THE CHERRY ORCHARD
Harold Pinter Theatre
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“a vital interpretation of Chekhovâs story”
When Anton Chekhovâs last play, âThe Cherry Orchardâ, was first staged in 1904, he was disappointed that the director, Konstantin Stanislavski, had presented the play as a tragedy. Chekhov had always intended it to be a comedy â almost farcical in places. Conor McPhersonâs current adaptation, directed by Ian Rickson, remains faithful to the original intention, which is a bit of a mixed blessing. Although the humour is perfectly balanced in this solid production, the emotional connection to its lead characters are somewhat sacrificed. Kristin Scott Thomas, as the commanding aristocrat Ranevskaya fallen on hard times, seems to be channelling a toned-down Edina from âAbsolutely Fabulousâ as she squanders money she doesnât have, whilst misunderstanding those trying to help her. Stephen Mangan is on comedic form as Lopakhin, who clumsily paves Ranevskayaâs road to Hell with his good intentions. We do get a sense of his frustration from his later outbursts in reaction to the constant misinterpretation of his motives but, like most of the characters, the focus is on gently mocking the elite dying out in the face of change.
Very much an ensemble piece, the two starry leads generously blend into the company that portrays an âupstairs-downstairsâ world that has been flattened into one story. The servants are becoming the masters and vice versa. The defiance shown – particularly by Noof Ousellamâs manservant Yasha and Megan Cusackâs socially mobile housemaid Dunyasha – gives the play a contemporary feel which never feels out of place on Chloe Lamfordâs shabby but opulent set. We could be in an abandoned Russian estate or a neglected stately home in Surrey. The original setting, both political and geographical, feels just as abandoned however. The regional accents cover most of the British Isles; predictably handing out the provincial ones to the serfs, unnecessarily delineating them from the othersâ RP.
Sussie Juhlin-Wallenâs costumes are equally eclectic, in a successful bid to untether the play from any period in time. Verging on the bizarre, a twenty-first century style tentatively predominates. But it is McPhersonâs text that brings the play sweepingly up to date. Rickson could have pumped a touch more energy into the cast, but the dialogue does cruise along magnificently, spluttering out occasional expletives and anachronisms that make the characters entirely relatable. Jack Riddifordâs Trofimov stands out; less the pseudo-Bolshevik revolutionary and more of a petulant but privileged perpetual student. Ousellam displays just the right amount of unpleasantness as he tries to clutch at a status his character, Yasha, cannot quite reach. Ranevskayaâs adopted daughter, Varya, burns with a fiery vitality in the hands of Vinette Robinson who dips into vulnerability while vainly waiting for Lopakhin to make his move.
There is fine attention to detail that accentuate the comedy. Shubham Sarafâs maladroit Yepikhodov often steals the scene without trying to in the slightest, lurking in the background with a guitar in hand, silently echoing the frustrations of the outspoken protagonists. Anastasia Martin is strong and world weary as the young Anya, while her Uncle Gaev (Peter Wight) is youthfully sentimental and eccentric. Karl Johnson, as the aging manservant Firs, is the surprise hit of the evening. Soaked in nostalgia but with the driest of humour, he can dish out uncomfortable home truths with a force that belies his frailty.
To call it a reimagining of âThe Cherry Orchardâ is a bit of a stretch. But it is certainly a vital interpretation of Chekhovâs story of the aristocrat returning home after a self-imposed exile in Paris, to find her very existence under threat. We never quite feel the urgency, however, partly because there isnât enough invested in the emotional fall out, and the characters seem to be dodging the importance of the upheavals in their lives. We almost feel as though itâs the end of term rather than the end of an era when the house is finally abandoned and the first of the chainsaws are heard in the orchard. But it is not without intrigue or atmosphere. Bruno Poetâs lighting creates gorgeously evocative sunsets and sunrises that stream in through the high windows. The show doesnât usher in a new dawn, but it does throw a new light on Chekhovâs ageless classic.
THE CHERRY ORCHARD
Harold Pinter Theatre
Reviewed on 12th October 2026
by Jonathan Evans
Photography by Johan Persson
