An absentee landowner from the big city visits his country estate with his trophy wife. That sort of setup could serve as the backdrop for a Stephen King horror story, but in Chekhov’s hands we have an existential comedy. Retired Professor Serebriakov visits the farm of his first wife, now deceased. He lives in the city, but he relies on the income from the farm to support his metropolitan lifestyle. He has left the farm’s management for some time in the hands of Sonya, his daughter from the previous marriage, and Vanya, his brother-in-law also from that first marriage. For Serebriakov, the farm means nothing but an income, while Sonya and Uncle Vanya both know it as their only home.
Those facts alone could lead to either a power struggle or a rural-versus-urban antagonism. To add further tension, Chekhov gives us a couple of other characters: Elena, Serebriakov’s current wife, and Astrov, the local doctor. Plain-Jane stepdaughter, Sonya, roughly the same age as her drop-dead gorgeous stepmother, Elena, treat each other with polite reserve until Act Two when they unexpectedly embrace one another like long-lost sisters. Plucking up her courage, Sonya asks her new bestie if she could please find out whether Astrov might possibly suffer from an unrequited love for Sonya. Maybe? Just a little? Of course when Elena speaks to Astrov and tries hinting around on the subject of affections, he jumps to the wrong conclusion. Some awkwardness ensues, but no romance.
In Act Three, Serebriakov thinks he’ll share a clever little plan he’s been toying with. He asks what everyone thinks about selling the farm and putting the money into a more lucrative investment. He could make himself a much better income that way, and that strikes him as a capital idea. Surprisingly, the people who have lived most of their lives on the farm don’t share his delight for this ingenious scheme. In fact, Vanya goes a bit crazy.
Vanya: Twenty-five years I managed this estate; I worked, sent you money like the most diligent of clerks, and during this whole time, you have not once thanked me for my work. This whole time—when I was young and now—you paid me a salary of five hundred rubles a year—a beggarly amount!—and it has never occurred to you to raise it even one ruble!
Serebriakov: Ivan Petrovich [i.e., Vanya], how was I to know? I’m not a practical person and I don’t understand any of this. You could have given yourself a raise as much as you wanted.
Vanya: Yes, why didn’t I steal? Why don’t you despise me now for not stealing? It would have been fair, and I wouldn’t be a pauper now!
After stoking himself into a frenzy he delivers the crowning insult.
Vanya: I’ve wasted my whole life! I’m talented, clever, and brave...If I lived a normal life, I could have become another Schopenhauer or Dostoyevsky...
He rushes out of the room. Serebriakov follows. A shot rings out! Vanya and Serebriakov rush back in, and Vanya shoots at him point blank. A pause.
Vanya: … I missed? Another miss?! [Enraged] Oh, damn it, damn it...God damn it! [He throws the revolver on the floor, and drops exhausted into a chair...]
By the next act, the whole affair has blown over.
Serebriakov: Let bygones be bygones. After what happened, in the last few hours I’ve thought so much about it that I could probably write a whole treatise for the edification of future generations on how to live one’s life. I readily accept your apology and myself ask you to forgive me. Good-bye! [Kisses Vanya three times]
While neither a rollicking farce nor a somber tragedy, Uncle Vanya strikes me as sort of a somber farce. Sonya and Vanya have devoted much of their lives to supporting the illustrious career of the famous and scholarly Professor Serebriakov (whom we soon recognize as a fraud). Elena, after the initial thrill of landing the great man, now foresees many bland years of helplessly watching her youth and beauty evaporate while her old husband’s health withers. Most of the characters dwell on their regrets and resentments, wishing they had made better choices. They flatter themselves by seeing their own pathetic lives as Greek tragedies, and therein, I think, lies a lot of the play’s painful humor. Uncle Vanya nags us with doubts as to whether we might belong at the table with him downing a few drinks and sharing our own woes. In fact, Chekhov doesn’t boldly label his play a tragedy, a comedy, or even a tragicomedy. He gives it the wishy-washy subtitle, “Scenes from Country Life in Four Acts.” Truly a paean to mediocrity.
In the final scene, when Uncle Vanya wails to Sonya about his misery, she offers this consolation (I’ve omitted some stage directions).
Sonya: What can you do, we have to keep on living!
A pause.
We, Uncle Vanya, will live. We’ll live through a very long row of days and slow evenings; we’ll patiently put up with hardships that fate sends our way; we’ll toil for others without rest now and when we’re old; and when our time comes, we’ll die calmly, and there, within the veil, we’ll say how we suffered and cried, and how bitter we felt, and God will take pity on us, and Uncle, dear Uncle, we will see a bright, beautiful and fine life, and we’ll feel happy and we’ll look back on our present sorrow with tenderness, with a smile—and we will rest, Uncle, I believe, believe passionately, fervently … we will rest!
We will rest! We’ll hear angels, we’ll see the sky studded with diamonds, we’ll see all earthly evil and all our suffering drown in mercy that will fill the world, and our life will become quiet, tender, and sweet as a caress. I believe, I do … Poor, poor Uncle Vanya, you’re crying … You haven’t known joy in your life, but just wait, Uncle Vanya, wait … we will rest … We will!
We will rest!
The curtain slowly comes down.
And may I add, “La commedia è finita!”
Chekhov had improved his use of pauses, unstated feelings, subtext, following the debacle of The Seagull. He has also refined and sharpened his satire of theatrical conventions. The misunderstanding between Elena and Astrov, for one example, held great comic potential, and the simmering resentment of Vanya held great tragic potential as well, but they both came to nothing. In contrast, the gush of feminine affection between Elena and Sonya erupted without warning. All of this defies audience expectations, but in a way that comes across as so true-to-life one has to laugh.
In the century and a quarter since its debut, Uncle Vanya has seen many stagings, and continues to delight audiences. Among the actresses who have played Elena in Broadway revivals, Wikipedia lists Margaret Leighton (1946), Julie Christie (1973), Maggie Gyllenhaal (2009), and Cate Blanchett (2010). Laurence Olivier (1946) and George C. Scott (1973) have each played the doctor. Frank Langella (2000) has played the Professor. Just this year it ran on Broadway from April to June with Steve Carell from The Office playing the title role. Of course, many people have adapted it for film over the years, sometimes as a movie, but also as a filmed play or as a movie about rehearsing the play.
The public reception when it debuted in 1899 evolved in a way that highlights a major difference between theater and film. Once a film gets released, it lives on forever in the same form. But each theatrical performance changes. The first audiences didn’t quite know how to watch it, critics didn’t know how to critique it, and actors didn’t know how to act it. But audiences and actors heard what the critics said, actors responded to audience reactions, audiences learned how to appreciate it better, and critics noticed the improvements. So over the course of several weeks it ratcheted its way from a cool reception into a smashing success.
I’ve noticed in the last few weeks that I’ve had a lot of trouble knowing how to react to plays when I simply read them. Like emails without emojis, scripts permit contrary interpretations. Even when authors include precise stage directions, it takes directors and actors to bring out the play’s potential through performance. Unless I really know my stuff, I can’t enjoy a play any better than I can hear sheet music or taste a recipe. So, for the near future, I think I’ll wait to reflect on another play from the Decade list until I have seen what at least one director or troupe has done with it. Maybe I can eventually learn how to read with insight, but until then I’d better combine reading and watching before I say anything.
Next week, I expect to participate in a reading group of my former colleagues to discuss Beloved, by Toni Morrison, so I’ll share my reflections on that work before attending that group. I also expect to finish volume two of the Mahābhārata by Thursday.
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MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT!
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Just today I reached an important milestone on Substack by welcoming subscriber number one hundred.
Works mentioned in this post
Anton Chekhov: Five Plays, tr. by Marina Brodskaya