The Cherry Orchard
Old Vic
A Skull in Connemara
Riverside
Here’s a peculiarity of Chekhov productions that tour the world. There’s never any furniture. OK, there’s some. A card table maybe, a few spindly chairs, a samovar, a hat-stand, the odd stool. Matchwood accessories. But the sturdy oaken mammoths of Victorian decor, the chests and dressers, the sideboards and book-cases, are never there. Putting the contents of a dacha into a jumbo jet and flying it around the globe makes no economic sense. So a bric-à-brac design is the preferred option, with the actors bravely attempting to suggest Russian solidity and substance while perched on milking stools and pouring wine into glasses tagged with ‘Oxfam 50p’ labels. Sam Mendes’s production has taken its vow of poverty in the ornamental splendours of the Old Vic — which heightens the contrast even further.
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