Prepare to be captivated by a theatrical experience that shines as brightly as its leading lady – Caroline Quentin’s dazzling performance in The Seagull is nothing short of extraordinary. But here’s where it gets controversial: in a production brimming with sharp characterizations, can one star truly outshine the ensemble? James Brining’s directorial debut as artistic director boldly answers this question with a resounding yes, though not without sparking debate among theater enthusiasts.
What makes this Chekhov adaptation so compelling is its ability to breathe life into each of the playwright’s deeply frustrated characters. From the love-starved to the applause-hungry, every figure is painted with striking clarity. Yet, Quentin’s portrayal of Irina Arkadina, the self-absorbed actress begrudgingly summering in the countryside, manages to steal the spotlight. When she commands the stage, it’s as if the very lighting—Lizzie Powell’s masterful early-autumn glow—conspires to crown her, leaving the rest of the bustling household as mere spectators to her grandeur. Her delivery of the line, ‘I care about myself… passionately!’ is both hilarious and unapologetically bold, a moment that lingers long after the curtain falls.
And this is the part most people miss: Quentin’s star power isn’t about overshadowing her peers but about embodying the very essence of a star’s insecurities. In Mike Poulton’s deft translation, she becomes just one lost soul among many, her vulnerabilities amplified into a cacophony of noise and fanfare. This contrasts sharply with the quiet despair of Tallulah Greive’s Masha, Michael Dylan’s downtrodden Medvedenko, and Irene Allan’s apologetic Polina—each delivering performances that are, in their own right, unforgettable.
The dynamics between characters are equally riveting. Dyfan Dwyfor’s Trigorin remains a quiet observer, while Lorn Macdonald’s Konstantin grapples with an Oedipal struggle, torn between rebellion and reverence for the old order. Harmony Rose-Bremner’s Nina, however, rejects Konstantin’s turmoil for Trigorin’s urbane charm, a choice she comes to regret. Here’s the bold question: Does Nina’s decision reflect a universal truth about ambition, or is it a misstep that undermines her character’s depth? Let’s discuss in the comments.
Supporting roles, including Forbes Masson’s Dr. Dorn, John Bett’s Sorin, and Steven McNicoll’s Shamrayev, are equally distinct, ensuring Brining’s production strikes a perfect balance between Chekhov’s humor and pathos. Colin Richmond’s set, with its straw-colored, life-drained grandeur, provides a haunting backdrop to the drama. While the momentum wavers slightly during the climactic confrontation between Konstantin and Nina—a relationship too fractured to evoke genuine heartbreak—the overall production remains vibrant, flavorful, and assured.
This Seagull is a stellar opening act for Brining’s tenure, leaving audiences eager for what’s next. Catch it at the Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh, until 1 November, and join the debate: Can a single performance define a production, or is it the ensemble that truly makes theater unforgettable?
