Anton Chekhov’s “The Cherry Orchard” is one of the funniest dramas ever written. Or maybe it’s one of the saddest comedies. That makes it tough to pull off, and shows often fall into a bland middle.
The Classic Stage Company’s production that opened last night is all over the place, but one thing it’s not is dull. Occasionally head-scratching, yes. Boring, no.
Dianne Wiest and John Turturro head a cast so disparate, it sometimes feels as if director Andrei Belgrader pulled names out of a hat. In addition to the two stars, angel-faced Michael Urie (“The Temperamentals,” TV’s “Ugly Betty”) rubs elbows with period-play aces Josh Hamilton and Juliet Rylance, and not one but two Waterston offspring — Elisabeth and Katherine. Whiplash!
Yet this jumble of acting styles and personalities coheres often enough to make this “Cherry Orchard” an intriguing one, blessed with some lovely grace notes.
Wiest plays Ranevskaya, an aristocrat fallen on hard times. She’s ill-prepared to get out of that pickle, and her entourage of feeble family members and idle moochers is no help.
The only one with a clue is Turturro’s Lopakhin. A savvy, rags-to-riches businessman, he tells Ranevskaya she could save her estate by dividing it up into lots and renting them to tourists.
“Forgive me,” she sighs, her eyes literally glazing over, “but it’”s all just so vulgar.”
At first, Turturro’s performance seems mired on planet Brooklyn, not in the Russian countryside. But Lopakhin is meant to stick out: He’s the future, while the others are stuck in the past.
Wiest, meanwhile, beautifully renders a woman who lives in a sepia-toned fantasy. The contrast between them has a purpose, but several other actors seem to simply be doing their own thing.
As a love-struck clerk, Urie engages in cute physical comedy, complete with pratfalls and squeaky shoes, but there’s no bigger point. Roberta Maxwell’s eccentric governess looks like an expressionist sad clown, while Elisabeth Waterston’s maid is a nymphomaniacal living doll. Both are effective, but don’t gel with Turturro’s naturalistic cordiality.
Yet the show hurtles forward — this is speedy Chekhov — and Belgrader often comes up with staging bits that illuminate the material, like Lopakhin’s non-proposal to Rylance’s put-upon Varya. It’s the kind of quietly devastating moment that makes this “Cherry Orchard” well worth visiting.