Raisa Pavlovna (Dianne Wiest) is a rich widow in her fifties (a matron at the time of original writing) with the subjugated romantic flutterings of an eighteen year-old. For years, while maintaining the pretense of being charitable, she’s been selling off her land in order to live well…and mostly elsewhere. The sale of the latest plots to her neighbor is meant to secure a dowry for a poor ward/niece, Aksyusha (Lisa Joyce), in order for her to wed the even poorer peasant boy, Bulanov (Adam Driver). Raisa has taken a fancy to the young man; how much of a fancy becomes increasingly clear as the pretense of high motivations crumble with her plans.Were this a silent film, every nuance could be tracked in the small reactions and completely expressive face of Dianne Wiest.
Aksyusha is in love with, and secretly meeting the neighbor’s son, Pytor (Quincy Dunn-Baker). In order for his father to agree to the match, the lovers must come up with an impossible 2,000 ruble dowry. Raisa will, of course, hear none of it. Enter a long lost nephew, the poor but noble Gennady (John Douglas Thompson) and his companion Arkady (Tony Torn), both traveling actors.Think Rosencranz and Guildenstern. A reputable suit of clothing is secured and Arcady agrees to act as his friend’s valet for the opportunity to visit Gennedy’s relative in a style adequate to her acceptance…in order to enjoy her hospitality. The rest is misalliance, misinterpretation, dramatic gestures, and comic realization, eventually tied neatly in a tried and true bow.
The always interesting Dianne Wiest suffuses the tough exterior of her character with the finely layered translucency of an onion. As the play progresses, we grow closer and closer to Raisa’s truth, peeling away layers, not always neatly. The skill with which Wiest’s sensitive interpretation moves from Machiavelli-like selfishness to hopeful, quivering coquette (without ever losing her innate repression) is a pleasure to watch. Her deadpan timing is grand. “You’re very young. (beat) It’s not good,” she comments to her ward.
John Douglas Thompson’s robust and florid performance is almost too big for the stage. He speaks like the Othello played elsewhere and moves simply beautifully. I assume it was a directorial decision to keep this level of representation throughout even his more emotional scenes, but wish it were otherwise. His charm is not quite enough to communicate the feeling he expresses at the heightened stage level he expresses them. Still, he is clearly a fine actor. Adam Driver is believably both guileless/obtuse and opportunistic. Quite an accomplishment.
Lisa Joyce and Quincy Dunn-Baker play the young lovers credibly. Joyce comes into her own towards the end of the play after Aksyusha is rescued from a histrionic suicide attempt. Ah, classically-written youth! When options present themselves, her enactment becomes more subtly hued. There are lovely moments.
Lizbeth MacKay plays a devoted servant and spy with poignancy and humor.
Director Brian Kulick has a good eye for spatial relationships as well as those of a more personal nature. Because the characters are comic, not farcical, his interpretation of action and reaction never strays too far from the plausible. Even shades of Camille-like behavior ring true. Only when Raisa fetally curls up on a table in demonstrative misery and frustration does he perhaps take someone past credulity.
Classic Stage Company is fortunate in the scenic design talents of the formidably imaginative Santo Loquasto whose dappled forest is created out of enormously long planks leaned higglety pigglety against the wall. A multipurpose, movable stairwell of these same planks serves directorial composition beautifully. Even the floor boards simulate sun through leaves. Peter Kaczorowski’s lighting ably adds to the splendid illusion. Original music by Christian Frederickson provides the kind of seamless texture and glue that sounds at the same time original and indigenous. Marco Piemontese’s costumes (imported from Rome!) are excellent and much richer looking than one might imagine in such a small venue.
When was the last time you heard someone sing the praises of Thomas Middleton; or familiarly quote Christopher Marlowe? Both were popular playwrights in Shakespeare’s time. If it had been Shakespeare who died in his prime, we’d conceivably be lining up for Marlow-in-the-Park. The same fate befell Alexander Ostrovsky, arguably the most widely produced classical playwright in the Soviet Union during the twentieth century: fifty plays! (Legend has it he died at his desk translating Shakespeare). Anton Chekhov is the author we know. Kathleen Tolan’s adaptation of The Forest offers us a theatrical glimpse at Ostrovsky’s understanding of Russia’s social hierarchy couched in a romantic romp. These are not people who elicit the strong empathies of Chekhov’s casts, but rather those playing out their lives in a more observable manner.
At 2 ½ hours, however, the play runs long and could be profitably cut.
This is an opportunity for classicists and the curious to spend an entertaining evening with an author rarely seen and a production meriting its source.
The Forest by Alexander Ostrovsky
Adapted by Kathleen Tolan
Classic Stage Company
136 East 13th Street
212-352-3101
Through May 30
