No Laughing Matter

Madame RanevskayaThrough June 2, 1812 Productions at The Adrienne, 2030 Sansom St., 215-592-9560

1812 Productions is celebrating its fifth birthday, and I’m still trying to figure out what to make of them. Founded by Jennifer Childs and Peter Pryor, the company may be Philadelphia’s most talented (and is certainly our most energetic) ensemble. The loosely constructed pieces that showcase their comic gifts (notably two Christmastime vaudeville revues) have been delightful.

But. Hand them a developed script -- something requiring storytelling and character development -- and anything can happen.

Case in point: Madame Ranevskaya. And the source here is not just any play, but the Parnassus of Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard.

To be fair, Chekhov famously called his plays comedies. Madame Ranevskaya takes that dictum and runs with it. There's some Russian imprimatur here.

Yury Belov, who wrote and directed Ranevskaya, is a veteran of various Moscow theaters and was also the director of clowning at the Moscow Circus. This weird hybrid is just what you get: Ranevskaya might be subtitled Chekhov meets Ringling Brothers.

Actually, I was surprised by how faithful much of Madame Ranevskaya is to the story of the once-wealthy family about to lose its beloved estate. Most of The Cherry Orchard's plot is intact (well, nearly three of the original's four acts, anyway). A few crucial characters are dropped -- Gaev (Ranevskaya's brother) is gone, as is Charlotte, the governess. With her extended family banished, this leaves poor Ranevskaya more or less out there on her own to represent the entire ancien régime world. (In the title role, Grace Gonglewski is lovely and charming, but she's neither "ancient" nor, by herself, a whole social order.) Still, the content of the play is instantly recognizable.

Tone is another story. Belov has encouraged his actors (particularly those in the supporting roles) to explore the broadest physical comedy. More inexplicably, he has reset the action in contemporary North Carolina.

Let's dispense with the southern aspect entirely, as most of the cast does. A few supporting characters seem to be modeled on Hee Haw or Beverly Hillbillies, but many of the actors ignore it entirely. Indeed, it's quite a proliferation of accents on that stage -- beyond the handful of Clampetts, there are several Russians, a Hispanic and a couple of well-trained mid-Atlantics.

The clowning is another story. It's central to Ranevskaya, and Belov and his company go at it with skill and glee. I should confess now that since childhood I've suffered from SI (Slapstick Impairment). I've sat in theaters without cracking a smile, as the rest of the audience is convulsed by every pant-dropping, pie-throwing bit. So it was for me here for most of the first act. I could recognize and even admire the cleverness of what was going on. The audience was obviously (and very vocally) enjoying every minute. But I simply didn't get it.

Something happened in the second act, though, and I'm still trying to figure out whether it happened to Ranevskaya or to me. I started to laugh. A few of the set pieces are genuinely dazzling, but even the crudest and silliest (I'm not going to reveal them here, but You Know Who You Are) eventually won me over. Yes, the show is a big mess. No, you won't find any of the laughing-through-tears aspects that make The Cherry Orchard such an unforgettable play. But I can virtually promise you that, by the end, you'll be having fun. If it worked for me, it'll work for anybody.

Much of the style and success is owed to Belov, of course. But it's the cast that executes the work, so let's end where we began -- by praising the lusty 1812-ers, with some of the usual veterans augmented by friends from Pig Iron and others. Nearly everybody is terrific, but especially clever work is done by Peter Pryor as the addled old servant, Anneliese Euler as the repressed spinster daughter, Dawn Falato as the cheeky maid and rubber-faced Aaron Cromie as an indecipherable hanger-on.

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