Celebrities flock to see Streep, Kline in Chekhov&

My father and his wife don’t let me come here–they say you’re all bohemians. They’re terrified I’ll go on the stage. But I’m drawn here like a seagull drawn to the lake. –Nina (The Seagull by Anton Chekhov)

It felt like Oscar night. An all-star lineup composed of Meryl Streep, Kevin Kline, Christopher Walken, Philip Seymour Hoffman, John Goodman, and Natalie Portman would, in a few moments, appear together on one stage. In the jam-packed audience, Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon conversed with Tracey Ullman, while behind them, Sigourney Weaver quietly perused the night’s program. Manhattan’s beautiful people were out as well: among those spotted were a Victoria’s Secret model, a young Paul Newman look-a-like, even a ringer for Leonardo DiCaprio.

But this was not L.A.’s Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. The path to this venue was lined, not with a red carpet, but with tents and folding chairs set on the grass. Instead of the paparazzi with their popping flashbulbs, trees surrounded the place. There was no glitz or glamour (Sarandon had her hair up in a messy ponytail, Weaver wore frumpy glasses, and neither was made-up). This was the Delacorte Theater in New York City’s Central Park, where The Joseph Papp Public Theatre/New York Shakespeare Festival was offering the hottest free ticket of the summer–a star-studded revival of Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull.

Trying to get seats for this show involved a different brand of insanity from the Oscars. For tickets to the August 21 8 p.m. performance, people had started lining up as early as 7 p.m. the previous night. (And this had been going on every single night of its month-long run, ever since the show began previewing July 24. Rumor had it that some people were paying students to line up for them at $45 an hour, or that some were scalping their tickets for an unbelievable $300!) People in line would scream in triumph as they got their tickets. Nobody cared how haggard they looked or how long they waited. They were here to watch some of the finest and/or hottest American actors perform in a three-hour, open-air Chekhov play, under the threat of rain, low-flying planes and bird poop.

This particular translation of The Seagull by Tom Stoppard was first performed in 1997 by the Peter Hall Company at The Old Vic in London. Staging it this summer in Central Park was reportedly the idea of Streep, who hadn’t performed on stage for 17 years. Then acclaimed film director Mike Nichols signed on, followed by Kline (who hadn’t worked with Streep since Sophie’s Choice). Stoppard, Nichols, Streep, Kline, et al–suddenly the Public’s summer offering of Chekhov was an event.

In contrast to all the brouhaha surrounding it, The Seagull is a quiet story. In the play, ten intertwined lives come undone at the seemingly quiet country estate of Sorin, a retired government official (played by Walken). His sister, Arkadina (Streep), is a self-absorbed, celebrated actress whiling away time with her companion, Trigorin (Kline), a weak-willed writer enslaved by his work.

Arkadina has a tumultuous relationship with her son, Konstantin (Hoffman), a depressive young writer trying to break out of her shadow as well as the rigid rules of the theater, "a narrow-minded and predictable ragbag of worn-out routines," according to Konstantin. He can’t help but return his mother’s disdain for him and his work. To add to his troubles, he is besotted with Nina (Portman), an idealistic young actress longing for fame and success, who doesn’t share his feelings. She becomes enamored of Trigorin instead, and vice versa, to Nina’s eventual detriment.

And this is just half the story. With so many love triangles and subplots, it was difficult not to think of it initially as a meandering play. But it all slowly came together. Under all the various plots lay one strong theme: when you are rooted in the pursuit of worldly success, disillusionment eventually catches up with you. In each character one could feel disappointment and regret in love, marriage, family, career, fame, money, art, even hedonism. This loss of innocence (the play’s journey from idealism to disenchantment, brokenness to learning) was epitomized in Nina, the "seagull" of the play–lured by her dreams and rudely awakened by reality.

Despite its tragic undertones, there were many laughs to be had, even in the final act. The play started out extremely light, with a voiceover by director Nichols inviting the audience to imagine themselves in Russia in 1895, "by a lake that is directly in the flight path of Smolensk Airport." Several planes did fly noisily over the open-air theater but the sound system held up well. The scenic and lighting design (by Bob Crowley and Jennifer Tipton, respectively) effectively invoked the lazy country life. Set upstage throughout the play were birches and fallen leaves. Stage right was a part of Sorin’s house, with walls made entirely of ivy and leaves so that when it was lit from within, the house glowed.

Nichols was light-handed and straightforward in his direction. His deliberate pacing was appropriate for the country setting, for the most part, but the ending suffered. The lack of a proper build-up to the climax left the denouement slightly cold. Stoppard’s translation was clear and contemporary. The characters were amusing despite their flaws and their exchanges were first-rate.

The cast was indeed magical, albeit very different in acting style. Streep proved she is a master in both film and theater. Her scenes were the best in the production. In every line and action, she made Arkadina’s intentions crystal clear (without the aid of any lengthy monologues). And in each dialogue, she projected the rich history that lay underneath that particular relationship, whether with son, brother, lover or protégé. With her total command of character, Streep proved she can do anything–even cartwheel on stage!

Kline also displayed his depth of experience in theater. He was aptly subdued as Trigorin, but though his monologues were quiet, one couldn’t help but hang on to every word. Walken lived up to his current reputation as the king of campy cool. He did a little dance, sang a little song, offered his unique wryness, and wooed the audience despite Sorin’s crotchety disposition.

As for the younger actors, Hoffman imbued Konstantin with his usual blasé persona, which worked, for the most part. But his climactic scene with Nina fell flat. Also at fault was Portman, who looked perfect for the role but never really owned Nina’s words or actions. It’s possible her admitted nervousness around the veterans distracted her. John Goodman also had a problem connecting to his lines. The lesser known actors like Robin Weigert and Larry Pine fared better against the celebrities. And former Tony-award winners Debra Monk and Stephen Spinella gave such strong performances they made you forget they weren’t Hollywood stars like the others.

So, was it worth the wait? For those who camped out, and the lucky folks in the standby line (like the author), definitely. One could see why Streep settled for a reportedly piddling salary, and why Walken might have chosen this over another Fatboy Slim video. The atmosphere was electric and triumphant–this was art and theater being celebrated–where even famous folk like Robbins and Sarandon acted like ordinary people wanting to see Chekhov. The Seagull was certainly a better draw than any of the mindless summer movies these stars could have been in.