The Cherry
Orchard
by Anton Chekhov
in a version by Andrew Upton
Background pack
The National's production
2
Synopsis Anton Chekhov
3
Andrew Upton's version
8
Howard Davies interview 9
The influence of Stanislavski
13
7
Photo (Zoë Wanamaker) © Jim Naughten
Further production detailsls:
nationaltheatre.org.uk
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published by and copyright
The Royal National Theatre
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Views expressed in this
workpack are not necessarily
those of the National Theatre
Director
Howard Davies
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Workpack writer
James Bounds
Editor
Ben Clare
Rehearsal and production
photographs
Catherine Ashmore
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1
The National’s production
This production of The Cherry Orchard opened
in the National’s Olivier Theatre on 17 May 2011
Characters
in order of speaking
Lopakhin, a merchant
Dunyasha, a maid
Yepihodov, the estate manager
Anya, Ranyevskaya’s daughter
Ranyevskaya, a landowner
Varya, her adopted daughter
Gaev, her brother
Charlotta, a performer
Simyonov-Pishchik, a landowner
Yasha, a manservant
Firs, the butler
Petya Trofimov, a tutor
A Passer-by
The Station Master
Ensemble
Director
Designer
Lighting Designer
Music
Sound Designer
Choreographer
Fight Director
Magic Consultant
Company Voice Work
Staff Director
Conleth Hill
Emily Taaffe
Pip Carter
Charity Wakefield
Zoë Wanamaker
Claudie Blakley
James Laurenson
Sarah Woodward
Tim McMullan
Gerald Kyd
Kenneth Cranham
Mark Bonnar
Craige Els
Paul Dodds
Mark Fleischmann
Colin Haigh
Jessica Regan
Tim Samuels
Stephanie Thomas
Joseph Thompson
Rosie Thomson
Ellie Turner
Howard Davies
Bunny Christie
Neil Austin
Dominic Muldowney
Paul Groothuis
Lynne Page
TERRY KING
Simon Evans
Jeannette Nelson
James bounds
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2
Synopsis
ACT ONE
It’s 2am. Lopakhin had been waiting up for Ranyevskaya
and her family to return, but had fallen asleep. He
remembers when he was younger and she attended to
an injury he had from a beating from his father. She said
“Don’t be sad little peasant.” He points out to Dunyasha,
the maid, that he’s not a peasant anymore, although if
someone took away his money he’d be one again. He
tries to read books but they don’t make sense to him.
Dunyasha feels faint. Lopakhin puts her in her place:
“Ladies faint. It’s not for you to go fainting.”
Yepihodov arrives with flowers for Dunyasha. She
assumes they are for her, but he tells her they are from
the gardener for the dining room. He complains of his
new shoes, which squeak as he walks. When he’s gone,
Dunyasha tells Lopakhin that Yepihodov is “madly in
love” with her. She thinks he’s a good man but the others
call him “bozo” behind his back.
RANYEVSKAYA arrives with her brother GAEV, daughter
ANYA, PISHCHIK and CHARLOTTA. She is overwhelmed
and pleased to be back in the home where she grew
up. Dunyasha immediately tells Anya that Yepihodov
has proposed to her and asks what she should do, but
Anya is too distracted to listen. VARYA, Ranyevskaya’s
adopted daughter, has “been praying every day” and
is pleased to see Anya again. She has kept the house
exactly as the family left it. Anya tells her that when they
went to Paris they found Ranyevskaya living in just a
few rooms, virtually penniless. But her mother seems
to be just ignoring the problem and still ordering the
most expensive things. She has also returned with her
manservant YASHA. Anya asks Varya if Lopakhin has
proposed to her yet. “Nothing will come of it. He’s a very
busy man and really he doesn’t pay me a single minute.”
Varya says that it would be good if they could get Anya
married off to someone wealthy, pay off Ranyevskaya’s
debts, then she would be able to travel. Anya is
oblivious to this as she has drifted off to her room.
Dunyasha flirts with Yasha, who picks her up, causing
her to drop a saucer. Anya tells Varya that she
understands why Ranyevskaya left for Paris – she
couldn’t have stayed after her son Grisha drowned.
FIRS, the butler, reprimands Dunyasha. “My mistress
has returned,” he says “Well, well, well and I can die
easy.”
Gaev reminds Ranyevskaya of when they used to
sleep in the room when it was the nursery. She loves
her home. “I want to jump up and down and wave my
arms about.” Lopakhin tells Ranyevskaya that despite
his father and grandfather being serfs on the estate,
“I choose to forget everything. I look at you and love
you like… not a relation. Like… something more.” He
reminds her that if she cannot pay her debts the cherry
orchard on her estate will go up for auction on 22
August. He suggests that, as they are well positioned
(close to the only major railway junction between St
Petersburg and Moscow), they should sub-divide the
estate and make holiday homes. Life for labourers and
tradesmen is changing: more and more people now
have leisure time and want to go on holiday. “The perfect
spot is the river here… fishing, sailing, swimming.” To
achieve this however, they would have to chop down the
cherry orchard. Ranyevskaya is appalled – it is the only
thing around of any significance. Lopakhin says that the
land is not productive; the cherries useless. He suggests
if they don’t like his proposal, they try and come up with
a better plan, but he can’t see another way out. Varya
gives Ranyevskaya two telegrams that had arrived from
Paris. She tears them up. Gaev makes a sentimental
speech to the bookcase and all the life it has seen.
Yasha gives Ranyevskaya her tablets. Pishchik steals
them from her hand and swallows them himself. “They
do neither good nor bad.” When Lopakhin has gone,
Pishchik tries to ask Ranyevskaya for a loan of 200
roubles to pay off the interest on his mortgage. Varya
tells him they have no money. Ranyevskaya is forced
to agree. She says how beautiful the cherry orchard is
in bloom. Every year it shakes off all the blossom and
starts again. She’d do anything to do the same with her
life. Ranyevskaya sees the ghost of her mother among
the trees.
TROFIMOV arrives. He was asked not to come
until morning, but couldn’t wait. He was tutor to
Raynevskaya’s son Grisha, so she is once again
reminded of the pointless death of her son. She tells
Trofimov that he still dresses like a student “but your
hair has thinned and your glasses have thickened.
He says he is “The eternal student. The wandering
student.” He leaves and Pishchik once again asks for
Ranyevskaya (Zoë Wanamaker) , Claudie Blakley (Varya) and
Firs (Kenneth Cranham)
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3
Synopsis (continued)
money, this time in French to try and avoid the others
understanding. Yasha refuses to see his mother
who has been waiting for his arrival all afternoon in
the kitchen. Varya tells Gaev she can’t believe how
Ranyevskaya is so easily manipulated for money. Gaev
wishes they could get an inheritance or marry Anya
off to a rich man. She wonders if her wealthy Aunt
would help them. He tells Varya that he loves his sister
very much but “you have to see the leopard for her
spots. She is easy… she is loose.” Varya silences him
when Anya appears. Anya tells Gaev he should think
before he speaks. He has heard that you can obtain
a promissory note from a bank to pay off the interest
from the first bank. He suggests it could probably
go on forever. If not, he thinks Lopakhin will lend
Ranyevskaya the money, but “I will never let the estate
go to auction”, and he goes to bed.
Varya tells Anya that the servants have been offering
passers-by a place to sleep, and charging them for the
privilege. When she found out this was going on she
decided she had to stop them. Anya is falling asleep.
Varya takes her up to bed. Trofimov has been just
outside watching Anya. “My sunshine,” he says. “My
spring.”
ACT TWO
A late summer afternoon outdoors. Charlotta tells
Yasha and Dunyasha that she doesn’t know where
she’s from or how old she is. She travelled around with
her parents doing tumbling and juggling. When her
parents died, she was brought up by a German lady
who taught her to read and write. “I know nothing…
I have no-one”. Yepihodov plays a guitar. He sings a
song, badly. Dunyasha says how amazing it is that
Yasha’s been abroad. Yepihodov says that despite a
good education he doesn’t know where he’s heading
in life, so he keeps a revolver on him. Before leaving,
Charlotta tells him he is “a remarkably intelligent and
profoundly tormented man,” and advises him not to
be too philosophical. He tells Dunyasha that the world
is against him and asks to speak to her in private. She
asks him to go and fetch her cloak. He sees this as a
ploy to leave her and Yasha alone. “This is why I keep
my revolver handy,” he says before leaving.
they are “so un-business minded”. The orchard
will have to be sold to repay their loan. He’s had
to tell them numerous times that the only solution
is to sell off the land and subdivide it for holiday
homes. Ranyevskaya says it’s “the ugliest thing
I’ve heard”. She thinks they will find another plan.
Lopakhin wonders what other solution there could
be. Ranyevskaya says “we’ve sinned far too much”.
Men she has been with have expensive habits and
have got her into debt. She admits she ran away to
Paris after her son Grisha was drowned rather than
face up to the tragedy. She tried to poison herself
there. Now she begs God not to punish her further.
A band plays in the distance. Lopakhin says he
never finished school and can barely read and write.
“I look like an oaf. An idiot. Like my father – a pig. All
this money and what has it got me?” Ranyevskaya
says he needs a wife and suggests Varya, who she
knows loves him. He says “maybe”. Gaev says
he’s been offered a job at the bank. Ranyevskaya
says “you’ll stay right here with me”. Firs tells her
that her father offered him his freedom, but he had
become head butler by that point and stayed on.
He remembers a time of “Serfs standing by their
masters and the masters looking after the Serfs. But
now it’s all back to front and upside down.”
Dunyasha tells Yasha “I’m very sensitive. Lopakhin
said I was more like a lady than a maid.” He tells
her she must respect herself. When she says she
has fallen in love with him, Yasha says that in Paris
“the sophisticated young ladies know that true love
demands immorality.” When they hear the others
coming, Yasha tells Dunyasha to go home; he doesn’t
want them to be seen together.
Lopakhin tells Ranyevskaya that time is pressing to
sell the cherry orchard. She says that her wallet is
like “an open wound”. Lopakhin tells her and Gaev
Ranyevskaya (Zoë Wanamaker) and Lopahkin (Conleth Hill)
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4
Synopsis (continued)
Anya and Varya return and Ranyevskaya says how
much she loves them. Trofimov calls Lopakhin “a
predator… If you were to disappear there’d be
another just like you snapping at our heels… better
the devil you know”. He thinks that pride has got
in the way of people acknowledging their failings.
He believes people philosophise too much; instead
they should work hard – “everything that seems
unthinkable, impossible, incredible will one day
be realised… we will break bread on the graves of
our oppressors”. Lopakhin thinks he understands
Trofimov, telling him he works long hours: “I am
driven to it. It’s a need I feel to keep expanding.”
He says that people who make the big money are
“shysters… terrible people”, but in a growing world
everyone has to expand.
The sun has set. There is an odd sound in the
distance: “maybe a long way off a mine cable
broke,” Lopakhin thinks. Gaev and Trofimov wonder
if it’s a bird. A PASSER-BY asks the way to the
station, then begs for money: “Spare a little for a
veteran ma’am. Two wars for the motherland and
only dead brothers to show for it.” Lopakhin tries to
shoo him away but he doesn’t move. Ranyevskaya
gives him all the money she has on her to make him
go away. Varya can’t believe she gave it to him, so
Ranyevskaya tells her she should keep the purse,
then asks Lopakhin for more money. He obliges
and she tells Varya “we’ve got you a fiancée”. “To
a nunnery. Ophelia be off” Lopakhin jokes. As they
leave he reminds them that the cherry orchard will
be sold on 22 August.
Anya and Tromifimov are left alone. She says Varya
is worried that he will steal her away. Trofimov
says the two of them “understand there is more
to life than love”. She says he has made her think
differently about the cherry orchard. He tells her that
it represents the suffering that has occurred across
Russia. He thinks Russia is two hundred years
behind and they must live in the present and “pay
back our debt to the past”. Anya says she realises
that her attachment to the house is connected to her
childhood and she promises she will leave with him.
He predicts the future will be good and “it’s up to us
to be there”. They leave to go and walk to the river.
Varya comes out, calling for Anya.
ACT THREE
Music plays and the room fills with people dancing.
Pishchik tells Trofimov he loves to dance, but now
all he can think about is money; “I might as well
forge money, the amount I owe beggars belief”.
Ranyevskaya is waiting for Gaev to return from
the auction of the cherry orchard. Charlotta does
magic tricks. Varya tries to reassure Ranyevskaya
that Gaev has a written authorisation from their
aunt to help buy the estate, but it is barely enough.
Ranyevskaya asks Varya why she is hesitating
about marrying Lopakhin. Varya says it’s not so
straightforward: “I can’t propose to him” and she
feels she can’t wait around.
Trofimov tells Ranyevskaya she is at a crossroads
whether the estate is sold or not. She must move
on and face the truth. “You can be brave about the
future because you have no real idea about how
disappointing and confusing it will be.” she tells him.
“Without the cherry orchard I don’t understand the
meaning of life. If it can be sold, am I sold too?” She
reminds him her son died here and that he should
think before he speaks. She says she would be
happy for him to marry Anya, but he should finish
studying and improve his appearance. She explains
that the telegrams she’s been receiving are from
the man she loves and left in Paris. He’s ill and is “a
stone round my neck, taking me to the bottom… I
cannot live without him.” Trofimov tells Ranyevskaya
that this man is using her. She tells Trofimov he
should “become a man” and learn what love is.
She taunts him for being a virgin at nearly thirty. He
storms out, as she begs him to come back.
The STATION MASTER recites from Tolstoy,
about a man who sinned all his life then begged
forgiveness on his deathbed. Firs tells Yasha: “In
the old days it seemed that our balls were attended
by Generals, Barons, Admirals. Now we are lucky
to get the postal clerk and the station master.” He
says he’s been feeling ill. Anya says she’s heard in
the kitchen that the cherry orchard has been sold,
but she doesn’t know who to. The suspense gets
to Ranyevskaya. She asks Firs what he will do if the
estate is sold. He says he’ll go “wherever I’m told.
The end of the earth if you want.”
Yasha asks Ranyevskaya how she puts up with the
lies people try and tell her; he thinks she’s far more
sophisticated than this place. He thinks the people
around her are “ignorant, stupid, boring, immoral”.
He tells her that if she goes back to Paris without
him he “will die”. He begs her to take him with her.
Pishchik rushes her off to dance before she has the
chance to respond.
Dunyasha makes a point of saying how nice the
Assistant Postmaster was to her in front of Yasha.
Yepihodov, downhearted, calls himself “a squashed
bug… suffering the whips and batters of unguarded
fortune.” Dunyasha doesn’t want to speak to him.
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5
Synopsis (continued)
Varya berates him for breaking a billiard cue. She asks
him “What do you actually do here?” and tells him to
get out. Lopakhin, coming through the door, receives
the blow she means for Yepihodov. He and Gaev are
back late because they missed the train. Everyone
is desperate to know the outcome of the auction.
Lopakhin has bought the cherry orchard. Varya throws
the keys at him. He says his father would never have
believed it. He orders the band to play and says the
cherry orchard is to be chopped down. He is going to
build holiday villas on the land: “a new way of life”. He
asks Ranyevskaya why she didn’t agree before and
announces himself as “master of the house”.
Anya tries to make Ranyevskaya realise the cherry
orchard’s going has set her free.
Anya reassures Ranyevskaya that Firs will be fine in
the hospital. Ranyevskaya tells Lopakhin he should
ask Varya to marry him. He agrees and they leave him
alone with Varya. She is going to become the manager
of a household seventy or eighty miles north. Lopakhin
is going south, to Harkov. They are interrupted, the
opportunity of a proposal dashed. Lopakhin confirms
the house will stay empty and locked up until spring,
when they are gone. They say goodbye to their home.
Left alone, Ranyevskaya says to Gaev: “It’s finished…
my life… my youth. Our youth and happiness.”
Everyone leaves, the doors are locked and bolted.
Firs appears, and realises they’ve forgotten about him.
“Life has passed then. As if I never lived.” The sound
of axes chopping down the cherry orchard. He dies.
ACT FOUR
The house is packed up. Lopakhin has brought a
bottle of champagne to say farewell. In only twenty
minutes they must leave to get the train. Trofimov
tells Lopakhin: “We’ll be gone in half an hour and you
can get onto your great vision.” He thinks Lophakin is
purely interested in making money and not in creating
new communities as he suggests, but beneath it all
he believes “there’s something sensitive and gentle
in your soul”. Trofimov will go to Moscow. Lopakhin
offers him some money. “If a man doesn’t have
money… I don’t think they’ve failed, necessarily. I’m a
peasant. I’m from nowhere.” Trofimov refuses to take
his money.
The sound of an axe striking a tree. Lopakhin says that
Gaev has a job in the bank, but thinks he’ll be too lazy
to stick at it. Anya asks Lopakhin not to start chopping
down the orchard until they’ve gone. He agrees. Anya
asks Yasha if Firs has been sent to the hospital. “As
far as I know”, he says. Dunyasha asks Yasha to “at
least look at me. You’re leaving – abandoning me.”
She doesn’t know how she’ll survive and asks him to
write to her from Paris. “Have a bit of dignity” he says,
dismissing her.
Ranyevskaya asks Anya if she’s happy. “It’s a great
chance… a new life” she replies. Ranyevskaya says
she will go to Paris for a while, but will bring back
her lover to live in Russia. Anya says she will do her
exams, and get a job and a house. Charlotta begs
them for a place to live. Lopakhin says he’ll find
somewhere. Pishchik repays a significant amount
of the money he owes Lopakhin; the rest he gives
to Ranyevskaya. He has become lucky: some
Englishmen have found valuable white clay on his
estate. He’s saddened when he realises they are
leaving.
Lopahkin (Conleth Hill), Ranyevskaya (Zoë Wanamaker) and
Simyonov-Pishchik (Tim McMullan)
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6
Anton Chekhov (1860 - 1904)
1860
17 January: Anton Pavlovich Chekhov is
born in Taganrog, Southern Russia, one of
six children of a grocer, and grandson of a
former serf.
1869-79
Attends Taganrog High School.
1879-92
Lives in Moscow.
1880-81
Writes Platonov. It is not published or
performed in his lifetime.
1884
Obtains his medical degree at Moscow
University.
1886
His first volume of short stories is
published.
1887
15 November: his first play to be staged,
Ivanov, is premiered in Moscow
1888 By now he is contributing stories to
literary monthlies and is accepted as a
major author.
1889
The Wood Demon, an early version of
Uncle Vanya, staged in Moscow.
1890
Visits, for three months, the penal
settlement on the island of Sakhalin,
beyond eastern Siberia. Returns
by sea via Hong Kong and Ceylon.
1892
Buys an estate near the village of
Melikhovo, south of Moscow, and lives
there until 1898: his greatest period of
creativity as a short-story writer. While
at Melikhovo, he acts as district medical
administrator, successfully organises
campaign against cholera, and helps
finance new local schools.
1896
17 October: disastrous premiere of The
Seagull in St Petersburg.
1898
Moves to the Crimean resort of Yalta
for his health, having suffered from
tuberculosis for some years. First sees
Olga Knipper, playing Irina in the Moscow
Art Theatre’s very successful revival of The
Seagull.
1899
Works for famine relief in the central
Volga region, and in Yalta, sets up a
sanatorium for ‘the needy suffering from
consumption’.
26 October: premiere of Uncle Vanya at
the Moscow Art Theatre.
1901
31 January: premiere of Three Sisters at
the Moscow Art Theatre.
25 May: marries Olga Knipper.
1904
17 January: First performance of
The Cherry Orchard on Chekhov’s
44th birthday, with Olga Knipper as
Ranyevskaya. 2 July: Chekhov dies on a visit to the
German spa, Badenweiler.
Chekhov also wrote ten short plays, of
which The Bear (1888), The Proposal
(1888-9) and The Wedding (1889-90) are
the best known.
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7
Andrew Upton's version
Our version of the script has been
adapted, from a literal translation, by
Andrew Upton. The adaptation is a little
freer than some other versions and
Andrew has made a conscious decision
to make use of a few contemporary
phrases and words. This makes the
language accessible and also flags
up occasional resonances between
early twentieth-century Russia and
contemporary Britain. Simultaneously
the adaptation successfully eschews
the rather 'dainty' or poeticised tone
than many translations and adaptations
of Chekhov succumb to, which usually
has the unfortunate (and unintended)
effect of making Chekhov's plays
sound as though they're set in Victorian
Britain.
Anton Chekhov
By avoiding language which is rarefied
or artificially poetic, Andrew Upton has
written dialogue that both captures the
essence of realistic conversation and
genuinely connects spoken words to
the thoughts of the characters. Chekhov
was innovative in trying to capture
psychological realism in his characters,
so it seems apt and appropriate that this
adaptation pursues that same intention.
Andrew also has a thorough and fierce
understanding of the passionate and
vigorous Russian psyche, and his
adaptation works to create a spoken
language and idiom for the characters
that places the world of the play squarely
in early twentieth-century rural Russia.
Andrew Upton
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8
Howard Davies interview
Staff director James Bounds speaks
to the director of The Cherry Orchard,
Howard Davies.
You've directed quite a few plays set
in this period of Russian history. What
is it about this period of history that so
excites you as a director?
I think it's about change. It's about a
society going through immense change.
That seems to be what's going on in
Britain under the coalition government;
we're going through this massive
ideological change where the social
fabric of the country is being reorganised,
in my opinion to the worse. And to try
to find something that chimed with our
current sensibilities, I looked to Russia at
the end of the nineteenth century when
it was undergoing massive upheaval.
Russia was trying to catch up with the
industrialisation that had happened in
the western world – Europe and America
– and was trying to come to terms with
this new commerce and commercialism
and industry, while simultaneously trying
to reconcile itself with the fact that it was
still living in a system of cultural belief in
and cultural reference to the Tsar, and a
view that authority came from one person
and one person alone. So in other words
there was no democracy in Russia at the
time, although it was trying to modernise
itself. It was starting to fracture and change
and alter in a way that made the society
very uneasy with itself, with authority, and
very aware of its newly discovered needs,
which were, I suppose, a wishing to grow
up and inherit a new world in a way that is
articulate and self-determined. So this is a
period that fascinates me, and when I look
for plays that mean something to me, and
hopefully mean something to the audience,
I think there's a certain correlation between
Russia at the end of the nineteenth century
and the difficult times we're going through
at the moment. The last Russian play you directed here
was The White Guard. What are the
connections, do you think, between The
White Guard and The Cherry Orchard? They're both Russian, but Bulgakov is
a very, very different kind of writer. He's
writing in the Soviet period and, not being
of that persuasion himself, he's trying to
write what is essentially an anti-war play
about a group of young people trying to
inherit a world order which they don't
necessarily belong to and don't necessarily
agree with. So there is a similarity, although
Bulgakov writes with a sense of very
obvious absurdism. A lot of people talk
about Bulgakov being a 'magic realist', and
in fact in The White Guard he really does
write about something which is daft and
crazy – the rules are no longer meaningful
to that group of students, and they find
themselves trapped in a very cruel farce.
They lose somebody that they regard
highly (the senior brother in the family),
Howard Davies with designer Bunny Christie
© Clare Parker
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9
Howard Davies interview (continued)
one of them goes completely loopy and
gets seriously damaged, and the society
around them gets destroyed so that they
end up inheriting an emotional and social
wasteland. That sense of comic cruelty
runs through his work, whereas I think
there's something gentler and much
more ironic and laconic about the way
that Chekhov writes about people going
through a seismic change. The Cherry Orchard is the most
performed of Chekhov's plays. Why do
you think that is?
I can only imagine it's because it's
the most obviously political of his
plays. It doesn't sit itself down inside
a small house and deal with people's
relationships only; it deals with a much
bigger issue which is to do with the fact
that the world in which they're living is
up for grabs – in this case the very estate
on which they're living is up for auction.
In other words unless the family come
to terms with the new world order and
get themselves more financially adroit,
or acquire a certain financial acumen,
their lives will be literally up for sale. They
will literally be bought and discarded,
which is actually what happens. I think
that political strand, that social strand, is
much stronger than in his other works,
and probably appeals to an English
sensibility more strongly than the more
personal plays that he wrote. Do you think that The Cherry
Orchard is perhaps a harder play for
a contemporary British audience to
understand?
As it is so much about a changing
political and social world, an audience
might not necessarily come to the play
with the amount of factual information
about that period of Russian history that
they might need to appreciate the play
fully. No, I think that the point of entry
to other Chekhov plays is through a
character that you like or empathise with,
or find fascinating. Now, there are big
juicy characters in this play but they're
complex. Ranyevskaya for example
is clearly a social magnet, everyone
behaves like attracted iron filings around
her, including the audience, but she's
also deeply irresponsible. Everybody's
conflicted in that way. Lopakhin is an
energetic and extraordinary character –
yes, he is something of a victim of the
social order that used to exist in Russia,
but he's also ambitious and ruthless.
When he buys up the estate at the end
he's going to destroy it; he's going to tear
it down and just pull it to bits. He sees
it as being obsolete and of having no
particular value. So I think that we don't
need to know the social background
to the play. In the same way that when
doing The White Guard, which is set in a
civil war after a revolution – well, who on
earth in the audience, or for that matter
in the cast, or me, knew anything about
it? In my case I addressed the play and
thought about it and read about it. But
the audience came not knowing a thing
and still managed to appreciate the world
of a family in crisis living in hostile times,
and I think there's the same to be said
Varya (Claudie Blakley), Gaev (James Laurenson), Anya (Charity Wakefield),
Firs (Kenneth Cranham) © Catherine Ashmore
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Howard Davies interview (continued)
of this play. You and I know – and the cast
know – the social background of what
was going in Russia at the time, about the
emancipation of the serfs, the fact that the
landed gentry had lost their labour force as
a result of this emancipation and therefore
were impoverished; we know that there
were huge famines at the time (a bit like
the state of farming in Zimbabwe now,
which is a disaster) and causing terrible
hardship. Likewise we know that the failure
of the Tsar to address any of the current
problems (again like Zimbabwe) resulted
in increasing poverty and social unrest. All
those things we know about in some detail.
But I think the audience have a kind of
residual memory that there were problems
in Russia at the end of the nineteenth
century. People coming to the National
Theatre will probably have some sort of
hazy sense that this is a troubled time.
And the play doesn't specify in any great
detail the social history of the immediate
previous ten years, though it does refer to
it in a way that makes it accessible to the
audience. I think it works. I don't think we
need to know, nor do the audience need to
know, the social and political background
in great detail. As long as we have an
understanding that this is a changing
time in Russian society I think that this is
sufficient for us to be able to grab hold of
the play and understand it. Can you comment on the role of
Trofimov in the play?
Well there are two characters who don’t
really belong to the family or the extended
family: Lopakhin and Trofimov. And it is
with incredible prescience that Chekhov
creates these two characters, who both
express a very strong attitude about what
the future will hold. In Lopakhin’s case
he’s clearly a capitalist; he’s one of the
new men with new money. For him, it’s
about providing cheap homes – leisure
and holiday places for a new working
class who will need to be paid better and
who will need holidays. So his vision is
of benevolent capitalism. And Trofimov
comes at it from a completely different
point of view which is that he's very much
representative of the students of that time,
who were all very left wing – well, left wing
to the point that they espoused Marxist
doctrine and were determined to pursue
agitation and revolution. In Russia at that
time, if you said anyone was a student
it would be clear that they would be left
wing; there was no such thing as a right
wing student. And Chekhov manages
to put on stage these two characters.
Trofimov is talking about the new world
Ranyevskaya (Zoë Wanamaker) and Trofimov (Mark Bonnar)
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Howard Davies interview (continued)
order that will come. Indeed we know
with hindsight that the new world order
as Trofimov spells it out would be
attempted by the Russian revolution and
what followed; the Stalinist approach to
society and the social engineering that
came about from that. And in fact we
know now that that failed. But at the time,
those idealistic young students believed
that that was the new world order, that
the dawn was coming, and Chekhov
puts Trofimov onstage, sets him against
Lopakhin, the new benevolent capitalist,
and the family are caught between these
two rival arguments. I think it’s brilliant
that Chekhov had that foresight to see
that this was the debate that would
occupy the spirit of the intelligentsia of
Russia for the next fifty or more years. new. And the chaotic nature of what goes
on in this particular play is, I feel, very
similar to the music of the time (by which
I mean the discovery of atonal structures);
it's the same as Impressionism; it's the
same as the then new ability to use a
camera to capture a snapshot. And there
is something about the way that he frames
the play where people drift in, drift out –
you get snatches of their lives – and you
know that their lives continue when they're
out of sight and out of hearing, but there is
this sense that what you're watching does
not have a linear progressive narrative in
the way that nineteenth century dramatists
would have attempted. It doesn't have that
Wagnerian through line; it's not composed
in that way. He's absolutely espousing
the idea that things are chaotic, formless,
orderless, and accidental.
Can you talk about what it is about the
play's form that excites you?
Well, the form of the play is epic. I find
this play very big. There's a prodigal
mother who returns at the beginning of
the play – there's a big party atmosphere
about her return, and yet we know there's
something wrong, that there is a problem
about the debts that these people have
and about the money that needs to be
paid. The house is under auction. And
from then on in, the reckless behaviour
of Ranyevskaya and her brother as
they career blindly towards economic
disaster has a kind of mad roller-coaster
feeling to it; it does feel like something
which is slightly out of control, so that
the form of the play, as opposed to a
“well made play”, feels raw and I think
slightly inchoate. And I like it because
it feels like a modern play; it feels like
a twentieth-century play rather than a
nineteenth-century piece of classicism. It
feels like something that has the atonality
and the dissonance of something that is
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The influence of Stanislavski
Stanislavski directed the first
production of The Cherry Orchard in
1904. Chekhov's interest in creating
psychologically rounded and nuanced
characters, and Stanislavski's interest
in ensuring that the performances of
his actors were as emotionally truthful
as possible, meant that the two artists
were natural creative bedfellows.
Stanislavski's students introduced his
philosophy and ideas about acting to
the American theatre scene, and today
the world-wide influence of Stanislavski,
in terms of what we think of as ‘good’
and ‘truthful’ acting, as well as how
actors ‘create’ a character, is huge.
In 2011, when we at the National
Theatre are rehearsing The Cherry
Orchard, many of the things that we are
trying to achieve in the performances
of the actors, and the production as a
whole, are no doubt not dissimilar to
what Stanislavski was trying to achieve
over a hundred years ago when he
directed the first production of the play.
And yet he would almost certainly not
recognise our rehearsal process as
being directly influenced by his ideas,
and we certainly made no reference
or gesture to Stanislavski during our
rehearsals.
practice. Many of them contradict
each other, but acting is not a precise
science, and so what works for one
person may not work for another.
We also asked them to write about
‘the Method’. Method acting was first
made popular in America by the Group
Theatre in New York City in the 1930s
and was subsequently advanced by
Lee Strasberg at the Actors Studio from
the 1940s until his death in 1982. It
was derived from the ‘System’ created
by Stanislavski, who pioneered similar
ideas in his quest for “theatrical truth.”
The lineage that goes from the System
through to the Method has been hugely
influential in forming contemporary
understanding of what makes for
naturalistic acting.
And so how does the influence
of Stanislavski manifest itself in
the working practices of theatre
professionals working today? Well, in
diverse and subtle ways, which vary
from project to project, and from artist
to artist. So in this section, a number
of different theatre professionals,
experienced and emerging, traditional
and avant-garde, outline the impact
that Stanislavski has on their working
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The influence of Stanislavski (continued)
The Cherry Orchard: four
actors and the director
We start by speaking to four actors who
are currently appearing in the National
Theatre’s production of The Cherry
Orchard: Zoë Wanamaker, Mark Bonnar,
Sarah Woodward and Kenneth Cranham,
and the director, Howard Davies.
Zoë Wanamaker is playing Ranveyskaya:
“I'm fascinated by Stanislavski because
I've never done it. I've never been
schooled in it and I've never been trained
in it, I've only picked up bits and pieces
from opening his books when I was quite
young. I don't have ‘a Method’ and I
love it when a strong director is detailed
with the work he does with you, because
that helps focus me. I recently played
Paula Strasberg [Lee Strasberg's wife] in
a film, and I did some research into the
Strasberg method, but unfortunately that
wasn't very helpful because I realised
that to learn his approach you have to be
physically there – you have to be in the
class – you can’t do it from books.
Lopakhin says to me ‘I bought it’.
The sense memory I use is of seeing
a car crash, and being completely
horrified and numbed by it, and
not being able to move. Just being
so horrified you can't move. I saw
something like that happen once – it
was far away enough for me to not
be able to do anything – and it's that
sense of horror, of impotence, and of
being suspended in time, as well as
not being able to breathe. And this
came to me in rehearsal, I think the
fifth time we were running the scene,
it came to me and it has stuck. Which
is how I play the scene – I stand very
still, as if I am paralysed. And so far,
at every performance (we've done
five now), I've thought of this Sense
Memory – you just think it, and it
comes automatically. It’s horrific and
But in fact my parents, who were both
actors, were in Lee Strasberg's first class,
which he started in his front room in the
1930s, and I learnt something called
Sense Memory from my mother. It’s very
easy and is what we do automatically as
actors, I think. We try and put ourselves
in a situation that we can relate to the
situation in the scene we're playing. And
I use that a lot. I've done it many times
for Ranyeyskaya. One example is the
moment near the end of Act Three when
Lopakhin (Conleth Hill) and Ranyevskaya (Zoë Wanamaker)
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The influence of Stanislavski (continued)
you don’t breathe and it’s a paralysing
experience.
Another Sense Memory I learnt from my
mother is one that I use when a director
asks you to speed it up. My mother said,
‘You can't just go faster, but think of a
taxi waiting outside – you can see the
meter going up for every minute you
delay – and if you think of the taxi waiting
and your money going down, that will
make you go a little bit faster!’ And
knowing that clock is ticking feeds into
your psyche and you just speed it up. So
when I get a note to go faster, I just think
of a taxi waiting!
I've only once worked with objectives,
and that was with a director called Max
Stafford-Clark. I went along with it,
and used it, and found it helpful at the
time, but unless I keep working with
that person I don't remember it. And
to be honest I found that I was doing it
instinctively anyway.
I love working with Howard [Davies]
because he will pick up on something
which I would never have thought of, or
he pinpoints something and articulates it
for me. He's very precise when he finds
an intellectual or an emotional moment
which he can absolutely articulate, and
I rely very much on his judgement and
taste”
Mark Bonnar is playing Trofimov:
“When playing a character, I don't delve
into my past, at least not specifically.
I – Mark – am an amalgamation of my
life and as far as that is concerned with
my work, I bring everything that I have
experienced in my past, in my life, to
what I do. When acting in an historical
play, I like to do a lot of research
because it is useful to immerse yourself
in the world in which the play is set. I
like to inform myself about what was
going on at the time, historically, and
then you can relate feelings or impulses
that come up in the script via yourself,
that is to say, via experiences I might
have had. It's hard to break it down
because so much of it instinctive. I can't
break it down in fact, because I don't
know where it comes from.
That said, there are techniques I
have (if I am having a problem with
a particular passage and it's not
coming instinctively) that I believe
are Stanislavskian, which seem to
work for me. I use something called
‘actioning’. An action is a word you
Mark Bonnar in rehearsal
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The influence of Stanislavski (continued)
can put between ‘I’ and ‘you’. I ‘do
something’ to you. It’s very freeing
and it forces you to really think about
everything you're saying. I’ve used
‘actioning’ a couple of times on The
Cherry Orchard. There's a passage
in Act Three, at the party, when I am
speaking to Ranyevskaya. It goes:
‘Whether the estate is sold or not
is not the point. The point is more
profound: you are at a crossroads.
There is no turning back. The past is
done. There is no turning back, you
must move on. Dear, dear. Lovely. The
lies are the confusing thing. Look it in
the eye. The truth.’
That passage I found difficult in
rehearsals for a while, so I started to
think about what I am doing to her.
So the list of words I wrote down for
this were, although some of these
have changed slightly: I stop you; I
educate you; I shake you; I focus you;
I slap you; I mollycoddle you; I belittle
you; I smack you. So there's a lot of
smacking and slapping going on! It's
useful to think about it like that and
then go back to rehearsal and try it
out because of course there are many
different ways to smack someone!
I put actions on each sentence, but
I know some actors who have a
whole set of actions for their lines
and a whole set, a subset, for their
thoughts.”
Sarah Woodward is playing Charlotta:
“I was at RADA in the 80s; the Method
was never mentioned and no-one talked
about Stanislavski, Meisner, Strasberg
or Adler. I have only recently heard
of Meisner and any teacher of acting
who uses the words ‘technique’ or
‘method’ just doesn't really relate to my
experiences as an actor, and never has
done. The job of acting – for me – comes
from instinct, experience, confidence,
understanding oneself and a character,
and I do this through an internal
process unique to me. Whenever I have
dipped into Stanislavski, I have found it
interesting but totally alien to the ‘job’ of
an actor. I would be open to any director
who wanted to use any technique – it
would be fascinating; but I don’t believe
that ultimately, in performance, it would
make a blind bit of difference. I would
revert to my own process.”
Sarah Woodward in rehearsal
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The influence of Stanislavski (continued)
Kenneth Cranham plays Firs:
“I don't really know what the Method
is, or what Stanislavski's ideas about
acting are, but what I am aware of
is keeping a certain notebook on
things that have happened to me
in life. For example, when I spoke
at my mother's funeral, which was
a very overwhelming experience, I
was amazed at how long it took me
to say something because I had to
wait for the emotions to settle down
before I could say the next sentence,
and even in the middle of these
overwhelming feelings, I was thinking
‘I must remember this’. That is part of
your make up, if you act for a living,
trying to store these things for future
recall. And I think that maybe that
links up with the Method.
something. And then these emotions
would well up inside me, which I
wouldn't allow to emerge, but I’d ride
the emotions rather like a fairground
ride, and they would inform how
I said the rest of the speech. And
actually the emotions would take
the vocal delivery down ways that
would surprise you, and you could be
genuinely spontaneous. I could put
myself in his situation because all of
us – if we've had a loving mother –
know what it is like to be a boy and
to be protected by her, and to be in a
hospital, and know that your mother
is there making sure you’re safe. But
there is also something about the
act of communicating, which has
an emotional rawness to it – this is
something I've observed in life. And
sometimes a writer will give you such
a piece of writing that – if you say it
But it doesn't have to be about
remembering something specific
that has actually happened to you.
For example, I played Aston in The
Caretaker [by Harold Pinter], and I did
70 performances here [at the National
Theatre]. Aston has this extraordinary
speech about two-thirds of the way
through, telling the story of how he
was taken into a mental hospital
where they decided they were going
to give him shock treatment. But he
knows that they can’t do that to him
without his mother’s permission, so
he thinks he’s safe. However, he's
taken into the governor’s office, and
the governor shows him the piece of
paper that has his mother’s signature
on it. And he does this speech. And
68 times of the 70 times I performed
it, when I got to that point, I found
it so upsetting – it used to trigger
Kenneth Cranham as Firs
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The influence of Stanislavski (continued)
and just think it through – has power, and
the emotions will come. Just from the
words. For example, there's a little poem
by Housman called 'The War Graves',
it's only a few lines, and it is: 'Here dead
lie we because we did not choose / To
live and shame the land from which we
sprung. / Life, to be sure, is nothing
much to lose; / But young men think it
is, and we were young.' It is fantastic, it
is so powerful, and there are writers who
know how to do that, whatever 'that' is. It
actually happens in the moment, as you
say the lines, you don't need to create
or find a back story, you just say those
words, and emotions come. I always find
if I've got a big part, I actually want to
work on the nuts and bolts, I want to get
my lines learnt and the moves and stuff
like that. I find things like improvisations
about events that have happened in the
character's lives are a form of refinement,
and I find them useful later on in the
process. For example, I played Len in
Saved [by Edward Bond], and we revised
it for a tour, and the lines come back
very quickly, and then the work you do is
very rich, because you're not struggling
for the lines, and you can do things like
improvise scenes and so on, and that
bit of acting is very enjoyable because
you can mess about with it and toss it
around. I was once playing the idiot in an
American version of The Idiot, and I had
to close the first half by having a fit. I was
wondering how to do this fit. And before
we started rehearsals, I was walking
home one day, and suddenly on the
opposite pavement was a man having
an epileptic fit. There were people doing
things, looking after him, making sure he
was safe, and I watched, taking it all in!
And then got complimented by a doctor
in the audience on how good my fit was.
But I wouldn't have been able to do it if I
hadn't seen him!”
Finally, Howard Davies, director of this
production:
“I don't have any belief in anything
called a Method at all. I'm very
disinclined to solve things – whether
its politics or acting – by arriving at
something which is ‘this is the way
we do things, this is the method’, and
then slapping that method on top
of whatever you come up against. I
would far rather approach the way that
we discover the right acting form for
this play by being scientific, by being
analytic, by understanding the nature of
who says what to whom and why; who
means what to whom; who listens and
who doesn’t; whether these words that
are said by this character are heard by
this person but misunderstood; whether
that character, having misunderstood
it, then bases their reaction on their
prejudices or whether they base it on
the person they're talking to. That is to
say, the process is about trying to break
the play down into almost molecular
parts, trying to discover its molecular
structure and how the play works on
that level, before re-assembling it for
an audience. So I don't come with ‘A
Method’, and nor do I subscribe to what
has become known as The Method.
I’d far rather we took it all apart and
rebuilt it in the hope that we're building
something that is accurate and faithful
to Chekhov’s intentions.”
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