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I’ve always dreamt of being part of the Russian aristocracy, clothed in fetching stoles and winter coats, overthrown by a rabid bourgeoisie mob and rediscovered at seventy in a nursing home in Wisconsin. The usual silly girlhood fantasies, really. The Sydney Theatre Company brought back all these beautiful, shining desires with their recent production of The Cherry Orchard.
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The large ensemble are all wonderful, with Philip Quast’s Lopakhin exceptional. Lopakhin was born as the son of a serf, but now that social structures are altering he’s become part of the noveau riche. He’s filled with an unutterable anger that he can never be part of the aristocratic world, a world that is crumbling, yet still manages to deny him entry or even a grudging respect for his achievements. Quast brings a dignity to his Lopakhin, a tragic clown who fits nowhere.
