here’s something pleasantly ironic about Game of Thrones star Emilia Clarke‘s choice of West End debut. She plays aspiring-but-untalented actor Nina, who beams like a schoolgirl collecting a swimming badge when she’s told she could one day star in movies. Of course, in real life, Clarke’s screen fame helped fill super director’s stalls Jamie Lloyd‘s grim, 21st-century version of Chekhov’s early play The Seagull.
Clarke is undeniably charismatic, but her presence is far from the only reason to get your hands on a ticket. A universally strong cast act with more faces than their bodies, bringing cinematic intensity to this intense exploration of fame, failure and heartbreak.
Daniel Monks is irresistibly unappealing as Konstantin, a haunted aspiring playwright obsessed with an unconvinced Nina. He spends much of the game sitting in the middle, his gaze withdrawn inward as if the scenes unfolding around him were the product of his misanthropic imagination.
Indira Varma is enchanting as his flamboyant mother, the famous actor Arkadina. She teases her equally famous lover, middle novelist Trigorin (Tom Rhys Harries) with the smug self-confidence of a cat opening a mouse. And Sophie Wu makes a hilarious, teenaged, black-clad Masha, who would die if she didn’t enjoy hating her life so much.
The cast of The Seagull
† Marc BrennerPlaywright Anya Reiss’ in-depth 21st-century update on the lyrics is bursting with spiky humor. At one point, the cast plays charades and quickly guesses the title of a Meat Loaf song – “Life is a lemon and I want my money back” is a pretty good summary of their general boredom.
Perhaps Lloyd’s uncompromising production could use a little more of this levity. But instead he strives and achieves a sense of crushing claustrophobia. Chekhov’s piece is astute on fame: the critical eye it brings and the way people fawn in public and bitch in private.
Lloyd’s production expands on this theme by packing the cast tightly in the plywood box of a set from designer Soutra Gilmour. They stay on stage the whole time, reacting to the scenes they’re not in with heartbreak, or, more often, indifference with blank eyes.
There’s something shocking about watching an actor deliver a bravura performance surrounded by the bored faces of their fellow cast members: It’s a poignant reminder that even the most moving piece of art will leave some people cold.
Konstantin’s own mother finds his debut game as useless as a chocolate samovar. Likewise, Lloyd’s stripped and static production will not please all newbies. But it’s an exciting break from tradition, transforming the star power into a darker, weirder, and more satisfying kind of energy.
The seagull runs on the Harold Pinter Theater until Sept 10. ES tickets