The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: Vanya
By Ross
A quiet flies fast over the excited crowds that have gathered in downtown NYC at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, as Andrew Scott (Veracity Digital’s Sea Wall the Film) saunters out, flicking the house lights off and on with a devilish grin. He’s playing with us, knowing just how thrilled we all are to be there, for him and this one-man production of Anton Chekhov’s 1898 tragicomedy, Vanya. Pretty much just like he did at the Duke of York’s Theatre in the West End of London, he casually makes himself a cup of tea, lights a cigarette, and ponders. The shift is happening before us, from celebrated and much-loved actor to Maureen, the housekeeper as this shorter, but sharpened Vanya, carved down to a clever framework, drags on a cigarette and draws us in. Dressed sensually by Natalie Pryce (West End’s Kyoto), this one-man acting army magnificently holds true to the title, albeit a shortened one, and engages fully with the gamut of roles laid out before him.
Co-created with adaptor and playwright Simon Stephens (Heisenberg), director Sam Yates (Arts Theatre’s Murder Ballad), and designer Rosanna Vize (Royal Court’s Wordplay), Andrew Scott – the most loved and cherished actor from so many great things, it is hard to narrow it down to one Fleabag role – does the impossible. He holds us completely captive, gently and thoughtfully, in his outstretched hands. He mesmerizes with his pauses and his placements, as he bounces a tennis ball to start the doctor’s volley inside its brilliant beginnings, talking back and forth to himself with clever clarity, and embodying all in the most stellar of mannerisms imaginable.
Laying waste ingeniously to the high-concept idea presented before us, Scott dives in, finding formulas and doorways for us to follow him through as he unpacks pages upon pages of Cheknovian themes with a craftsman-like precision. As my companion stated after the show, it’s as if a lonely bored narcotic, obsessed with Chekov’s Uncle Vanya decides while making a cup of tea to dive into the tale, embodying each and every character in an attempt to understand the text and the subtext. It’s a formula (sort of like The Drowsy Chaperone but without all those other actors and dance numbers getting in the way) for a very internal deep dive into complex emotional territory that is obsessive and compulsive, and Scott is an utter joy to behold in this unraveling, understanding each and every anglicized one in that room, from Helena, the beautifully narcissistic wife of the elderly Alexander, now remodeled into an arrogant filmmaker, all the way through his daughter, the love-struck Sonia, the world-weary love-doctor, Michael, over to the titular Uncle Vanya, lightened and pared down to simplify “Vanya“. Each has their own quality or dishcloth to hold on to, shifting and turning from one to another with a thrilling adept velocity. It’s a masterclass of detailed deliverance, engaging in conversations with two or more of these complex characters with an off-kilter elegance while unpacking attachments and conflicts with a twirl of his necklace.
“I have no words,” he says, in stifled exuberance, as Vize’s deconstructed space exposes all the inner workings of this mischievous player, giving Scott ample space and props to draw out the details and dilemmas of these desperate souls to fill our hungry appetite. His Sonia is completely heartbreaking, as is his Helena, but delivered through a whole different door frame. Mirrored before our very eyes, we run through that door with Scott, happily engaging with this utter unhappiness and the exhausting energy spent. The piece as a whole never gives us a chance to disengage, even with its agitated hurtfulness and ghostly chopsticks played with a dead sister. Scott holds us completely in his outstretched grip, squeezing just enough to reach the level of internalized despair that exists within this play, and never failing to keep us fully involved and engaged.
Vanya is carefully constructed, with strong straight-forward, yet playful lighting by James Farncombe (Young Vic/PAA’s Yerma), a solid sound design by Dan Balfour (NT’s Dear England), and gloriously detailed video projections by Jack Phelan (Bristol Old Vic’s Hamlet). But it’s Scott’s subtle shifts of voice and mannerisms that are the exceptional ingredient, indicating more than just who he is embodying at any given moment. Somehow, he gives us layers upon layers of emotional content as well, even when he finds himself on the floor or up against the door sexually gyrating to our hearts’ content. Or when he forgets about Elizabeth.
He’s playful in his mapped-out brilliance, surrounding himself with all those lunatics inside one body, becoming a doctor maestro lunatic just for our pleasure. It’s sharp, and endlessly entertaining, giving us echoes of all those others in his moving portrayals. I must admit that I feel blessed to have seen a stellar production in the summer of 2023, the one that played out this tale in a downtown NYC loft and performed by a band of brilliant actors giving it their all on a hot summer’s night. It helped formulate this one-man framing, but I don’t really know if you need it to understand the drive and the despair. That solo drive is Andrew Scott, penetrating us all with his moving Sonia and the rest of these not-so-merry creatures that come so alive inside this one man and his Vanya.
