I recently had the good fortune to attend two plays at the Guthrie in Minneapolis in less than a week — The Seagull by Chekhov and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. Since Jane Eyre is such a favorite novel of mine, I was expecting to enjoy watching how this novel was transformed on the stage and really didn’t have any expectations of The Seagull.
As a former English major, I am familiar with Chekhov — but since college was fifteen years ago, and I only remember reading The Cherry Orchard, I didn’t know what to expect. Happily, The Seagull was wonderful — funny throughout (although still ultimately tragic) and the characters (and actors) were spot-on. The subtle takes on human nature, unrequited relationships, the temperment and ego of an artist, mother-child relationships — Chekhov certainly understood the complexities of success and fulfillment and his themes were universal and enduring.
However, the performance was over three hours and did feel about an hour or so too long. I couldn’t help but think, edit! edit! edit! when it came to the long speeches of the least interesting character of Nora. She was definitly integral to the plot, but was a pretty two-dimensional character who served the plot, but not much else, and the significance of her role and (the length of her speeches) should’ve reflected that. I couldn’t help but wonder if Chekhov was successful enough when The Seagull was written that he had lost any true honest critics? I also wondered if the part of Nora was either written for a woman he loved or was autobiographical in some way.
I did a little research and found that The Seagull was originally panned by critics and that he met his wife at rehearsals for The Seagull. Interestingly, she did seem to fit the character of Nora in many ways, even though he had obviously already written the play prior to their meeting. But it is still interesting to ponder who artists go to for honest feedback and how well they are able to receive criticism. And if we are the artists of our own lives… the same question stands! As Chekhov seemed to fixate on the character of Nora, to the detriment of the overall quality of the play (not to mention the hapless protagonist), how often we fixate on only one aspect of our own lives to the detriment of the overall quality of our own lives?
