Chekhov's Paradoxical Play

Last night I attended a showing of Chekhov's play The Seagull at Huntington Theater with no real expectations, either positive or negative. I had heard of the writer through the ether, though having never read any classic Russian literature, such names as Chekhov or Tolstoy were (and mostly still are) enigmas to me. I supposed that the genre must differ from the German postwar neo-romanticism of the time, but this notion was based more on weak geographic and ideological anecdotal evidence than on any firm convictions or knowledge. Immediately I was struck by the set design, especially the forest setting of the first two acts. The faux birch trees were arranged perfectly so as to give the viewer the sense that the scenes were taking place in a domesticated countryside, and the background's brightening and fading added to this naturalistic impression, denoting the passage of the day as the action of the play wound on. The costume design was immaculate - the viewer was instantly and definitively reminded of the turn-of-the-century bohemian, sportsman, or countryside gentry. Further, each character's persona was epitomized by their clothing. Arkadina's overdone dresses and hairstyles bespoke the vain woman who desperately wishes to return to glory days; Medevenko's typical Victorian suit was as quiet, timid, and wishing as his personality; Nina's varying modest attire brought to the fore her background as the only daughter of wealthy parents, even though in the play it is insinuated that they completely neglect her; Dorn's jaunty boater hat seemed to be the last remnant of his Don Juanian youth. The set- and costume-design seemed to be part and parcel of the theatrical realism that characterized the period, but the writing was anything but realistic. Chekhov makes tongue-in-cheek reference to his contempt for his contemporaries' efforts to display real life on stage in lines delivered by Konstantin in Act I, and while on the surface the characters' conversations seem to be centered around mundane drivel, especially the lines spoken by Arkadina, hidden within them is a nuanced symbolism that carries throughout the play. The first two acts run like a comedy, but underneath there lurks the ever present threat of impending tragedy, which ultimately wins the day, albeit in a watered-down victory. The Seagull's content walks a fine line, simultaneously realistic and symbolic. In the end, the viewer is left to wonder about the fate of the characters. Unlike some tragedies, the play's undercurrent of nihilistic thought is never brought to the fore until the last line of the play, and it is up to the viewer to decide if the multitudinous unrequited loves and seemingly stagnant lives that Chekhov characterizes point toward a pessimistic or realistic outlook. This ambiguity is furthered by Dorn's final line spoken to Trigorin, that Arkadina should be surreptitiously removed from the scene so as not to have to witness the aftermath of her son's suicide. Does this say that we should gloss over life's woes, or that it is not prudent to brood on sorrow? Ironically, the eponymous seagull is only obliquely referred to after Act II, and the viewers must decide for themselves which of the characters is supposed to represent it. Judging by the failure of most of the characters to "fly" in the way that they wish, I would say that all of them are epitomized by the slain seagull.