{"id":43995,"date":"2025-02-25T13:50:50","date_gmt":"2025-02-25T13:50:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/?p=43995"},"modified":"2025-02-25T13:50:56","modified_gmt":"2025-02-25T13:50:56","slug":"thread-by-thread-three-sisters-at-the-globe","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/thread-by-thread-three-sisters-at-the-globe\/","title":{"rendered":"Thread by Thread: “Three Sisters” at The Globe"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

First, let\u2019s talk about the play. No, the play itself remains the same, but this is a brand-new translation. And not just any translation\u2014it\u2019s a meticulous, almost forensic approach to the text, precise down to the last comma. No, it\u2019s not a word-for-word rendering (God forbid!). On the contrary, it\u2019s poetry\u2014at times, astonishingly capturing the rhythm and music of Chekhov\u2019s original language. Rory Mullarkey\u2019s translation of Three Sisters occasionally sounds as if it were written in Russian.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mullarkey is both a playwright and a translator who knows Russia from the inside\u2014he has traveled extensively across the country and even studied in St. Petersburg. Perhaps this deep connection helped him tackle Chekhov. This isn\u2019t even his first foray into translating Chekhov\u2014he previously worked on The Cherry Orchard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The production itself is equally remarkable, executed with an old-school reverence for the text. Director Caroline Steinbeis approaches Three Sisters with incredible delicacy: no trendy adaptations, barely any cuts, no Procrustean effort to squeeze the play into a tight, intermission-less runtime of 1 hour and 10 minutes. Nothing is lost, skipped, or drowned out\u2014every line is given full weight and dimension.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, The Play “Three Sisters”<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The stage design, too, feels unmistakably Chekhovian: the setting evokes an early 20th-century home. Pale wooden interiors, dresses, flowers, uniforms\u2014and, of course, a samovar (how could it be missing when it\u2019s right there in the text!).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Beyond this textual fidelity, what makes this Chekhov feel truly authentic is the inescapable inertia of longing\u2014a gray, suffocating melancholy that ensnares everyone who steps into the Prozorov household. This is not a space for passionate revolutionaries; it is a space for nervous breakdowns. (Which, by the way, aligns perfectly with Chekhov\u2019s stage directions.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course, the goal here is not “historical accuracy” but rather a parallel reality\u2014a dreamy, feverish vision of Russia, where the sisters play the balalaika and sip tea from delicate glasses, where Solyony bellows at the world and distorts his face in cruel mockery. And, naturally, there is a bear\u2014a shaggy creature that rolls onto the stage, only to reveal itself as an elaborate costume.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The performances are just as meticulously crafted.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Michael Abubakar as Tuzenbach and Ruby Thompson as Irina. Photography by Han Evans.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Tuzenbach (Michael Abubakar) is strikingly reminiscent of\u2026 Pushkin. The same wild curls, the same trembling romanticism, the same tragic fate. His monologues unfold like operatic arias\u2014his thoughts spiraling like a nightingale in song. His disarming vulnerability, almost childlike in its tenderness, makes him an easy target for Solyony (Richard Pyros)\u2014a venomous, sardonic figure. Pyros, with his subtle makeup, slicked-back hair, and sharp-tongued jabs, clearly evokes Lermontov (a connection he even acknowledges in the play).<\/p>\n\n\n

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Paul Ready as Aleksandr Vershinin. Photography by Johan Persson.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Vershinin (Paul Ready), for a brief moment, stirs the stagnant waters of this provincial existence. Towering, bearded, his voice thunderous\u2014he is every bit the commanding officer of a battery. But even he gets trapped in this mire, in this distant, desolate corner of the world where the nearest railway station is over ten versts away. Here, the three sisters\u2014like modern-day Moirai (the Fates)\u2014take hold of destinies without even realizing it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“In this town, knowing three languages is a useless luxury,” lament the Prozorovs. These four adult children, unable to learn how to live, cling desperately to childhood and dreams of a future in Moscow while despising their present. A dangerous contradiction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The elegant furniture\u2014gueridon tables, chairs, flowers\u2014gradually gives way to the suffocating atmosphere of the atticin Act II, with its gaping stairwell like an open wound in the center of the stage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this Three Sisters, no character is a mere filler. Each one breathes in the same stagnant air, slowly sinking into this quagmire, trapped further with every movement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Globe\u2019s production presents Chekhov in a way that resonates almost like Shakespeare. As if these characters were stranded on an island\u2014except Prospero is silent, Macbeth has gone completely mad and vanished, and Lear has squandered his inheritance. Whether this connection stems from the genius of the venue or the sheer depth of the performances is hard to say.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Natalie Klamer as Natalya Ivanova. Photography by Johan Persson.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The loudest force in this production is undoubtedly Natasha, Andrey\u2019s wife (Natalie Klamar). She dominates the space with a nervous, high-pitched laugh that frequently turns into a shriek. Her restless, jerky movements betray her unstable nature\u2014one moment, her eyebrows shoot up, the next, a nervous spasm flickers across her lips. And when she screams, it feels like some terrifying predatory bird has let out a piercing cry. Klamar\u2019s performance is bold and fearless\u2014when she sings a Russian lullaby to her baby, Bobik, wrapped in a blanket, the moment is chilling:
“Baiu, baiushki, baiu, don\u2019t sleep near the edge…”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then, of course, there are the sisters\u2014the black, white, and red trio (as Grebenshchikov would say). They suffer, weep, and hope\u2014yet they are the true arbiters of fate here, much like the daughters of Cronus, the Moirai themselves. Clotho spins the thread of destiny, Lachesis weaves it together, and Atropos cuts it, bringing death. Tuzenbach is shot (not quite on the Black River, but close enough), Vershinin leaves forever…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A deep, guttural sound\u2014like the rumble of a distant furnace\u2014permeates the play, something vast and Homeric in scale. It makes even Masha (Shannon Tarbet), with her thin, weary, sardonic face, shudder as if she truly hears the breath of fate. Irina (Ruby Thompson), the Atropos of the group, hears the mention of Tuzenbach\u2019s coffee and freezes\u2014her pale face and wide eyes knowing the truth: he will not return. And Olga, oh, Olga\u2014trapped in the harness of her fate, desperate to break free:
tedious lessons, endless notebooks, ink-stained fingers, dust, boredom, musty cobwebs\u2014where is life?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Shakespearean tone of fate runs deep in this production, amplified by the candlelit stage. The silent, gliding candelabras, the heavy waxy air, the flickering shadows that seem almost haunted. In this eerie twilight, Solyonyrelentlessly pursues Irina, his presence suffocating, as she circles the dangling chandeliers, shuddering with disgust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“To Moscow, to Moscow!”\u2014but there is no escape.
No marriage, no love, no travels await them.
The Moirai, though they spin the threads of fate, are themselves eternally bound to the spindle.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"