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Michael Pennington brings Chekhov back to life, for which we should thank him. We share two hours solely in the company of the Russian writer as, sensing death approaching, he reflects upon his experiences and his writing. After performing this one-man show for nearly 20 years Pennington has developed a certain polish but, more importantly, a polish effused with such sensitivity that we truly feel Chekhov's humanity - his humour, his fascination with people's everyday life, his compassion. Chekhov's compatriot Gorky said that merely to think of Chekhov brings new energy into your life and reminds you that man is the axis of the world. Inspiring stuff indeed! The performance has two elements entwined. First, we listen to Chekhov's recollections of his twin careers - medicine (his wife) and literature (his mistress). His reflections on his travels, on the writing process, and on the critical reception to his work are sufficiently interesting, but the spice comes when he bitches about his peers, mocking Dostoyevsky in particular. Into these reflections Pennington weaves a second element: Chekhov's rambling unfolds into short stories, taking us away from the man and reminding us of the eternal sympathy of his work. Tales from peasant life and Siberian prisons are harrowing and capture as much of the meanness of humanity as anything more redeeming. These stories inject some drama into what could easily have remained a series of travelogues and personal pontifications. Further, Pennington has clearly done his homework. Every word spoken is a word Chekhov himself spoke. Nor does he gloss over Chekhov's quirks - his difficulty in dealing with fans, and his contempt for a number of guests who visited his house over the years. Bizarrely, this review is based on an impromptu performance forced upon Pennington at the last minute after the Playhouse's advertised play for the evening of April 1 was called off due illness among the cast. The ticket-buying audience that weren't mortally offended by this unexpected turn of events clearly felt by the end that staying had proved worthwhile, with Pennington getting a great reception. Whether you see it now in Oxford or later somewhere else, this play is that rare thing - a guaranteed good performance. You may also find yourself wandering to the bookshop afterwards. Ben O'Loughlin, 01.04.03 |
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