I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I am a Chekhov kinda girl. I get him. He makes me laugh. And he is one of those writers who you either get or you don’t get. If you are not a Chekhov kinda girl or guy, then just stay home. But if you are, you will want to see The Seagull at Main Street Stage.
This is not your grandparents’ Seagull. Director Frank LaFrazia has chosen a very modern translation by Paul Schmidt, and not only has he added regional references to make it clear that the action takes place in Berkshire County, but I suspect he has tweaked the language to make it even more up to the minute. And it works. This is a tale of heavy-hitting artistic types “slumming it” in the boondocks for the summer. I could just see them basking on the shores of the Stockbridge Bowl, contemplating a spa day at Kripalu, and reminiscing about this production or that at “the Theatre Festival.” It helps that either Schmidt or LaFrazia has anglicized the character names so that Pjotr Nikolayevich Sorin becomes Peter Nicholson, and Nina and Konstantine lose their patronymics and last names altogether.