with you — you’ve just got to!

(Enter Pishchik)

PISHCHIK. Beautiful lady, what about a waltz? Just one little waltz! (Liubov crosses to him) You dazzler, you! And what about a loan, just one little loan, just a hundred and eighty, that’s all I need. (They begin to dance) Just a hundred and eighty … (They dance off into the ballroom)

YASHA: (sings to himself) “Can’t you see my heart is breaking …”

(In the ballroom, a figure appears dressed in checkered trousers and a grey top hat, jumping and waving its arms. We hear shouts of “Bravo, Carlotta!”)

DUNYASHA: (stops to powder her nose) The missus told me to dance — there’s too many gentlemen and not enough ladies — so I did, I’ve been dancing all night and my heart won’t stop beating, and you know what, Firs? Just now, the postmaster, you know? He said something almost made me faint.

(The orchestra stops playing)

FIRS. What did he say?

DUNYASHA. That I was like a flower. That’s what he said.

YASHA. (yawns) What does he know about it? (goes out)

DUNYASHA. Just like a flower. I’m a very romantic girl, really. I just adore that kind of talk.

FIRS. You’re out of your mind.

(Enter Yepikhodov)

YEPIKHODOV. (to Dunyasha) Why are you deliberating not to notice me? You act as if I wasn’t here, like I was a bug or something. Ah, life.

DUNYASHA. Excuse me?

YEPIKHODOV. Of course, you may be right. But if you look at it, let’s say, from a … a point of view, then you’re the faulty one — excuse my expressivity — because you led me on. Into this predicament. Look at me! Every day something awful happens to me. It’s like a habit. But I can look disaster in the face and keep smiling. You gave me your word, you know, and you even —

DUNYASHA. Do you mind? Let’s talk about it later. Right now I’d rather be left alone. With my dreams. (plays with a fan)

YEPIKHODOV. Every day. Something awful. But all I do — excuse my expressivity — is try to keep smiling. Sometimes I even laugh.