Cate Blanchett in The Seagull at Barbican. Image by Richard LakosDuncan Macmillan's new and original iteration directed by Thomas Ostermeier, has pooled some headline talents who come together as a troupe of dysfunctional familiars. Key individuals are enamoured with other individuals in the group, but rarely do pairs feel the same level of attraction towards each other. Unrequited love hovers above them all, ‘cept for the love of self exhibited by Cate Blanchett’s Irina Arkadina an actress living on past glories and unable to stymie her inclination to eclipse all comers, which includes denigrating the creative efforts of her son Konstantin Kodi Smit-McPhee in front of the group who’ve assembled to see his ultra modern concept play, performed by his muse Nina Emma Corrin. Shockingly indicative of her self-absorbed fear of being outshone, at one point Arkadina bemoans the awfulness of Konstantin’s attempted suicide with a shotgun, whilst in the same breath wildly exclaiming abject horror that she may have the beginnings of a cold sore.
Stirred into this mix of egos and subtextual self-loathing are Arkadina’s younger lover, a celebrated writer Trigorin Tom Burke, who it turns out, has honed his self-effacing narcissism to a fine art as he downplays (whilst accepting) the adulation of others, particularly the impressionable Nina. Orbiting them, are Masha Tanya Reynolds who pines for Konstantin but marries Medvedenko Zachary Hart as a consolation prize, resenting him for it and making him miserable into the bargain. Meanwhile Arkadina’s long suffering brother Sorin Jason Watkins who was long ago left to tend the estate, has aged and grown ill with cancer. His general decline during proceedings is both tragic and in Watkin’s capable hands, endearingly funny.
Nothing about this production is as expected, with microphones on stands, a thrust runway, Billy Bragg songs and a quad bike serving to add random modernist elements into the staging. On the whole, it makes for a liberating yet deliberately self-conscious spectacle with the familiar discussions of art and its relevance in a world bent on self destruction, carried by the cast as a weighty badge of honour. Some of the less experienced actors have a slight tendency to mumble, but with actorish introspection this flamboyant, who’s complaining?
The limited engagement plays at the Barbican until 5th April
