La mouette

Don't be fooled by the other positive reviews. It's shocking how so many talented people could so egregiously misunderstand Chekhov and his intentions in this play. He wrote a comedy (despite the shocking ending); a satire on artistic pretensions, artists, and those who refuse to take responsibility for their lives and actions. This film succumbs to every cliché about the gloominess and static inertia that Chekhov supposedly deals in. Despite some efforts that aren't half-bad (Mason isn't bad, but is decades too old, and Redgrave tries her best), this film never misses an opportunity to take a misstep and do exactly the wrong thing.

In a word, awful.

The cast names sounds just impressive but the basic virtue of film is the art of Sydney Lumet to explore and translate in image one of the most delicate - bitter plays by Anton Tchekov. And the solution is to propose a great Arkadina , beautiful acted by Simone Signoret, an admirable Nina , passing in fair and almost elegant manner from one of age to the other, the ideal Sorin and good answer to the expectations about Konstantin, offered, in honest - precise way by David Warner.

Chayka is not a comfortable play because all risks to become fake. But, in this case, you feel the words, the spirit and the air of this drama and it becomes easy to confess than it is just a Chekhov in spirit, like in form.

In short, an inspired adaptation and new meeting with the round fragility of a world near its fall.

Years ago I went to a production of The Cherry Orchard in which a friend of mine was appearing. Watching The Sea Gull today I was struck by the fact that once again Chekhov used a rural setting for a play with a group of characters away from the hustle and bustle of Russian urban life.

That's where it ends though. In The Cherry Orchard the group were aristocrats who were bemoaning the fact that revolutionary forces were getting a bit close to home and they might have to leave their well ordered lives for health reasons. Here they're celebrities of sort, possible aristocrats within their own set. Two of them have followings. One is James Mason a writer of some note although he freely admits he has not the acclaim of a Tolstoy. The other is Simone Signoret a noted actress of the day who also has not the acclaim of a Sarah Bernhardt or an Eleanora Duse.

Like Bernhardt, Signoret has a son in David Warner who can't find his place in the world or I should say her world because circumstances dictate he be part of it. He's hopelessly in love with the neighbor's girl Vanessa Redgrave. She in turn would like to be an actress, but more than that would like to be a groupie for James Mason whom she regards with awe. She gets her wish.

As for the celebrities there's a lot less to Mason and Signoret than meets the eye. It ends badly for the younger generation.

Years before the mid 20th Century Chekhov discovered and wrote about the cult of celebrity. The film itself has some dull spots and Sidney Lumet has done better with more modern subjects. Still the cast is great and the best accolades go to David Warner whose character revolves the story The Sea Gull.

Too long and philosophic for the modern movie viewer. Dramatic monologues that try the patience. Maybe great for Russians of Chekhov's day when people had plenty of time to look into their tea leaves. Hard to believe the talented director of the movie came up with this. overstuffed more than the sea gull in the play. I felt like a philistine writing this, but that's my reaction.

Despite it being at least thirty minutes too long and director Sidney Lumet's doing a less than stellar job of making a movie as opposed to filming a stage play (ie, even the outdoor scenes feel like they're indoors) , with annoyingly artsy fartsy, soft focus cinematography from DP Gerry Fisher, I enjoyed this film. Well, maybe "enjoyed" is not the right word when you consider that this is your typical Chekhovian misery party with your hosts Boredom, Unhappiness and Melancholy. But then again, considering the part that schadenfreude plays in these kinds of works, as in "Trigorin's and Treplev's troubles are worse than my own", maybe enjoyment is an apt description, after all, especially when served with a generous helping of black comedy and just enough hope at the end to keep it from getting stuck in your throat. And the acting is nothing less than amazingly good, especially Mason in late career, Warner and Redgrave (the "Morgan" team, reunited) in early career and Signoret in the middle. Give it a B minus.