by Anton Chekhov
new version by Tom Stoppard
directed by Tony Vezner
Oct. 21 - 24, & 28 - 31, 1999

The cast with some of the crew pose on the set
of "The Seagull"

Cast

About the Author:
Anton Chekhov was born in Russia in 1860, the
son of a grocer and the grandson of a serf. Bankrupt and in debt by 1875, his father fled their town concealed beneath a mat in the bottom of a cart.  Chekhov’s family was soon evicted from their home. Within a few years, the family established themselves in Moscow, and Chekhov was enrolled in the university studying medicine.  He began his practice of medicine in 1884; it proved to be a sporadic second career that brought him little money and much hard work.  He ran a free clinic for peasants, took part in famine and epidemic relief, and traveled to a penal colony in Siberia to study the poor conditions.
Simultaneous with this medical career, Anton Chekhov began writing short comic sketches under the pen name Antosha Chekhonte.  Perhaps the clinical detachment Chekhov developed as a doctor is responsible for the distance he is able to keep from the intense passions of the characters and stories he created.  His writing was well received, and in 1888 he won the Pushkin Prize for one of his short stories. His first play, Ivanov, was commissioned by a fan of his writing who wanted to produce light entertainment in the Chekhonte style. It was not well received. Nevertheless, Chekhov continued to write. He wrote four one-act farces, followed by The Wood Demon (later used as raw material for Uncle Vanya), which opened in Moscow but survived only three performances due to its poor reception. When The Seagull opened to a disastrous first night, Chekhov vowed never to put on another play even if he “lived another seven hundred years.”
Two years later, in 1898, the Moscow Art Theatre revived The Seagull to immediate acclaim. Anton Chekhov’s next three plays, Uncle Vanya, The Three Sisters and The Cherry Orchard were all successfully produced by the Moscow Art Theatre over the next few years. Chekhov died of tuberculosis while visiting Germany with his wife in 1904. His body was delivered back to Russia in a railway coach marked “Fresh Oysters”.

The Seagull Still Soars
by Marion Reis
The Seagull stands at the threshold of the twentieth century as a landmark of a new kind of theatre. Although the play is stylized, it is more realistic and natural in tone than the overblown
Russian potboilers that predate it. It overturns the conventions and cliches of older work which had become pompous with self-consciousness. The kind of theatre Chekhov envisioned restores the fundamental humanity of characters and emphasizes the relationships between them. Authenticity, genuinely believable conversations, and situations that meld comedy and drama replaced melodramatic exaggeration. The Seagull opened up the theatre of our century to a new kind of drama. It has profoundly influenced the best of our theatre ever since.  Chekhov wanted a theatre of truthfulness and resiliency. His habit of understating major dramatic events by having them occur offstage and revealing them in conversation prompts us to reflect on their significance. An undercurrent of intense feelings underlies what seems on the surface to be quite ordinary talk. Characters tend to reveal themselves by their actions, not so much by what they say. Their dialogues have a purpose often not immediately relevant or obvious, but are profoundly connected to whatever drives them as complex realistic people. Chekhov’s method emphasizes how conversations and stories unfold in the normal course of life.
His method represented a departure from the conventional theatre of its time. The plays have no star or central character, but rather present a complex slate of interacting lives. The dialogue is often so conversational that characters seem not to listen to one another, but, preoccupied with their own train of thought, respond quite illogically and somewhat inappropriately. It may seem difficult to ascertain the central unifying themes in the absence of a strong narrative story line. Yet the voice of reason, compassion and common sense is always projected by one of Chekhov’s characters, and they carry the thematic load as if Chekhov himself were speaking directly to us.  The Seagull was a disheartening failure when first staged, though its failure was not entirely due to its fresh conceits.  Audiences and actors were already familiar with new forms through the works of Henrik Ibsen and Ivan Turgenev. Like Chekhov, these other playwrights allowed realistic tone and structure to substitute for melodramatic plot. So why was the audience unprepared for this work?  Some of the blame must fall on the actors at the Alexandrinsky Theater of St. Petersburg. They would have been more comfortable with a strong storylines, arch moments of emotional intensity,  dramatic exits and entrances, and enormous climactic scenes. Another factor in the play’s initial failure is that Chekhov’s first night audience came expecting to laugh. The play was billed as a comedy. And Chekhov’s early short stories had established him as a humorist. Expecting an evening of hilarious laughter, the audience was very impatient with the entertainment provided by Chekhov. The subtlety of his humor required a period of adjustment, a period measured not in moments but years.  For Chekhov’s wit exists not as a series of punchlines or pratfalls, but in the very conception of each scene. The conflicting desires of the characters are rarely resolved in a direct fashion. Instead, the mismatched lovers, family members, and business partners misread, misunderstand and simply miss out on each other. From our distance as calm observers, we can see both the futility of their passions and the humor in recognizing their flaws. It is the affection with which Chekhov encourages us to observe them, and the lyricism of the language he grants them, that brings a smile to our face and gifts us with a hearty laugh of recognition. 

Who? What? Wear!
by Margaret Nikoleit
Costuming a period show is an exhilarating challenge. How can the designer accurately depict styles from a particular historical time and still convey the individual characters? And how will it all look when it’s up on stage? It starts with hours of reading and research.  First, the costume designer must pour through the script, noting any references to what the characters wear, do, say about themselves, and say about others. Decisions must be made with the input of the show’s director, including issues of each character’s social class and profession. We must decide the season and time of day each scene takes place. The designer then charts the costume changes each character will need, based on the scenes in which they appear, and the time allowed by the script to make those changes. (Rapid changes require Velcro and snaps even when historical accuracy would forbid them.)  Then I turn to costume books that illustrate the play’s era. I examine page after page of clothes with an eye to whether a look is right for any of my characters. This show took more digging than some, because most Russian photos from the turn of the century depict just the aristocracy. A few capture groups of peasants, but there’s not much in between. Several written texts, however, mention that Russians of the time saw themselves as European and followed French and English fashion, for which sources are more plentiful. Insight like that is precious to a costume designer.
Once I felt I understood the vocabulary of basic silhouettes, colors, fabrics, and accessories each character might wear, I outlined a tentative costume plot for each role. The director, set designer, other designers, and I participated in a number of discussions about the technical elements of the show, each designer sharing his or her vision. This is important because the color of costumes, for example, can have great impact on the choice of hues in a lighting design.  After these meetings, the director and I finalized costume concepts for the characters. Then my crew and I measured the actors and began the often surprising task of searching our costume collection to see what we have that can be altered or adapted to fit the show’s needs. Everything else needs to be designed and made from scratch. For The Seagull we sewed approximately a dozen new costume pieces. That process involves fitting items on the actors, conferring with the director, adjustments, occasionally admitting defeat and starting over, and eventually, watching the tangible results emerge—only to be given motion, weight and spirit in the final rehearsals just before opening night when the actors and designers finally see the world we have created come to life.  Although I was the only person credited as costume designer on this production, I needed my crew to offer other (honest and informed) opinions and to help me get everything done. I always tell people that you don’t have to sew to work costumes. Being available to pull things from the collection or to help the actors with fast changes during performances is essential, too. In fact, a quick change may require as many as three people: one to strip the old costume, one to fasten the new one, and one to hold a flashlight and act as a kind of human coat tree.
I’ve made some great friends working costumes here, and we’ve made some gorgeous garments together as well. A costume crew is a social (if hard-working) group.  If you’d like to join us next time, just call the office and volunteer—and if you have questions, any Active Member can point you in the right direction. Additionally, you can call the Theatre office and leave a message for Linda Bremer, who is the annual chair of costumes, or me. At TWS, there’s always a next show around the corner.

About the Adapter:
Tom Stoppard rose to prominence quickly in the
mid-1960s. Stoppard’s work in theatre and film, both original and with adaptations, is prodigious. He is best known for his wit and as a master of farce with a philosophical bent. He combines dazzling theatrical conceits with metaphysical concerns—a combination which suits him well as an adapter of Chekhov. He is a playwright, novelist, and script writer for film, television, and radio, having previously been a newspaper critic. Although he has served a few productions as director, his primary work has been as a writer for the theatre.  Among Stoppard’s most famous plays are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, The Real Inspector Hound, Jumpers, Travesties, The Real Thing, Hapgood, Arcardia, Indian Ink, and The Invention of Love. His screenplays include Brazil and Shakespeare in Love, for which he won an Academy Award.  In each medium, his work is noted for matching intellectual rigor with a free-spirited thwarting of convention.  With his adaptation of The Seagull, Stoppard has given himself the chance to collaborate with Anton Chekhov, an innovator from the very doorstep of our century. Although Stoppard is a naturalized British citizen, he was born on July 3, 1937, in Czechoslovakia. As a   student in Czechoslovakia under Communism, he was introduced to some Russian as a required secondary language in the very early years of his education.   His adaptation of Chekhov features the fluid phrasing of contemporary English in contrast with the more formal wording of prior translations.   Stoppard’s new version overcomes the stilted idioms and florid flourishes that have often prevented modern American and British audiences from easily accessing The Seagull and identifying with its warmth, humor and wit.

About the Play:
Anton Chekhov wrote The Seagull in October of 1895; the script was published in March of 1896. First produced in St. Petersburg on October 17 of that year, it was a flop about which Chekhov himself wrote “The audience was bewildered. They acted as if they were ashamed to be in the theatre. The performances were vile and stupid.”  Two years later the founders of the Moscow Art Theatre, Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko and Konstantin Stanislavsky, remounted The Seagull successfully, using the script to explore their innovative concepts of naturalistic or “truthful” theatre. The legendary production capped the end of the Moscow Art Theatre’s first season with a stunning success, turning a financially worrisome year into a triumph. Ever since, The Seagull (or as it is known in its original Russian: Chaika) has been the triumphant symbolic emblem of the Moscow Art Theatre. The title image takes pride of place on the Moscow Art Theatre main curtain.  The first performance of The Seagull in English took place in Glasgow, Scotland, at the Royal Theatre, in 1909. Since then, numerous translations and adaptations of The Seagull have been attempted.  Among the famous writers of our century who have tried their hand at capturing (or trampling, as the case may be) the Russian original are Robert Brustein, Elisaveta Fen, Michael Frayn, Pam Gems, Claude van Itallie, Tennessee Williams, Lanford Wilson, Stark Young, and of course, Tom Stoppard.

Chekhov Tributes:
compiled by Jeff Arena
Anton Chekhov’s legacy extends beyond the body of his written work. He is one of the most revered authors of the modern era, regularly cited as a source of inspiration by contemporary writers. Here are a few examples. “My visits to Russia brought me back...to the greatness in the plays of Anton Chekhov. To their universal wisdom....They provide me with both professional and personal benchmarks of decency and honesty, as well as a guiding, helping hand through confusion and uncertainty.” —Richard Nelson
“Chekhov was a quiet and delicate writer whose huge power was always held in restraint. (His Seagull is the) first and greatest of modern plays. Our theatre has to cry out to be heard at all...” —Tennessee Williams
“(Chekhov) had the artist-scientist hope for a better world....He shared with the intellectuals of his time and country a kind of Christian ideal of life....Human life was of very great importance to these men: they were, in the deepest sense, reformers, and they wished to reform not from busybody zeal, but from their anguish that the individual human being cease to suffer hunger and disease.”—Lillian Hellman
“There are at least a dozen English translations of
The Seagull in print....The polite convention in my present position is to apologize for adding another, and—modestly—to offer particular justification for it. But this is not necessary. You can’t have too many English Seagulls: at the intersection of all of them, the Russian one will be forever elusive.”
—Tom Stoppard

Inspiration: MAT and TWS
by Megan Wells
In a presentation in 1971, Mary Cattell stated that
among her reasons for founding the Theatre of Western Springs, the influence of the Moscow Art Theatre was essential. “For two years I had been working with a Russian who deserted the Moscow Art Theatre to start an Art Theatre in Chicago,” she told the audience. “When he suddenly died, I felt I had to do something to carry on his ideas.” Founded by Konstantin Stanislavsky and Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko in June of 1897, the Moscow Art Theatre is one of the most important theatres in the world. What Stanislavsky and Danchenko did by founding the mat was nothing short of revolutionary. First of all, the Theatre became a home at the start of the twentieth century to a new kind of acting style which favored simple, naturalistic detail in place of histrionics—in other words, realistic acting.  At the time of the mat’s founding, the prevalent style of performance was rather melodramatic, with actors using large, unnatural gestures to convey overblown emotional states. The stars of these plays placed themselves in the most prominent positions on stage and declaimed their lines more like an orator than as an actor as we would understand the term today. (You will see evidence of this style in many of Arkadina’s mannerisms and in the way Nina acts in Konstantin’s play.) As a director, Stanislavsky demanded that the actors relate to each other and their situations naturally. Thus, a new understanding of acting was born. This style was influenced in its development by Chekhov’s writing which shows people’s thought processes, their contradictory emotions, and their propensity for both dramatic and mundane behavior.
The second thing that made the mat unusual, and the way in which it is most like tws, is that it was built around a core ensemble of actors who would work together constantly rather than traveling on tour (towards the end of The Seagull you will hear both Arkadina and Nina make references to touring). While the mat was built on a core ensemble of thirty-nine people, tws has roughly three hundred Active Members who do everything from act, direct, work backstage, bake cookies for intermission, govern the Theatre, and mow the lawn. The basic idea is that a group of people who work together constantly will develop ways of working with each other—a sense of artistic short hand—that will make their work more effective. In both cases, the members of the ensemble have an investment in the overall health of their theatre, and this in turn builds a strong commitment to the excellence of the plays produced.  Thus, from the influnece of a cultural treasure in Russia, we have what is now the present day tws.  It is surprising then, that tws has presented so few of Chekhov’s works, especially given the way the plays of this Russian master are responsible for both the financial success and artistic reputation of the Moscow Art Theatre. With this production of The Seagull we are reconnecting with the roots of one of the twentieth century’s most influential acting styles and with the roots of tws itself.