Cast Carries Stylized 'Sisters'

“Whatever happens, you can only be happy when you want to be happy,” says Vershinin, played by Thomas H. Price ’02 in the current mainstage production of Anton Chekhov’s Three Sisters. If that advice was only heeded by the title characters, they might find happiness despite never realizing their doomed dream of reaching Moscow. Although the theme of surviving free from the fetters of unattainable dreams is occasionally obscured by the stylization of the 1900 drama, the production registers strongly, due in large part to the dynamic performances of the gifted cast.

The evening opens with the stage enveloped in darkness. A flash of light briefly illuminates an almost still-frame image. In those few seconds, the audience views the sisters, played by Margaret S. Lehrman ’04, Sarah L. Thomas ’04 and Eva Furrow ’03, each standing framed by her own window against the surrealistically-tall background. Irina, the youngest sister, drops a balloon to the stage. The audience is left with a striking opening montage.

The first book scene introduces the audience to the sisters on the birthday of Irina (Furrow), the youngest sister. The event takes place a year to the day after the death of the sisters’ father. Despite the constant allusions to their father made by the oldest sister, Olga (Lerhman), and the depression of the middle sister, Masha (Thomas), Irina maintains an attitude of excitement that is a key contrast to her sisters’ dourness. In this scene, the audience is also introduced to their brother, Andrei (Daniel A. Cozzens ’03), and his off-beat fiancée, Natasha (Kathleen A. Agresta ’02), as well as to the various army officers who punctuate the women’s lives.

In the fashion of Russian tragedy, the lives of the title characters spiral downwards; although it might be more proper to say that they circle the same path over and over again, gradually deteriorating in spirit. Whether they will get to Moscow is not the question. What the audience wonders, and what the characters must come to terms with, is what happens when they realize they will not get there.

On opening night, however, the audience’s understanding of the play was hampered by several instances of the production eliciting spontaneous laughter not called for by the script and, presumably, not intended by the cast. The most outstanding example was at the appearance of Cozzens’ Andrei, who enters with an artificial stomach to indicate his weight gain. Not only did the audience react, but Cozzens appeared close to laughter himself. Though the literal representation of Andrei’s weight gain is important, if the costume is to appear so unreal and the actor so uncomfortable, the padding must be sacrificed.

Scene changes also impede the flow of the production. Frequently, they seem needlessly clumsy and slow, particularly after the first scene. The change is accomplished by actors in military garb who practically march on and off stage. If there is some deeper meaning hinted at by this and other similar scene changes, it isn’t apparent—but the way they make the show drag is.

The primary drawback of the show, however, derives from the abstract stylization of the production—a stylization that does not always agree with the somber tone of the play. To be fair, some of the abstraction works well: the aforementioned background wall is effective and reminds one of a similar style of setting discussed in the stage directions for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. The tilting planes of the two-tiered stage also jar the audience in a fashion aptly representative of the distorted dreams of the Prozorovs.

The stylization comes up short, though, in its inexplicable interjection of loud New Age-ish music at the ends of dramatic scenes. In one particular scene, Irina, sitting alone in the living room of her home, speaks solemnly for several moments. Finally, she bows her head and, emphasizing the play’s chief plot elements, declares, “I want to go to Moscow.” No time, though, is allowed for reflection by either the character or the audience. Even before the stage darkens, the music assails the audience and pulls it out of its reverie.

Dramaturg Susannah P. Morse ’03, involved in maintaining the play’s integrity, writes in her introductory notes that the modernism of the play is intended to “reveal the universal relevance of [the] story.” Yet it is from the depiction of the specific that one realizes universality. The impact of the play is diminished when one seeks abstraction—especially when no greater relevance seems to exist in a vague modern setting than in 1900 Russia.

Aside from these drawbacks, however, the cast creates performances memorable enough to carry the evening. Under the direction of Dorothy A. Fortenberry ’02, Furrow leads the production with her subtle and well-wrought portrayal of Irina, the wide-eyed innocent who slowly loses hold of her dream and sinks into reality. Lehrman, meanwhile, brings a sharp cynicism to Olga that appropriately distinguishes her. Thomas’ performance is the least clear of the sisters; in act one, her motivations seem blurred and even lost. Yet, Thomas improves throughout the night and is quite powerful in the final scene, crucially contributing to a well-pitched conclusion.

Other notable performances are offered by Price, Agresta and Alexander L. Pasternack ’05. Price manages the nuances of the slightly mysterious Vershinin with skill. Agresta’s acerbic wit adds a wonderful tragicomic flair to the play. Pasternack also fares well with the difficult character of Chebutykin, expertly conveying his slow deterioration from early optimism to a final scene in which he declares, “It’s all the same.”

That’s not an easy message to accept and Three Sisters is daunting because it forces its characters and its audience to confront the notion that reality endures even after dreams fade away. Though the production does not always make its points in a clear fashion, which is vital to maintaining interest and understanding with such a difficult piece of work, the quality of the individual performances helps this Three Sisters achieve much of the poignant beauty of Chekhov’s words.