Uncle Vanya

In an attempt to read more lately, I’ve revisited the small set of books I brought with me to New York. The last few days have been spent with Anton Chekhov, the great Russian dramatist, and it’s brought back some memories.

My first memory of Uncle Vanya is seeing it at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in 1998 with a group from Bellarmine Prep. We saw wonderful plays on that trip, including a great production of Les Blancs by Lorraine Hansberry and a spectacular production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that I still count among the favorite theatre experiences of my life. The production of Uncle Vanya was remarkable, especially for its portrayal of Vanya himself and I wish I could remember the name of the actor now. I remember the set very well, since it so beautifully evoked the themes and images of the play: a bouquet of roses suspended from the ceiling that withered and dropped petals as the play progressed; a gigantic hammered sheet of metal that gave large, hazy, distorted reflections of the actors and set pieces; and always central was the piano that Yelena and Sonya try to play, only to be shut down by Serebryakov. The end of the play had Vanya sitting on that piano, wrapping himself in one of Dr. Astrov’s maps, weeping. I remember sitting there for a moment, my mouth agape, as the audience around me began to applaud. Sometimes you have that experience in the theatre when you wish there were no curtain call.

I could not say the same for our production of Uncle Vanya my sophomore year at Seattle University. While it was a phenomenal experience, I don’t think I fully appreciated how wonderful a play it is, and how lucky I was to have the chance. Playing Vanya at the age of 19 was a challenge beyond my means at the time, though I had the pleasure of working with a fine cast, including a professor who, appropriately, played the professor. It was a learning experience for which I am immensely grateful. I don’t get to do those kinds of roles anymore (yet?) and I miss it more than I can say.