The Cherry Orchard
Anton Chekhov; Translated by Paul Schmidt
Marin Theatre
Put Anton Chekhov’s globally popular, much-adapted play, The Cherry Orchard, in the bold, directorial hands of the much-accomplished Carey Perloff and provide her with a Bay Area, all-star cast, and it is an easy-money bet that Marin Theater has a sure-fire hit in the making.
Such is surely the case as witnessed in the opening night of The Cherry Orchard in which each of the dozen principals shines to the hilt as we meet their characters who overflow with non-intended hilarity, highly unique quirk, exaggerated sentiments, and deeply expressed pathos. Add in a creative team whose set, lighting, sound, and costumes are all quite astounding and major contributors to the overall story-telling; and Marin Theatre definitely has a production not to be missed of Chekhov’s 1904 play about a fading aristocracy trying desperately to hang on and to a rising middle class still unsure of its place in the future.
The play opens in the middle of the night when Liubóv arrives in her usual, high-society finery to the once-palatial, now-an-echo-of-its-past home of her childhood. She comes back to the Russian provinces after previously escaping five years previously to Paris following the tragic drowning of her young son.
Liubóv comes back to a property much in debt after having lost her fortune while abroad; and yet her refusal to quit spending money or to offering loans or hand-outs to anyone who asks shows her own inability to face the reality around her. Liz Sklar is stunning in the role of an aristocrat who is now a near-pauper but cannot begin to understand the truth. Her childlike delight in being home, her unrelenting love for a cherry orchard that no longer produces sellable crops, and her adamant rejection of any solution that does not maintain a past that is no longer possible are all expressed by Liz Sklar with a naiveté, a fervor, and a blind air that is palpable.
Equally unwilling to face reality with anything but insufficient ideas of how to get money that is never coming is her brother Gáyev, portrayed eccentrically and comically by Anthony Fusco. Gáyev is not one for few words (ever) and is also stuck in a state longing for a past that is no more. He waxes on and on in a tearful tribute to a hundred-year-old bookshelf while constantly making the bizarre comment “yellow ball to the side pocket” when he is not sure what else to say. Anthony Fusco’s out-to-lunch, sometimes blank-faced portrayal of Gáyev draws much laughter time and again.
To the rescue of Liubóv and Gáyev comes a big-talking, arm-waving Lopákhin, a successful businessman who unabashedly brags about his money and success while reminding all “my father was a dirt farmer” and “my grandfather was a serf who could not enter this house.” He has a plan to chop down the non-productive cherry orchard, sub-divide the property, and sell lots for vacation homes. Marin’s Artistic Director, Lance Gardner, parades about broadcasting Lopákhin’s ideas how to avoid the estate being auctioned off — doing so as if speaking to a crowd in an outdoor arena. The one time he is silent is when he looks longingly at Liubóv or holds her hand just a few seconds too long before once again trying to persuade her to secure her financial future by giving up a home that he says “is an old barn” that “nobody wants.” But the more he pushes, the more Liubóv and Gáyev become like ostriches with their heads in the ground, leading to Lopákhin’s occasional angry outburst, “You people!”
With expressions on a face sometime solid as marble and at other times seemingly about to collapse into uncontrolled sadness, Rosie Hallett is Liubóv’s adopted daughter, Várya, who has carried the burden of keeping the family estate afloat while her mother has been living the life in Paris. Referred by others as looking like a nun (with her in fact always dressing in white and black), Várya does often mutter, “If only God would help” while also voicing in desperation, “If I only had a little money, I’d get out of here” … “maybe to a convent.” One cannot help but pity Rosie Hallett’s Várya, especially as she awaits with such looks of hope for a marriage proposal from Lopákhin who uneasily grins sheepishly, shrugs his shoulders, and remains silent when Liubóv suggests repeatedly that he should marry her adopted daughter.
Anna Takayo is arresting as the other daughter, Ánya — a seventeen-year-old whose emotions catch up with her as she worries about her mother’s and her own future but who also quickly becomes smitten by the sudden visit of an impassioned, left-leaning Trofímov, a Moscow graduate student.
Joseph O’Malley is terrific as the soap-box-spouting reformist who rails against intellectuals who “aren’t working toward anything.” Trofímov is also against people everywhere who are “vulgar and unhappy and totally undignified.” Even as he says with raised voice, “We must get back to work,” he clearly cannot wait to go back to Moscow and continue his role as a never-ending graduate student. It is as if Chekhov is anticipating those who will soon be in the streets a decade later calling for revolution.
Amidst this fast-decaying situation where a final auction of the generation-old family estate is clearly inevitable are others who add to the farcical yet pity-producing environment. Danny Sheie explodes into the scene as a neighboring landowner who is also in debt and constantly seeks varying amounts of rubles from a quick-to-sympathyze, Liubóv. In furs on head and around neck, his Píshchik speaks with a voice that cuts through the air like a machete and is fast to bellow “I don’t believe it” to whatever is being asserted before suddenly falling asleep mid-sentence.
Likewise ridiculously hilarious is the estate’s clerk, Yepikhódov. Jomar Tagatac often draws the audience’s loudest guffaws of the evening as the walking disaster of a man (nick-named by others as “Double Trouble”) who constantly reminds others, “Every day something awful happens to me”.– saying so just before another laugh-out-loud mishap occurs.
But crazy as Yepikhódov might be, twirling around the household as if every day is a party is someone hoping for his proposal for marriage, housemaid Dunyásha. Molly Ranson is deliciously funny as this hanger-on-to-society servant who admits — as she once again adjusts her hair to be yet more stylish — that she has quite gotten used to this lifestyle. Along with Yepikhóddov, Dunyásha is also attracted to a young, quite snotty Yasha (Joel Morel) who has arrived from Paris as Liubóv’s manservant and who reeks in rudeness and inconsideration as he is quick to forget his station and grab a passing glass (or two) of champagne.
Carlotta is Ánya’s truly eccentric governess who dresses in flowing robes and is known for her displays of magic and tricks. Leontyne Mbele-Mbong is masterful in striking poses sometimes full of melancholy and sometimes swelling in exotic mystery. Carlotta bemoans that “I don’ know who I am” (lacking a birth certificate and knowledge of where she comes from). Her abilities in ventriloquism and reading of the cards points to somewhere far from the Russian provinces.
But maybe the strangest but definitely the most lovable of those rambling about the household is Firs, the eighty-seven, bent-over, foot-shuffling butler of Gáyev. Howard Swain knocks it out of the park as this old man whose head is engulfed in white, tangled hair and beard. Bemoaning the old days when cherries were really cherries (and could be made into a host of listed products) and when servants and masters knew their places (even if that meant his getting a good beating), Firs is clearly only a breath away from death but still is always sure to see that his master has his overcoat before going out or that his mistress gets her cup of coffee — that is if he doesn’t fall asleep first on his feet.
Carey Perloff does a yeoman’s job of directing this eclectic group of characters so that all have their moments to spot-light their bizarre aspects while also orchestrating the entire ensemble to convey together a compelling storyline that flows seamlessly for the two hours, thirty minutes (with intermission). Of the many directorial touches that are exceptional, there is one that I will remember for a long time. As family members and servants leave for the last time the now-sold house and estate, almost all grab and hug a doll, a stuffed animal, or even a baby’s blanket from the nursery setting where Chekhov places them throughout the play’s indoor scenes. Their individual inabilities to let go of the past and their oft-childlike hopes that somehow, someone would come save them from their self-produced, financial disaster are so powerfully illustrated in a scene where no words are actually needed.
Nina Ball’s massive set design wonderfully captures the sense of an opulence that once was but is no more as well as people who are anchored in their past and refusing to look at their realities. Faded, green wallpaper with cherry blossoms woven in; huge draperies that look almost funereal in their white vastness; and a staircase that leads to a landing that goes nowhere have much to say about the family’s situation. Kate Boyd’s lighting design beautifully and delicately completes the setting’s effects.
Lydia Tanji’s costumes define to a ‘t’ each of the characters we meet — from Liubóv’s gowns, feathers, and jewelry as if going to a ball to Firs’ tattered butler outfit that does not hide his pajama bottoms and house shoes. James Ard’s sound design reminds us of the idyllic country setting with nearby birds and gurgling river providing a music-like score while the closing scene’s crashing of felled cherry trees underscores the household’s final fate.
Whether one has seen a number of past productions on school or professional stages or if one is a Chekhov virgin, Marin Theatre’s current The Cherry Orchard is a century-plus classic given a wonderful dusting off that is a must-see to be savored from beginning to end.
Rating: 5 E, MUST-SEE
A Theatre Eddys Best Bet Production
The Cherry Orchard continues through February 22, 2026, in a two-hour, thirty-minute (one intermission) production by Marin Theatre, 397 Miller Avenue, Mill Valley, CA. Tickets are available online at https://www.marintheatre.org/, by phone 415-388-5208 12 p.m.-5 p.m. between performances, and by email at boxoffice@marintheatre.org.
Photo Credits: David Allen
