The saying that the course of true love never runs smooth could not be more apt for Brian Friel’s adaptation of Ivan Turgenev’s A Month in the Country, now revived at the Donmar Warehouse under Lyndsey Turner’s assured direction. A web of misplaced desire, jealousy and misunderstanding drives this elegantly crafted tragicomedy, which proves every bit as funny as it is emotionally revealing.
Leslie Travers’ striking design places the action inside a foliage-covered glasshouse that rises and falls between the play’s five acts. Beneath it sits a lush Russian country estate populated by family, servants, friends and assorted hangers-on, all seemingly harbouring affections for somebody they cannot have. It creates the perfect environment for passions to flourish and frustrations to fester.
At its centre is Natalya Petrovna, who finds herself infatuated with her son’s young tutor Aleksey, played with winning innocence and charm by Patrick Gibson. Meanwhile Michel (Alistair Petrie) remains devoted to Natalya, her husband Arkady remains blissfully unaware of the emotional chaos unfolding around him, and their ward Vera (Rachelle Diedericks) is nursing feelings of her own for Aleksey. Elsewhere, servants Katya (Jessica Brindle) and Matvey (Jonathan Livingstone) pursue a romance of their own, while the wily doctor Shpigelsky sets his sights on Lizaveta.
With so many overlapping romantic entanglements, the evening could easily descend into confusion. Instead, Friel’s beautifully judged adaptation and Turner’s deft handling of the ensemble ensure every shifting allegiance remains crystal clear. More importantly, they make it enormously entertaining.
The play ultimately belongs to Sophie Okonedo. Her mesmerising Natalya is both sympathetic and exasperating, a woman whose overwhelming desire gradually corrodes her judgement. As her infatuation deepens, she lashes out at those around her and resorts to increasingly manipulative tactics, including an attempt to marry off the sixteen-year-old Vera simply to remove a rival. Okonedo captures both the character’s cruelty and her vulnerability, ensuring we continue to understand her even when we cannot condone her actions.
Although emotional tension simmers throughout, there is plenty of comic relief. Daniel Rigby displays impeccable timing as the scheming Shpigelsky, while Mark Hadfield extracts endless laughs from Herr Schaaf’s linguistic mishaps. Best of all is Amanda Wilkin’s Lizaveta, whose nervous awkwardness and endearing sincerity quickly make her an audience favourite.
The comparisons with Chekhov are impossible to ignore. Like Chekhov’s great dramas, A Month in the Country finds rich theatrical rewards in the small disappointments, unrealised ambitions and everyday frustrations of ordinary lives. Yet Friel’s adaptation possesses a warmth and accessibility all its own. As we become absorbed in the intimate dynamics of this household, we begin to feel like guests ourselves, observing awkward encounters and stolen glances from the corner of the room. The result is a thoroughly engrossing and deeply enjoyable production that delivers all the emotional complexity of a Russian classic while remaining wonderfully entertaining throughout.
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