Seagull (Leeds)

The Seagull at the West Yorkshire Playhouse

In the first instance, the irritating buzzing that seems to be travelling over my right shoulder in the Courtyard Theatre of the West Yorkshire Playhouse sounds like an electrical fault. No, no, it’s a little clearer now the house lights are down. Here I am beside the lake on Sorin’s estate in Chekov’s Russia circa 1896. A dog howls over in the opposite corner and that cricket behind me, courtesy of sound designer Mic Pool, is getting a little louder. So Ian McKellen’s much publicised return up North has begun with this, Tom Stoppard’s translation of Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull.

The Seagull is a clever-clever play, as to be expected from one of the seminal figures of theatre history. It concerns itself with the act of writing and the art of performing and also presents the theatre-goer with a host of eccentric, nay, barking mad, characters. Under Jude Kelly’s direction, the freshly ensembled Courtyard Company are charged with and indeed succeed in bringing Chekov’s intertwined bunch of odd-bods to life.

The plot befits a soap opera in which everyone is seemingly in love with everyone else save for servant Yakov (Rhashan Stone) and doom and gloom merchant Sorin (Peter Laird). Konstantin (Will Keen) is the wannabe playwright who wishes to advance theatre. He puts on a production of his work on the makeshift stage at his uncle Sorin’s estate and is ridiculed by all present, most importantly his mother’s lover – the ‘real’ writer Trigorin (Timothy Walker). The rivalry and subsequent hatred between the two is further fuelled when the love of Konstantin’s life, Nina (Claudie Blakley), falls for Trigorin. Which doesn’t go down too well with Arkadina (Clare Higgins) who lusts after Trigorin, nor the woman in black Masha (Clare Swinburne) who loves Konstantin.

Naturally, the buzz in and about the theatre revolves around that man McKellen – conversations overheard seemed to be about little else. His role as Dr Dorn is by no means the lead, although the character does become the focaliser for the play’s assorted fragments. It is Higgins who makes the most memorable impression – playing as she does a character who demands the audience’s attention – although the entire company acquit themselves with fine style. Willie Ross’s Shamraev is as crazy a monocled old fool as you’re likely to find anywhere on stage.

Despite its complexities, this is an accessible piece and McKellen’s involvement should pack ’em in. Stoppard’s translation coupled with Kelly’s lively direction pushes the comedy to the fore. A classic text given a superlative treatment.

The Seagull continues at the West Yorkshire Playhouse until 5 December 1998.

Dave Windass