A Month in the Country
- Written by Ivan Turgenev
- Directed by László Marton
- Starring Fiona Byrne, Diego Matamoros
- At the Young Centre in Toronto
In a 1950 entry in his diaries, Noel Coward recorded his displeased reaction to an adaptation of Anton Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard where the action was transplanted to the American South. "The title ought to be A Month in the Wrong Country," he wrote.
That famous put-down came to mind while watching Hungarian director Laszlo Marton's bizarre production of A Month in the Country for Soulpepper Theatre set in ... well, at least partly set in what seems to be Canadian cottage country.
Written in 1855 but not staged until 1872, this tragicomedy is by Russian novelist and playwright Ivan Turgenev, who wrote in a style we now call Chekhovian, but back when Anton himself was just a twinkle in an abusive grocer's eye. A rich family's summer in the country is upset when lady-of-the-house Natalya Petrovna (Fiona Byrne) and her 17-year-old ward Vera (Tal Gottfried) both fall for 20-year-old tutor, Belyaev (Jeff Lillico). While Vera's crush is her first taste of love, Natalya's infatuation is complicated by the fact she is married and already has a platonic lover in Rakitin (Diego Matamoros).
Marton has, visually at least, moved the action to what looks something like Lake Muskoka sometime around now - a deconstructed cottage made out of dozens of doors is designed by Andrei Both. The characters wear current casual, Belyaev rides around on a skateboard and Natalya's husband Arkady (David Storch) spends his time tinkering with an old car instead of his frustrated wife.
In social dynamics, however, A Month in the Country remains in provincial Russia in the mid-19th century. Vera fears being married off to a rich neighbour, there is much discussion about honour and carriage rides, and doctor Shpigelsky (Joseph Ziegler) not only hankers after a shiny new troika, but still makes house calls.
This anachronistic juxtaposition might be fun if there was some rhyme or reason to it. Alas, it doesn't make us understand the play or relate to its characters any better - it simply confuses the power structure and yanks the rug out from under the plot.
The text has run quite the linguistic gauntlet. What we hear is Turgenev's original translated into Hungarian by Janos Elbert, then adapted by Marton, then given a literal translation into English by Andrew Mile and finally adapted by Susan Coyne (who certainly knows cottage country, her memoir Kingfisher Days and play Alice's Affair both being set there).
The result is a bunch of different idioms rubbing up against each other uncomfortably. Belyaev responds to Natalya's orders with a formal "as you wish, madam," while Arkady calls his friend "buddy" and asks, "Tell me, am I a fun guy?" Arkady also drops a "whatever" that's very Valley Girl not too long after telling everyone it is "time for tea."
Amid the lazy language, there are some excellent performances. As the cynical doctor, Ziegler has a truly wonderful scene in which he casually proposes to a rich and giggly spinster (Nancy Palk) and is a little too honest about what he expects from a wife. Byrne, who played Natalya in Brian Friel's adaptation of Turgenev's play three seasons ago, is excellent as a hormonally destabilized woman whose motives are uncertain even to herself, especially as she cruelly toys with Matamoros's Rakitin, a "nice guy" whose congeniality masks a pit of sexual frustration and resentment. Gottfried, playing Vera as a confused tomboy, is another fine young find for Soulpepper.
Elsewhere, Lillico pulls out his stammering-young-man card, but it doesn't quite jive with his character, while Storch goes way out there as an apparently emotionally unstable Arkady.
None of the cast is particularly well served by Marton, who busies everyone with all sorts of onstage horseplay involving swings and hammocks. The director's hand is all too visible whenever anyone gets sprayed by a hose or smears dirt on another's face. A messy production all round.
A Month in the Country runs until Aug. 7.