La gaviota

In 1896, the great Russian story teller, Anton Chekov, couldn't have foreseen his plays being produced through moving pictures over a century later. This classy film adaptation of The Seagull shows that not only does the master translate to the screen well, but also his works are enhanced by a roving lens that carries nuance better that any Victorian stentorian could have hoped.

Relatively-new film director Michael Mayer lyrically highlights with close-ups, quick cuts, and manipulated time the agony of unrequited love in a household where count can be lost of who loves whom, who doesn't love back. The most prominent mismatch is between aspiring and rich young actress Nina (Saoirse Ronan) and aspiring, idealistic young writer Konstantin (Billy Howell).

Their innocence is compromised by an adult world, for instance, by the acclaimed writer Trigorin (Corey Stoll), who steals her from Konstantin, who is jealous but remains doggedly devoted to her. (Ronan and Howell do their anguished young lovers bit even better in On Chesil Beach.)

And on and on as the web of lies and loss ensnares them all. Yet, an air of civility covers the entire proceedings, hallmarked by Konstantin's vain, acclaimed actress mother, Irina (Annette Bening), herself in a relationship with Trigorin. Irina stands best for Chekov's theme of the clash between classical theater and modernist imagination, exemplified by her son Konstantin's work, redolent of symbol and allegory and, oh, so self important. His outdoor play with a makeshift curtain evokes The Fantasticks with a little Midsummer Night's Dream but hardly the genius of either.

Because Irina is not impressed with Konstantin's creativity, her young writer son is filled with despair. Everyone else seems to be able to go on, albeit with cascading tears and gloomy resignation.

Although this drama may be dark, and Chekov is not known, after all, for his hilarity, witnessing it is a pleasant theatrical experience because we are all so darn fascinating when we become fools for love. Beyond that, the acting is some of the best you will see in cinema all year-even if it is grounded in 19th_ century Russian theater. Chekov lives on.

For one reason or another Humanitarian writer Dr, Anton Chekov's classic tale is once again brought to the screen with American glamour and Chekov's analytical musings. Bronx born Saoirse Ronan (Brooklyn '15) turns in yet another stellar performance as the star-struck starlet, falling for an older, popular but ultimately shallow writer and following him into obscurity. Billy Howle (Dunkirk '17) gets a chance to equal her as the youthful playwright who loves and mentors her - hoping she will bring the necessary youthful angst to his yet to be appreciated plays. Annette Bening is fine as his devoted but superficially taunting mother.

As with Sidney Lumet's co-production from the late 60s, Michael Meyer's new version brings Chekov's characters to life within a pleasing screen adaption - offering gorgeous locations, sumptuous cinematography, costumes, performances and music. It's good to know that modern Hollywood remains happy to remake classics for those audiences searching for rich dialogue and characterisations. Most won't be disappointed with this treatment, although it's never going to be possible to please some purists or the non-thinking action buffs and at 98mins, it doesn't outstay its welcome Thoughtful brain food.

I thought of that line from Sunset Boulevard several times this afternoon as I sat, the only person in the theater for a 2:50 matinee, watching this *Seagull*. Not that the script, based on Chekhov's play of the same name, was negligible. To the contrary. It was well delivered by a cast who, for the most part, knew how to do so with telling effect.

But what struck me, over and over, were all the close-ups of the faces. Wonderful faces, characterful faces, belonging to actors young and older who never knew the silent screen era and yet know how to act just with their faces. Faces often perfectly lit, so that we saw the fresh beauty of the young - Saoirse Ronan, as Nina, out on the lake with Boris Trigorin and elsewhere in the early parts of the movie - and the cruel wrinkles and crowsfeet of those to whom time has not always been kind (Annette Bening, as the aging actress Irina, who delivered her dialogue wonderfully, but did so much more with her face alone when she considered, at the odd moment, that she might in fact no longer look appealing to her younger lover, Trigorin). If you like to watch actors act with their faces, as Norma Desmond and her generation knew how to do, you will find this movie a feast for the eyes.

But it is also beautifully filmed. The exteriors were evidently shot up in northern New York State, and they are like landscape paintings. The interiors, with period costumes, are wonderfully shot as well.

But it is the performances that you will remember. In addition to those already mentioned, Brian Dennehy, now 80 years old, is winning as the aging Sorin. Billy Howle does a fine job with the young playwright Konstantin, so convinced that he sees a new way to do theater and yet so very wrong. I was less captivated by the Doctor and Boris Trigorin. Elisabeth Moss had a difficult assignment, because Masha is such an unsympathetic character, particularly self-centered in a story about self-centered people.

Another thing that struck me repeatedly as I watched this movie was how cruel most of the characters are to each other, in their own very decorous ways, mostly because they are so wrapped up in themselves that they do not consider those around them. Well before Antonin Artaud and Jean Genet, *The Seagull* is definitely an example of the theater of cruelty.

Because this was released in the summer, it will, I suppose, be forgotten by Oscar time. More's the pity. There is a lot of very good work here, in the acting, the lighting, the cinematography and the direction. This is definitely a movie that could be savored more than once.

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I subsequently reread the play, in Laurence Senelick's 2006 translation. I was surprised to see how much of the script is taken verbatim from that. The person who did the fine screen adaptation removed references to things that contemporary audiences would not know, shifted locales for certain episodes to produce the sort of visual variety you can't have in a play but need in a modern movie, and trimmed back certain passages so that subsequent events, such as Nina's appearance at the estate near the end of the movie, come as more of a surprise. Other than that, this movie is a remarkably faithful transfer to the screen of Chehkov's play.

Of the 3 Saoirse Ronan movies released this year, this was the one I was most intrigued by. Not necessarily by the story, that would probably be Mary Queen of Scots. But I was fascinated as to why this film sat on the shelf for nearly 3 years as Ronan received Oscar nominations for both Brooklyn and Lady Bird in the meantime. For whatever reason and through various production delays, it took years to bring the English speaking adaptation of the Anton Chekhov play to the big screen. I'm not typically a fan of these types of films, ones that prioritize proper dialogue and melodramatic scenes to chew up the screen time. However, I do appreciate when a modernization is attempted to bring more eyes to famous source material in a universal way. Ronan and fellow 'On Chesil Beach' screenmate, Billy Howle, play very well off each other. And much like that film, there's a certain heft to their relationship, as well as the other various people involved in love triangles. Does the film come together as much as the individual performances do? Not particularly. It's a serviceable adaptation that will unfortunately be soon forgotten, much like the other 2 Ronan 2018 films.

5.8/10

This film tells the story of an entangled web of loving feelings in an estate in 19th Century Russia.

I really like the two leading actresses, but they still are unable to save the film from being incredibly slow and dull. I really wanted to like it, but I was bored out of my mind.