The Seagull

"The Seagull" (2018 release; 98 min.) is the latest big screen adaptation of the Anton Chekhov theater play. As the movie opens, we are at "The Imperial Theater, Moscow, 1904", where an aging stage actress is saying her goodbyes left and right. The action then shifts to the dacha (country estate), where the actress' ailing brother is anxiously awaiting her arrival. Meanwhile the actress' son Konstantin is preparing to stage his latest play. He is assisted by a lovely young lady, and the two seem happily in love... At this point we're less than 10 min. into the movie but to tell you more of the plot would spoil your viewing experience, you'll just have to see for yourself how it all plays out.

Couple of comments: this is the latest film from director Michael Mayer, who is best known for his work on Broadway. Here he tackles what should be a natural for him: bringing a stage play onto the big screen. "The Seagull" has been made into a movie before (and a number of times at that), but I must admit that this is the first movie adaptation I have seen. All the elements are seemingly in place, none more so that a terrific ensemble cast led by Annette Bening, who seemingly only gets better as she ages, but also Saoirse Ronan, Elisabeth Moss, Brian Dennehy, and Billy Howle, just to name those. And it's certainly not the acting talent that is lacking. Bening and Ronan are simply terrific. (As an aside, Ronan and Howle are co-starring as a couple in not one but two movies currently playing at my local art-house theater here in Cincinnati: besides the Seagull, they also star in "On Chesil Beach". What are the odds of that?) Yet despite all this, "The Seagull" is simply not a great, or even good, movie. We watch these character but have no emotional investment in them. When Konstantin has yet another outburst (almost like a five year old's tantrum), we just wonder--why? When romantic relationships may or may not develop, we wonder where the spark is for that. It' a darn shame, and frankly I was relieved when the movie's end titles started rolling, as I had had more than my fill of this.

"The Seagull" was filmed exactly 3 years ago (and one can notice it when you compare Ronan in this and in "On Chesil Bech", filmed 1 1/2 yrs. after this). Why has this been sitting on the shelf for so long? One can only wonder... The movie opened this weekend at my local art-house theater here in Cincinnati, and based purely on the strong ensemble cast, I decided to check it out. The Friday early evening screening where I saw this at was attended okay but not great (about 10 people). Frankly I haven't heard single buzz about this movie, and I can't see this playing long in the theater. If you have an interest in big screen play adaptations, or are a fan of anyong in the ensemble cast, I'd suggest you check this out, be it in the theater (while you still can), on VOD, or eventually on DVD/Blu-ray, and draw your own conclusion.

Haven't seen any of the stage or screen versions of the classic Anton Chekhov play, so I have nothing to compare this film to. With its very strong cast, I did think the drama offered enough to keep me engaged throughout, although I didn't feel a powerful connection to its characters for the most part.

The interplay of the emotions and passions of its characters played out at a rather posh lakeside summer home in Russia, at the turn of the 20th century, appealed to me because I don't mind dialogue driven films and I wasn't expecting any kind of action flick. Overall, the movie is not perfect but there was enough here for me to be worth the watch.

I wish I could have taken a course on Russian Playwrights when I was in college, that way I could have some insight into Chekhov's psyche. Absent that, I will do my best with "The Seagull", one of Chekhov's most famous plays. As I said in the heading, it is about relationships, and peculiar in that everyone involved loves someone else. Without going into dizzying detail, this labyrinthine nature of the plot requires concentration, in the absence of a scorecard.

The overall mood of the play is gloom and despair, as though love casts a pall over the proceedings. It is 1904, at a Russian mountain resort. Without going into painful detail (just read the website's storyline), there are at least four unhappy couples with their hearts in pain, and the main star is Annette Bening, who gives a terrific performance as an aging actress trying to stay young. Elisabeth Moss is a name I am unfamiliar with but she was excellent as a woman desperately in love with Bening's son (Billy Howle, out of his element here), who is in love with Saoirse Ronan. I'll stop here before it becomes confusing.

All in all, the film is handsomely mounted and, as far as I can tell, faithful to the material. I wish I could have generated more feeling for the principals involved, but I grew restless waiting for an impactful scene.

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.

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.