Andrew Scott plays all the roles in Vanya, including the easily irritated, self-absorbed writer Alexander.
A one-man Uncle Vanya could easily have come off as a stunt. How do you turn an Anton Chekhov staple, one that has visited New York stages multiple times in the past few seasons alone, into a solo show, and an utterly new experience? But Vanya turns out to be good theater and, more surprisingly, very good Chekhov.
Credit adaptor Simon Stephens, whose distillation of the 1897 classic is a robust and clever update. Also director Sam Yates, whose economical, efficient staging keeps the intense emotions from boiling over. Most of all, credit the remarkable Andrew Scott, who creates eight distinct characters and burrows deep into their psyches, and exudes a physicality that brings them to life in a way never seen before.
The main character in Simon Stephens’s adaptation is called Ivan. Photographs by Julieta Cervantes.
It’s Vanya, yet there’s no “Vanya” in it. Stephens has tweaked many of the names and reset Chekhov in a modern-day estate of no particular nationality. Cellphones aside, there aren’t a lot of indicators about time or place, but it’s all utterly credible. Vanya is now Ivan, the discontented brother of the late Anna, wife of Alexander, who subsequently married the much younger Helena, who fascinates both Ivan and Astrov (now called by his anglicized first name, Michael), a visiting doctor whom Alexander’s daughter, Sonia, lusts after. Lurking about the perimeter are Ivan’s mother Elizabeth, housekeeper Maureen, and farm helper Liam. Stephens has trimmed the stage time of these three, and admittedly, one tends to forget about them—he even jokes about that. Alexander, Chekhov’s retired professor, is now scorned by Ivan as a “generation-defining filmmaker,” an encomium he regards as ridiculous.
So how do you play eight roles, keep them clear, and carry on conversations with yourself in ways that don’t feel contrived? Stephens helps, expanding the monologues and cutting down on the back-and-forth dialogues that would require Scott to change personas with every few words. But Scott does the heavy lifting. He has distinctive voices, walks, and body language, and a fearlessness of emotion that suits every character. Perhaps a viewer may not be sure who he is 100 percent of the time, but 90 percent is a high batting average. His Michael is deep-voiced and attractive, and, rather like the actor, charismatic in a way that he knows he’s charismatic but doesn’t over-peddle it. His Ivan is high-pitched and excitable; his Sonia, understated and despairing; his Alexander, stiff and superior. At one point he has to play a love scene between Helena and Michael, and—how does he ever do this?—it’s pretty hot.
Dan Balfour’s excellent sound design has Scott sounding perfectly natural and unamplified, yet at a few intervals he puts his hand near his mouth and the volume increases. It may be a hidden mic, it may just be his voice projecting at unexpected moments. At any rate, he can whisper and be audible in the last row, demonstrating a kind of training that’s rare and getting rarer. He’s also unafraid to … pause. These characters are frequently deep in thought, and the many silences across the two hours tell of lost, searching individuals struggling to give purpose to their existences and verbalize feelings they haven’t entirely yet located.
Rosanna Vize’s spare, appropriate set gives Scott plenty of room to leap, dance, and generally dazzle an audience with his movement (Michela Meazza is credited with “physicality”). James Farncombe’s lighting features fluorescent industrial lights that know when to calm down, while Natalie Pryce’s costume affords Scott a basic uniform plus several accessories to help with character identification—a scarf for Alexander, a necklace for Helena, a rag for Sonia, a tennis ball that the restless Michael keeps bouncing.
An oddity: some brief musical sequences of unclear intent, including a rendition of “If You Go Away” that suggests Scott won’t be doing many musicals. His voice is a magnificently expressive instrument, though, and, more than in other versions of Uncle Vanya, the audience’s emotional connection with the people, er, person onstage is palpable.
Didn’t Chekhov call his plays comedies? This Vanya is also funny, with Scott exercising surprising inflections and top-banana timing to give lines like Alexander’s “Human beings weren’t designed to live in the country” extra resonance. As an actor’s workout, if you’ve been around long enough, Vanya may put you in mind of Lily Tomlin’s The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe, or, going way back, an evening of Ruth Draper monologues. Such evenings require versatility, stamina, and plenty of star quality. Scott proves he has all of the above.
Vanya runs through May 11 at the Lucille Lortel Theatre (121 Christopher St.). Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday; matinees are at 2 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. Tickets are available by visiting vanyaonstage.com.
Playwright: Simon Stephens, after Anton Chekhov
Director: Sam Yates
Designer: Rosanna Vize
Lighting design: James Farncombe
Sound design: Dan Balfour
Costume design: Natalie Pryce
Video design: Jack Phelan
