Sam Underwood wonders what he has gotten himself into in The Real Ivanov (photo by Russ Rowland)
THE REAL IVANOV
Lynn F. Angelson Theater
136 East Thirteenth St. between Third & Fourth Aves.
Monday – Saturday through September 19, $49-$99
www.realivanov.com
In 2014, Laura Strausfeld presented The Real Vanya, her mockumentary of Anton Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya, as a staged reading at Classic Stage, featuring Josh Hamilton, Marylouise Burke, Sam Underwood, and others; it was filmed by director Andrew Wonder for Columbia’s Harriman Institute.
After extensive Googling, I couldn’t find anything more about it; it seems to have disappeared, at least from public view (although a friend of mine remembers having seen it).
Perhaps the same will happen with Strausfeld’s follow-up, The Real Ivanov, which opened tonight at Classic Stage’s Lynn F. Angelson Theater, starring Underwood in the title role. One can only hope.
The works of Chekhov, and William Shakespeare, invite reinterpretation and reimagination like no one else’s in the canon. Part of their brilliance comes from how timeless they are, how they can be adapted to relate to the modern era.
The Real Ivanov, based on Chekhov’s first produced play, Ivanov, from 1887, is a four-act melodrama with dark humor and deeply psychological elements. Although it is rarely performed, I have seen two commendable adaptations, one by the Russian State Theatre of Nations at City Center in 2018, with Evgeny Mironov as its moody, depressed, seemingly apathetic protagonist, and this year’s stirring New American Ensemble version at the West End Theatre, with Zachary Desmond portraying the weak, pathetic antihero. Each clocked in at approximately 165 minutes but were fast-paced and involving.
The Real Ivanov is a mere 100 minutes but felt like three hours.
Strausfeld is a respected Chekhov scholar who has curated the annual Chekhov celebrations at Symphony Space and City Winery for fifteen years, is working on the book How to Be Less Miserable: Insights from Anton Chekhov, was a visiting scholar at the Harriman, and is a lawyer who cofounded Period Law, which focuses on the tampon tax and women’s menstruation. In 1997, she saw Lincoln Center’s Ivanov, starring Kevin Kline, noting in a statement, it “punked me. It also changed my life. Chekhov revealed to me my own despair — and, for the first time, gave me hope that I could be living better. Despite my years of therapy, it was Chekhov who had the answers I was looking for. Chekhov is scripture to me. It’s not overblown to say I owe him my life.”
Alas, The Real Ivanov provides no answers, instead asking questions that do it no favors, many beginning with “Why?”
The actors in The Real Ivanov seem to all be in a different play (photo by Russ Rowland)
Adapter and director Strausfeld has streamlined the narrative to its basics. Nikolai Ivanov (Underwood) is a landowner married to Anna (Ivory Aquino), whose Jewish family disowned her when she decided to wed Nikolai and convert to Christianity. Nikolai is in debt to Zinaida (Sarah Long) and her husband, Lebedev (Spencer Aste), but Nikolai can’t even afford to pay the interest. He has also fallen out of love with Anna, who has tuberculosis and is being treated by Dr. Lvov (Hagan Oliveras), who chastises Nikolai, complaining, “Please recognize that the best cure for tuberculosis is absolute peace of mind, and your wife has none whatsoever. She’s chronically anxious about your feelings toward her. Forgive me, I’m agitated and compelled to be forthright: Your behavior is killing her. I’d like to think better of you.” Nikolai responds, “What you say is true. I’m terribly guilty but also confused. I feel paralyzed by a kind of stupor; I’ve stopped understanding myself or anyone else.”
Indeed, Nikolai, suffering from textbook depression and melancholia, is lost in a stupor, sleepwalking through life; while the others, nearly all foolish, eat and drink and laugh, he mopes around, staring off into emptiness. Zinaida and Lebedev throw a twentieth birthday party for their daughter, Sasha (Amelia Mason), at which she, inexplicably, declares her love for Nikolai. Also attending the festivities are the widow Marfusha Babakina (Kimberlee Walker), who is flirting with Ivanov’s cousin, Count Shabyelsky (Jordan Lage), who proudly declares, “Everyone’s a scoundrel and hypocrite, myself especially”; the wealthy and single Avdotya (Soph Metcalf), who plays bridge with Lebedev and excise officer Kosyk (William DeMeritt), who is generally ignored by others; and the ever-scheming Borkin (Sam Adegoke), who manages Nikolai’s estate and brings real and metaphorical fireworks to the shindig.
Earlier, in Ivanov’s home, he tells Lebedev, “I’m boring you.” Lebedev replies, “I know what’s the matter; you’re oppressed by our surroundings.”
Precisely.
The audience is seated on all four sides of the stage, but that doesn’t immerse you in the tepid narrative, which does nothing to illuminate the profound affliction that haunts Nikolai and his unexamined psyche. Jiyoun Chang’s spare set occasionally features a small bench or table, a large rug, and a narrow red carpet for the odd finale. The actors seem to be speaking in their regular voices, so there are British, American, and other accents, amplifying the feeling that each of them is in a different play. Although Chekhov’s original contained elements of farce, satire, comedy, and tragedy, Strausfeld’s version meanders among them with little sense or reason; it’s dry and stiff, confusing and disconnected. Plot developments are forced, the characters cardboard — it’s hard to care about any of them. It may not be one of Chekhov’s better plays, but having seen other companies present compelling adaptations, I found this one to be even more disappointing.
The only thing I truly understood about the production is why Underwood (Candida, The Picture of Dorian Gray), as Ivanov, looks like he would rather be anywhere else than where he is.
[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer; you can follow him on Substack here.]