CHEKHOV IN YALTA
This left me wondering whether Driver and Haddow are worshipers of Chekhov or assassins. They profess to adore the writer, and they certainly attribute saintlike qualities to him.
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Their play opens with Chekhov, a doctor, returning home from an all-night vigil at the bedside of Leo Tolstoy’s wife, who, it turns out, had merely a stomachache. Despite his own need for rest, Chekhov stayed up, patiently listening to Tolstoy “expound on the simplicity of the Russian soul for the rest of the night.”
Chekhov’s plays were innovative because they eschewed action and melodrama in favor of emotional truth. His characters seldom display the strong “stage” emotions that are the stock-in-trade of most playwrights. Instead, they make small talk, philosophize, criticize each other, occasionally squabble–in other words, they display the muted emotions actually seen in everyday life. Through these emotions, the characters generate a collective mood that constitutes the primary action of the play. Not much actually “happens” in a Chekhov play. In fact, the pattern is pretty standard–characters who know each other assemble in the first act, reveal themselves through casual conversation, and generate some sort of emotional crisis. Then, contrary to conventional dramatic form, the climax is followed by another scene–an anticlimax–in which the group disperses and people slip back into the languor of daily life.
Still, even though McCauley’s performance defied the rigorous discipline normally imposed by director Arnold Aprill, I was grateful for it. McCauley is a terrific comedian, and by the time he shows up, the audience needs a good laugh. By hamming it up shamelessly, McCauley jolts this moribund play back to life.
