Review: Parker Posey as a Theater Diva in Chekhov Update The Seagull/Woodstock, NY

The Seagull//Woodstock, NY, the New Group's contemporary Chekhov adaptation by Thomas Bradshaw, begins with the actors doing their preshow routines. Then, they circle up, stretch, fire off a quick sound circle, and sing Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's "Our House" while they finish setting up the space.

Though the whole sequence seems a little bit canned, this stage business effectively offers some metacommentary on things to come. The performers become an artificially bonded acting troupe of semi-experimental inclination; just as with the characters The Seagull, they are brought together in a very, very, very fine house, and while everything seems like a relaxing trip to the lake, the situation proves not so cozy after all.

Like this adaptation's Nina, I went to Vassar and did experimental productions of Chekhov with my friends in upstate New York, so I felt quite at home here. But this production is comfortable territory for any Chekhov fan or New York theatergoer. Bradshaw stays quite close to the source material of The Seagull, retaining most of the characters and plot points, but anglicizing the names and changing the setting. He offers a delightful skewer of the theatrical establishment, those who work in it, and its regular patrons, the wealthy elites of the Northeast. Bradshaw sprinkles in a never-ending string of theatrical references, each dripping with satire. A gender-swapped production of True West with Janet McTeer on the West End, for instance, earns huge laughs. This is without a doubt the funniest The Seagull has ever been, and the version of that play that I like the best, too.

Leaning into the humor, as Bradshaw and director Scott Elliott do here wholeheartedly, is an effective strategy to make the play more pleasurable. However, it also creates some problems, especially in the second half. Though Chekhov considered The Seagull a comedy, it's really not. Bradshaw mines more laughs out of the text than I ever would have thought possible, but he cannot escape the undeniable and unavoidable tragedy of the ending, with several unhappy marriages and failed relationships, a stillborn baby, and a suicide. So while this production is successful in its mission to be lighthearted, it is not sustainable as melancholy slowly takes over. The script, the direction, and even the actors (for the most part) cannot really handle the tonal shifts, and things work less and less as it approaches the denouement.

Nat Wolff (as Kevin, the Konstantin stand-in) and Aleyse Shannon (as Nina) have to carry the majority of the tragic weight but miss the mark. Parker Posey is the center of this universe as Irene, and the indie film darling masterfully captures the character, who here is a rude, manipulative, solipsistic diva you cannot help but love. Her comic timing is a high point of the production, though she too comes across melodramatic and histrionic when she needs to be serious and sincere.

With an imperfect central trio, the spotlight shifts to Masha, here renamed Sasha and played by the extraordinary Hari Neff, who is hands-down the highlight of the show. She harnesses Sasha's dark humor deftly, skillfully navigating the tonal tightrope from satire ("I have a job. I'm painting again, and you know how emotional that is for me") to depression (yearning for Kevin so badly she turns to suicidal ideation and drugs and alcohol). Nef's expert performance is an encapsulation of all this production wants to be, hitting the sweet spot of comedy and pain all at once.

The designers create a well-rounded and lived-in world. Derek McLane's simple, rustic set conjures up the Woodstock of our fantasies. Qween Jean's costumes are filled with detail: Samuel (David Cale), an older gay man, wears Coach sneakers, Sasha has fashionable '90s sunglasses, black Crocs, and a baseball hat, and Irene is dressed in showy sundresses or silk pajamas and is always toting an assortment of hodge-podge bags and yoga mats. Every design element is thoughtful and intentional.

This version of The Seagull feels like a rather rough diamond. In the right light and positioned strategically in the right setting, it shines brilliantly, but when examined closely, nicks and cloudiness become more noticeable.

Still, though, there's much to appreciate and admire in this stone, even with its flaws. Bradshaw updates Chekhov and squeezes his play for every drop of comedy it has, but he does not stray far from the path, so your enjoyment is largely related to and bound by how much you like the original. That said, this is the most I've ever enjoyed The Seagull, imperfections and all.