
Russia 1872
Hungarian master László Marton (Uncle Vanya, Three Sisters, Platonov, The Play’s the Thing, The Guardsman, The Wild Duck) returns to Soulpepper to direct one of the masterpieces of Russian literature. In this richly textured, love-filled comedy, the magic of a summer holiday turns several hearts upside-down.
Directed by László Marton
Featuring Diana Bentley, Fiona Byrne, Hazel Desbarats, Tal Gottfried, Jeff Lillico, Diego Matamoros, Nancy Palk, Michael Simpson, David Storch, Charles Vandervaart, William Webster, and Joseph Ziegler.
Running Time: 2 hours 20 minutes, with one 20 minute intermission.
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The road to becoming a classic play, it seems, is not always direct, and A Month in the Country took the long route. Written over a period of two years (1848-1850) mostly in France while Turgenev was pining after his life-long love, opera superstar Pauline Viardot, it took more than fifty years for this play to be fully accepted even in Turgenev's native Russia.
In 1850 the Russian censor refused to allow the play – then titled The Student – to be produced, strongly disapproving of its overt social criticism. Turgenev, never completely confident of his theatrical abilities, made some adjustments to the text, including changing the title to Two Women, and then submitted the play for publication in 1854. Permission was granted, provided certain changes, more moral than political, were made. Turgenev did another re-write and finally found a title that stuck: A Month in the Country. It came out in Russia in 1855 but the play's lack of a clear moral stance was controversial enough to ensure that no theatre company stepped forward to produce it. Its author was so disheartened he gave up writing for the theatre altogether to focus on novels and prose works.
A Month in the Country was in fact not produced until 1872 by the Maly Theatre, and then only in a single "benefit" performance, chiefly because one of their actresses longed to play the lead character, Natalya Petrovna. The reception was tepid and the play was not produced again until 1879, when it was more cordially received. Most sources agree that the play did not enter the Russian canon until thirty years later, twenty-plus years after Turgenev's death, by way of a visionary production at the renowned Moscow Art Theatre. That incandescent interpretation appeared in 1909, directed by the great actor/manager Constantin Stanislavsky, who also played the role of the hopelessly enamored, frustrated lover Rakitin.
Richard Freeborn, who translated the play into English some years ago, has said, "This play has been called Chekhovian though it predates Chekhov's great works for the theatre by more than forty years. Its success was due to Chekhov's popularity and also to the Moscow Art Theatre's production." Perhaps Stanislavsky's troupe was able to reveal the heart of the play because of their understanding of Chekhov, or possibly because they had developed a strong, ensemble style of acting. The early productions of the play tended to serve as a vehicle for the actress playing the role of Natalya Petrovna, when what Turgenev actually wrote was an ensemble piece that derives its power and warmth from the interplay between all of the characters' hopes and longings, dreams and frustrations.
What is timeless – and so modern – is Turgenev's refusal to judge his characters. It's easy to see why people in 1850 might have been baffled by this story. In those days, it was generally believed to be impossible for a married woman to have feelings for anyone other than her husband without being a bad person. Natalya Petrovna is many things but she is not malicious or mean, and Turgenev neither condemns nor approves of her behaviour. He simply reveals her to us in all her human frailty: a woman who is, ultimately, a failure at love. The writer himself had a love affair that defied convention and, some might say, good sense too, so he knew from his own experience that the heart does not observe societal codes, nor obey the dictates of reason. There is no grand or tidy lesson to be learned – necessarily – from the goings-on during this month in the country. There is only the sudden, shocking, fierce experience of love: original, sometimes brutal and always unforgettable.
1818 – On October 28th in Orel Province (now in the Ukraine) the second of three sons, Ivan, is born to Sergei Nikolaevich, a colonel in the Russian cavalry, and Varvara Petrovna Lutovinova, an heiress. The shy, soft-spoken boy is raised as an aristocrat, meaning he speaks French at home, learns Russian from servants, and is privately tutored.
1834 – His father dies and Ivan and his brother Nicholas endure a lonely, abusive adolescence at the hands of their mother who rules her sons, as well as her 5,000-plus serfs, with an implacable will, and a whip.
1835 – After a year at the University of Moscow, Turgenev studies classics, Russian literature and philology at the University of St. Petersberg. His fellow students call him "The American" because of his democratic leanings.
1838 – He decides to get his Masters in philosophy and history at the University of Berlin. En route, the steamer in which he's traveling catches fire. Rumours spread in Russia that he behaved in a selfish, cowardly way during the crisis. This experience, and the calumny that followed it, will haunt him for the rest of his life.
1841 – Turgenev begins a career at the Russian Civil Service. He believes passionately in social reform for his country through Westernization, which eventually causes the Ministry to let him go. His mother, enraged, refuses to give him a kopek. He has already begun to write and he now earns a precarious living from his poems, criticism and short stories, though his writing is strongly and recognizably influenced in these early days by the great Russian writer Nicolai Gogol.
1843 – Turgenev sees mezzo-soprano Pauline Viardot in a production of The Barber of Seville and falls instantly in love with her, a passion he will maintain unswervingly until the moment of his death more than forty years later.
1844-50 – During these years the romantically unsure Turgenev has a couple of brief affairs with servant girls. One of these relationships produces his only child, a girl later known as Paulinette.
1852 – Turgenev's reputation is made with the publication of A Sportsman's Sketches. These short pieces are written from the point of view of a young nobleman who comes to see the serfs who work on his property as human beings in their own right. This book is said to have contributed to the emancipation of the serfs (by Tsar Alexander II in 1861) but it, along with a “treasonable” obituary praising Gogol, earns its writer a stay in jail and nearly two years of house arrest.
1853-60 – Turgenev writes some of his finest work in this period: A Nest of the Gentry, First Love and his best-known play, A Month in the Country. His pervading themes are the beauty of early love, the failure to reach one's dreams, and frustrated love. In 1855 he meets Lev Tolstoy, then an unknown writer. He champions him but their relationship is always prickly.
1861 – Animosity with Tolstoy reaches its height when Tolstoy challenges Turgenev to a duel. He later apologizes but the damage is done and the two men do not speak for 17 years.
1862 – Fathers and Sons, Turgenev's enduring classic novel about an older generation clinging to the past and an idealistic younger generation who long for reform, appears in this year. Bazarov, the main character, has been called the first Bolshevik in Russian literature. He is also the first nihilist, a term coined by Turgenev. Unfortunately, Fathers and Sons is not embraced by the critics, causing its author such pain and disillusionment that he decides to leave Russia.
1863 – Turgenev moves first to Germany – perhaps because he knows it from his student days – and then to London, where Fathers and Sons enjoys great acclaim. He is embraced in Britain and receives many honours and awards.
1871 – In this year he settles definitively in Paris with Pauline Viardot and her family. Thereafter he, Viardot, and her husband live together. He treats her children as his own and later buys the family a villa. The exact nature of his relationship to the celebrated Viardot is still a subject of debate among scholars.
1872 – 1882 – He writes, though his great works are behind him. He and Gustave Flaubert become close friends.
1883 – On September 3rdat Bougival near Paris, in the house where he lives with the Viardots, Turgenev dies in Pauline's arms. His remains are returned to Russia where he is buried in the Volkoff Cemetery in St. Petersburg.
In the 1990's a translation by Brian Friel (writer of this season's Faith Healer) enjoyed multiple productions at the Abbey in Dublin, the RSC and at the Pit in London.
Susan Coyne is an accomplished Award-winning writer and actress, and a founding member of Soulpepper. She previously adapted Chekhov's Platonov for this company, as well as appearing in many productions over the years.
Soulpepper: How long have you been working on this translation?
Susan Coyne: Just since September – that's when Soulpepper approached me. And I didn't have the draft I was supposed to translate until January.
SP: That's a short time to do your work.
SC: Yes, and no. I have somebody who's telling me what it is that I'm doing, and that's László (Marton, the director). My job is really to figure out a play for László to direct in English. He has the lore and the history, the vision and the sensibility for the play. I'm just figuring out English words for the relationships, scenarios and situations in the story.
SP: So it's a translation that isn't?
SC: In a way. The draft László sent me is a literal English translation, which is taken from a Hungarian translation from the original Russian. So it's a little like putting on rubber gloves, sticking your hands into a bag, feeling around, and then drawing a picture of it. (Laughter) And right now I'm so far into it I really have almost have nothing to say. (Laughter)
SP: So how are you approaching this complex task?
SC: Well honestly when I read the first unwieldy translations – I read a few English language versions of the play in the fall – I thought, "I don't get this play." But László has really helped me to see and understand it. He says it's like Platonov (by Chekhov, which Ms. Coyne adapted, along with Mr. Marton, for our 1999 season). It's the work of a young genius. Turgenev has amazing instincts but he doesn't really understand the form of a play, in a sense. He's a novelist writing a play. So László worked on the text in Hungarian, and he's pared away a good deal of it to uncover something simpler and more direct. My impression, having got to the core of it, is that it's very sweet, unusual and quite delicate. Very modern or maybe I mean timeless. So I'm enjoying it. And the situations are – I understand the comedy of it now too. I think. (Laughter)
SP: I know you and László are working on Skype, with him in Budapest and you in Toronto. What do you sort through together?
SC: Looking at the literal translation, sometimes I literally don't understand the line. The choice of words is too ambiguous so sometimes I have to ask him to clarify a particular line. And that can lead to a discussion of the situation, and it often turns out that I've misunderstood something. There's a lot of subtext in the play, moments where characters are taken aback and don't know what to say in the moment so what they come up with is inadequate, or awkward. In my work with László as an actress playing Chekhov, he's taught me as an actor that you have to always, as he says, be brave enough to confess the face while losing it. What he means is the face you have just before you pull yourself together and recover from a blow. The face you wear at the moment of shock, when you are completely vulnerable. Turgenev's characters are like Chekhov's: they are amazed to discover the depth of their own vulnerability. Most of them are completely without guile, caught unawares by their feelings – incredibly intense summer storm kind of feelings that come out of nowhere.
SP: Have you found many similarities between Turgenev and Chekhov?
SC: Yes, it's amazing, really, but Turgenev was first. I like the play because it doesn't moralize about the characters' feelings or try to explain them away. Natalya is a young woman who's completely blindsided by this passion and Turgenev doesn't try to justify it, or psychologize it away. Like Chekhov, he's a very non-judgemental writer, very compassionate to all his characters. The only character he does judge is the cynic, Schpigelsky.
SP: They say you can't be wise and in love.
SC: Turgenev's very funny on the subject of people falling in love – he calls it “this famous feeling.” And for Natalya, the discovery is: it's awful! This famous feeling makes you so vulnerable, it exposes you so ruthlessly. Rakitin, for example, is hopelessly in love with Natalya, and it causes him so much pain. He says to Belyaev: “I guess you think it's the greatest thing in the world to be in love.” But Turgenev resists coming to an easy conclusion and that's why the text is so multi-layered: sometimes the characters can only hint at what they feel. There's a mystery to these things.