Andrew Scott is Vanya. and Alexander, and Sonia, and Michael, and . . .

 

Last night I stayed up to watch the National Theatre's production of Simon Stephen's one-man adaptation of Anton Chekhov's UNCLE VANYA . . .  VANYA, starring the work's co-creator, Andrew Scott.  As a lover of Chekhov's play, and a major fan of Andrew Scott, I've wanted to see this for over a year now, despite its wildly mixed reviews. VANYA appears to be one of those polarizing pieces is loved or loathed . . . or if not loathed, not loved. Well, put me in the love camp - so much so that I watched it all over again this morning.   

Mr. Scott takes on all eight of Chekhov's characters (whose names here are Anglicized) and therein lies the rub, prompting the NY Times' Houman Barekat  to deliver the harshest review titled  Andrew Scott Plays Every Part in ‘Vanya.’ Why?"  Barekat places equal blame on the play's failure with playwright and actor. Whilst praising Scott's challenge as "an impressive feat" he, in the same breath writes:

"Scott flits between the various parts by nimbly modulating his voice and bearing  . . . a certain amount of realism is sacrificed — to help orientate the audience, the characters’ names are mentioned more frequently than is natural, and the female characters occasionally come off a bit campy"

He goes on to describe Scott's performance as "shallow" complaining of coy half smirks and knowing glances to the audience that robs the play of pathos. Further that Scott is the possessor of 

a certain glassy inscrutability that suggests he’s a little too steeped in wry self-awareness to comfortably inhabit any other mode . . . this is Chekhov after all — the best he can serve up is an ironic facsimile of wistfulness. What artistic benefit is derived from having a single actor play all the parts? . . . what was the point?  . . . the play is not well served . . . its pathos diluted. Constraint for its own sake is self-indulgence, and there’s a fine line between a conceit and a mere gimmick

So, armed with that, I plunged headfirst into Vanya . . . and there was not only not a single moment of regret in so doing, but a sense of theatrical magic - even on the screen - that I last saw this past winter in the same company's Frankenstein (with Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller). While Mr. Barekat rants about a lack of pathos, I found the play - and Mr. Scott's portrayals - filled with that quality. What made it even more - dare I say "pathotic" (that's not going to make into the OED!) was precisely the bits complained about: the knowing glances, the half smirks, and so on, because they left me entirely unprepared for the inevitable eruptions of the emotional volcano of ennui and resentment and and from Chekhov's original tragicomedy and fully inhabited in Mr. Stephens' brilliant adaptation.  

Despite its title, this is not Chekhov's Uncle Vanya, (which Chekhov himself adapted from his earlier play, The Wood Demon), but an adaptation . . . an entirely new work and NOT merely a translation.  I think the critics that compare it unfavorably to Chekhov were being perhaps a bit obtuse and damning the play for not being . . . well, Chekhov.  In wanting and waiting for Chekhov they missed the point of this play entirely. Of course I could be wrong, but . . . so could they. 

The writing - and the direction by Sam Yates - and the set by Rosanna Vize - , a working semi-kitchen, stairs and doors to nowhere, a player piano (which plays an important part) some plastic chairs, a half bottle of Smirnoff - provide Scott with an emotional playground and allows for all eight characters to spring to life - even if once or twice it can't be helped you forget which character is talking or to whom. Pay attention though and they all have their ticks and unique speaking voices, accents and styles.  It is one of those all too rare, bravura solo performances - a true tour de force with an emotional range that ranges from the lighthearted to moments of searing intensity, rage, pain and hopelessness. And tears. Mr. Scott, more than once, almost seems to cross the line between acting and being - actor and character - and successfully walking that dangerous edge in the world of theatre, is one of the most exhilarating, breathtaking things you can give to an audience.  And that audience - including this homeviewer  - goes mad with admiration and adoration before a clearly moved performer. 

It's not surprising that Andrew Scott was nominated along Joseph Fiennes, James Norton, and David Tennant for this years' Olivier Award (which went to Mark Gatiss' portrayal of John Gielgud). 

Vanya comes to New York this Spring where it will play at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, and anyone in range of Manhattan should try to go.  It's really that good.