Pinter & a Pair of Chekhov’s Shorts (tour)
Compass Theatre company’s autumn tour takes in 24 venues in six weeks, none for more than three nights. So the company’s travelling light, with only three actors, basic, but effective, staging and three easily digestible short plays. Pinter and a Pair of Chekhov’s Shorts is straightforward, well done, enjoyable and not particularly memorable.
The first half consists of two of Chekhov’s vaudeville pieces, both light in tone, but presenting essentially pessimistic views of marriage. In The Proposal Lomov’s proposal descends into a furious land dispute with his potential bride and her father, a neighbouring landowner. Less well known is The Evils of Tobacco which I have always liked, though in truth it relies heavily on a single good gag which gradually deepens into sadness as Nyukhin assumes the dignity of a moral and scientific lecturer, only to dwell constantly on his status as hen-pecked husband. Both Chekhov pieces are presented in new versions by director Neil Sissons: the natural, somewhat old-fashioned English style works well despite a slightly irritating indecision about whether to anglicise names and places.
After the interval Harold Pinter takes over, with one of those early one-acters effectively mixing the mundane and the menacing. The Dumb Waiter is the one about two hitmen trying to relax before the next job, elliptically discussing their task and their mysterious employer, worrying about the tea and the toilet, wagging their heads over titbits from the newspaper. But what does it mean when the dumb waiter (from a café above?) starts sending down orders?
Sissons directs all three plays economically and intelligently, with a real feel for the manic melancholy of Chekhov, but without quite conveying the menace of The Dumb Waiter. He’s also responsible for the minimal sets, with a witty use of dog motifs for the hunting landowner Choobukov’s house in The Proposal.
Michael Onslow shows his versatility, moving from the nervous self-pity of Nyukhin to the bluff aggression of Choobukov to Ben’s veneer of routined normality as the senior killer. David Smith is effectively mannered as the highly strung hypochrondriac Lomov, but traces of that performance hang round Gus, the hitman, to less effect. Amy Rhiannon Worth, with only one part, plays it to the hilt, her Natalya Stepanova splendidly hoydenish.
The connections between the two halves are tenuous and, even at nearly two-and-a-half hours, the evening feels rather insubstantial, but the decision to take the delights of early Chekhov off the beaten track (from Wimborne to Whitehaven) is certainly to be applauded.
– Ron Simpson
