It was a really weird double-bill tonight. I went in, half-expecting slavishly faithful homages — and it’s easily possible that I’m just projecting, but I feel like I sat through two shows that had as much hostility towards Chekhov as I do. Don’t get me wrong — I laughed and had a good time at various points during both — but after five hours of sarcasm, I found myself longing for something to hang onto, at least one genuine character or one genuine moment, and neither really provided me with that.
No real observation here, other than the fact that it’s a bit surprising in a festival devoted to a playwright famous for his warmth towards humanity. I’m curious what the rest of the shows have to say.