Hecht, Jessica

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      ‘Summer, 1976’ Review: The Path to Freedom Starts With a Friendship

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      Two mothers make a life-altering connection during a play date in this production for the Manhattan Theater Club.Holly and Gretchen. Those are the little girls’ names, so dissimilar in the way they hit the ear: one soft, warm and breathy; the other sharp-edged and cramped. Just like their mothers.The children are 5, maybe 6, when they first play together and hit it off, instant pals suddenly eager to see each other every day. In “Summer, 1976” — David Auburn’s bittersweet, comic memory play — that means their mothers, diametric opposites, will be hanging out a lot, too.This is a fortunate thing for us, the audience. Because in Daniel Sullivan’s sun-dappled Broadway production for Manhattan Theater Club, Laura Linney plays the austere, censorious Diana to Jessica Hecht’s vastly chiller Alice — or, as Diana describes this fresh acquaintance, a “sleepy-eyed little hippie with her shorts and her coconut oil.”“I sort of immediately hated her,” Alice tells us in narrator mode, which she and Diana slip in and out of as they recall the time when they were new to each other.But when Alice reaches into her macramé purse and retrieves a joint (“I only took it out because it was the only way I could imagine getting through the next 10 minutes,” she says), Diana tokes prodigiously to prove she’s not a square. On John Lee Beatty’s lyrically midcentury modern set, summer-lit by Japhy Weideman at the Samuel J. Friedman Theater, the two women get the munchies and have a feast. Nearly by chance, a life-changing friendship takes root.They are a gorgeous duo, these friends: bickering lifelines for each other, vulnerable and too proud. In one narrated stretch, with Hana S. Kim’s projection design aiding our imaginations, Diana and Alice embark on a cross-country road trip, terminating in San Francisco — which seems ideal, not least because it brings to mind Linney’s ’70s heroine Mary Ann Singleton in the mini-series “Tales of the City.”Auburn, a 2001 Pulitzer Prize winner for “Proof,” another richly female-centered drama directed by Sullivan in its premiere, isn’t breaking any ground with theatrical form here. And the white, college-educated, Midwestern young women at the center of this play are a very particular slice of the culture. Stretching from 1976 to 2003, this is a story of profound connection and awakening disquiet, which Sullivan directs with his customary unostentatious lucidity.If “Summer, 1976” feels too comfortable to be fashionable, it’s sharply observant, too, and subtly, insistently feminist — more than the wisp of a two-hander that it might first appear to be. Auburn, who at 53 was about Holly and Gretchen’s age during the Bicentennial, has once again sown a script with riches for actors. Linney and Hecht mine them for all they’re worth.A frustrated artist who teaches at Ohio State University, Diana is a single mother — the kind with family money as a cushion and a rule against Gretchen watching any TV shows that aren’t on PBS. An inveterate snob who judges the worth of her fellow humans by their design choices and the books they read, Diana is harder to like than Alice is — though in Linney’s hands, no less funny or affecting. The second line out of her mouth gets a laugh with its withering disdain for Alice’s daughter.“I didn’t like her child, actually,” Diana says.Diana’s off-puttingness is partially strategic; it keeps her safe from the harm that other people might cause by getting close. But her brittle-perfectionist facade conceals a deep well of insecurity and loneliness, and a reserve of compassion that’s more capacious than we’d guess.Alice, in her flowing peasant dress (costumes are by Linda Cho), is the kind of fluttery, gentle-voiced woman who is routinely underestimated. She’s smarter and more resilient than she lets on, though, and, like Hecht’s terrific performance, admirably sly. A stay-at-home mother with almost zero interest in cooking, cleaning or decorating, Alice is married to Doug, an economist who’s up for tenure at the university and spends the summer buried frantically in his papers. Invested in believing that she’s happy, and that her marriage is, too, Alice looks after Holly, sunbathes in the yard of their modest house and indulges in best-selling paperbacks.One of those novels, Robin Cook’s “Coma,” not published until 1977, is a slight, seemingly calculated cheat on Auburn’s part in a show that’s otherwise meticulous about period accuracy. (See, for glorious example, Diana’s impeccably turquoise-shadowed eyelids — as well as her hair, styled by Annemarie Bradley, and Alice’s, styled by Jasmine Burnside.)A medical thriller, “Coma” is also about a woman who enters an overwhelmingly male professional world and faces sexist pushback. Not that the play gets into this; it’s just a signal that’s there for picking up.But both Alice and Diana, who meet through a campus child care co-op designed by Doug as an economic model, have seen their creative and career ambitions derailed. They belong to a generation of women who came of age in time for the sexual revolution and took advantage of that freedom pre-Roe v. Wade. Still, there remained the practical matter of how pregnancy could permanently rearrange their lives, and the entrenched expectation that a married woman puts her husband’s career first.Diana got pregnant in art school during a fling with a glassblower; Alice dropped out of graduate school to marry Doug, then had Holly. Columbus — a staid heartland city named for that avatar of heedless white male adventuring — was never the aim for either of them.“Great things were promised me, Alice,” Diana says. “I promised them to myself.”In that red, white and blue summer, they question what’s gone wrong with their American dreams. And they start, with poignant imperfection, to put things right.Summer, 1976Through June 10 at the Samuel J. Friedman Theater, Manhattan; manhattantheatreclub.com. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes. More

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      ‘Like a Romance’: Laura Linney and Jessica Hecht’s Spring Fling Onstage

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      In David Auburn’s new play, “Summer, 1976,” the actresses play unlikely friends whose relationship has the intensity of a love affair.Alice and Diana don’t like each other very much. Not at first. Diana, a teacher at the University of Ohio, considers Alice an intellectual lightweight and flaky. Alice, a faculty wife, finds Diana condescending.“They are unlikely friends,” Laura Linney, who plays Diana, said with understatement.And yet forced together for a few sticky Midwestern months by their young daughters, a relationship burgeons over kiddie pools and popsicles. Their friendship, which will eventually burn with the blue-flame intensity of a love affair, will profoundly alter each woman’s life.This is the substance of David Auburn’s memory play “Summer, 1976,” a febrile two-hander directed by Daniel Sullivan and starring Linney and Jessica Hecht (Alice) as women in their 50s recalling a pivotal time in their 20s. The Manhattan Theater Club production, mostly composed of daisy-chained monologues, is scheduled to open April 25 at the Samuel J. Friedman Theater.Linney, left, and Hecht in David Auburn’s new play, “Summer, 1976,” at Samuel J. Friedman Theater in Manhattan. The two-hander opens on April 25.Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesOn a recent weekday morning, the two women met in an otherwise empty rehearsal room at M.T.C.’s Midtown offices. This was a fraught moment in the process. “Week three in rehearsal for me is always a disaster, I’m so frustrated,” Linney said. And Hecht was still starring in another show, Sarah Ruhl’s “Letters From Max” at the Signature Theater. But the co-stars, dressed in drapey clothing, seemed relaxed enough.Both are stage and screen veterans who have worked with Sullivan — Hecht long ago in “The Heidi Chronicles,” Linney most recently in “The Little Foxes” — but never together. They were learning the play by listening, raptly, to each other.“It’s like being in a romance of sorts,” Hecht said.Over midmorning coffee — “Sometimes there’s god, so quickly,” Linney said, quoting Tennessee Williams, when the drinks arrived — the two women discussed the play, the process and why they keep returning to the theater. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.“It’s always exciting to see where the intersection is between the actor and the character,” Linney said of watching other actors and their process. “Like, where do they find their way in?”Thea Traff for The New York TimesWhat do you remember about 1976?JESSICA HECHT My mother’s divorce and her consciousness raising group.LAURA LINNEY I can remember wearing Corkys and feeling very cool with my Lip Smackers and my shampoo that smelled like wheat germ.What attracted you to these characters?LINNEY I wasn’t attracted to the character at first. I have no idea of who a character is until I’ve been working for several weeks. So for me, it was really the combination of people. If Dan Sullivan whispers my name, I’ll show up. Honestly, I will do anything that man wants me to do. And I so wanted to do it with Jess, because she is so amazing. Also, hurray for a new play!HECHT I never told you, but before they had officially asked me to do the play, I saw Dan on the corner of 93rd and Broadway. And he said, “Have you worked with Laura?” And I said, “No, I haven’t worked with her.” And he said, “She’s the real deal.” And it is true, because you have a clarity of purpose. We share that. For me, I’m interested in plays that talk about intimacy.LINNEY This was a time before cellphones, before the internet. Friendships were very deep. The effort that you would happily make to continue a relationship or a friendship! And the romance that went with not being able to have access to someone immediately.So once you’d signed on, what work has gone into building these characters?HECHT My approach is kind of internal. It’s really based on the language and how the story is working. It’s quite annoying.LINNEY No, not at all.HECHT I always worry that my technique annoys the other actors. Do you ever get that feeling? That this must be frustrating to the other person?LINNEY I love watching someone else’s process. How do you do this crazy thing that we do? Because we are all so different, it’s always exciting to see where the intersection is between the actor and the character. What is it that’s letting them in, bringing blood to the character? Like, where do they find their way in?I’m the daughter of a playwright. So I tend to be text-based. I try to listen to what the play is telling me to do. I work on it and work on it and work on it. Then there comes a period of time where it literally lifts up off the page and it becomes a three-dimensional living thing. Then it starts to work on me. It doesn’t always happen. But it’s exciting when it does.So who are these women? Who is Alice?HECHT Alice has a kind of impulsivity about relating to people and an attraction to different people. That excites me. I definitely was that person.And who’s Diana?HECHT She’s such a mystery. She’s so complicated.LINNEY There’s the question of who is she really and who does she think she is. There’s a big difference between the two. She wants to be an artist. It’s important to her. It’s more than a vocation. It’s a sacred pact. And she suffers terribly for it. She is uncompromising, she is opinionated. She is astute and perceptive and diagnostic. She also doesn’t really know who she is or what she needs or what she wants.Why is this friendship so intense?HECHT They both really feel that need to have somebody as a partner. With Alice, Diana teaches her so much.LINNEY They’re attracted to the qualities that they don’t have, but that the other person has in abundance. And there’s a sense of belonging to each other. There’s a sense of family, there’s a sense of chemistry. When you click with someone, it’s really powerful.HECHT Being friends with Diana is almost like having an affair, it changes Alice’s whole metabolism.LINNEY You’re chemically altered. And you’re spiritually rearranged.You’re about four weeks into rehearsal, what have you learned about the play?HECHT Yesterday we did our first run of the play without our books in hand. And it was so scary, but we got through.LINNEY We’re learning a lot. I don’t think any of us have pretensions that we have all the answers. Maybe that’s the one thing that shows how long we’ve been doing this. If you’re too knowing, there’s no room for growth.What’s the joy and terror of a two-hander, of having to rely so much on each other?LINNEY The joy is the intimacy and the bond and that you’re not alone up there. There’s a total interdependence. The biggest fear is that I won’t be able to help her if she gets into trouble.HECHT Yeah, that we would let the other person down.LINNEY The language is very difficult. We never stop talking. We’re going to mess up. We’re human beings. There’s just the fear that we will mess up in a way that derails the show.You both have spent a lot of your career on television. What keeps you returning to the theater?HECHT I feel very, very committed to our community. Being part of this community is definitely the biggest accomplishment of my professional life. I feel a tremendous amount of energy and human connection to the people I act with and the people I act for. Nothing else replicates that.LINNEY It’s a family profession. I have a history with it that goes beyond me. I also strongly believe that it is a part of public good. Theater provides a nourishment, intellectually and emotionally and spiritually, to audiences. And I love the ritual. There is a connection to the work that’s much deeper than anything you can do on television and film. Because we are doing it from beginning to end, eight shows a week.HECHT It is a religion. Someone said to me the other day, “Oh, that is my religion. Being in the theater.”LINNEY People ask me, “What church did you grow up in?” I’m like, “The theater.” Everything that’s important about life I’ve learned in the theater. More

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      Review: ‘Letters From Max’ Is a Sacrament of Grief, and a Comedy

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      The Signature Theater production is based on correspondence between the playwright Sarah Ruhl and a student of hers, who died of cancer at 25.The poet Max Ritvo, who was 25 when he died of cancer in 2016, knew exactly the impression he did not want to make if he and the playwright Sarah Ruhl ever cobbled together a book of their correspondence. He recoiled at the possibility that it would come across like “a Lifetime movie story of poor cancer boy and his wise, brilliant, loving mentor ministering to his heart and mind through every mortal peril and petty crisis.”Not to worry. “Letters From Max: A Book of Friendship,” published in 2018, is never for an instant maudlin. And “Letters From Max, a Ritual,” Ruhl’s warm and literary new play adapted from the book, is in no way a pity narrative. It’s a theatrical act of remembrance and a sacrament of grief, but it’s also a comedy. Because in their emails and texts, in their voice mail messages and face-to-face conversations, the character Sarah and the character Max make each other laugh.Jessica Hecht, a Ruhl veteran from “Stage Kiss” nearly a decade ago, here nimbly becomes the playwright — wonderfully comical, and as gentle as the soft, soft blue of the blazer she wears. This Sarah has a confiding rapport with the audience and an expansive sense of playwriting potential.Teaching an undergraduate course at Yale, she decides to admit 20-year-old Max, even though he has never written a play — “because,” she says, “funny poets are my favorite kind of human being.” When Max’s banished childhood cancer recurs, Sarah treats both him and his work with compassion, and a friendship begins to put down roots.In Kate Whoriskey’s witty, sensitive production for Signature Theater, the role of Max is shared by two actors, alternating performances. Ben Edelman, so excellent opposite Hecht in Joshua Harmon’s “Admissions,” is the more raucous Max, with a bigger personality that gets bigger laughs. Whatever is behind that facade, though, remains hidden from us. Zane Pais’s loose-limbed Max is the one who brings the tenderness, which cracks the play open emotionally and also, somehow, poetically. Skinny and floppy-haired, with a restless intensity and a searching intelligence, he is at once irrepressible and unavoidably vulnerable.More on N.Y.C. Theater, Music and Dance This SpringMusical Revivals: Why do the worst characters in musicals get the best tunes? In upcoming revivals, world leaders both real and mythical get an image makeover they may not deserve, our critic writes.Rising Stars: These actors turned playwrights all excavate memories and meaning from their lives in creating these four shows, which arrive in New York in the coming months.Gustavo Dudamel: The New York Philharmonic’s new music director, will conduct Mahler’s Ninth Symphony in May. It will be one of the hottest tickets in town.Feeling the Buzz: “Bob Fosse’s Dancin’” is back on Broadway. Its stars? An eclectic cast of dancers who are anything but machines.This slender play has some of the spareness of poetry, which Sarah and Max periodically speak aloud. If, at a scant two hours including intermission, the production seems sometimes to be moving too fast, it also has interludes when it slows down — as in an exquisite scene between Max and a winged character who is both an angel and a tattoo artist, and is played by Edelman or Pais, whichever of them isn’t embodying Max at that performance.In that third role, Edelman (on piano) and Pais (on guitar) each also play underscoring music that they wrote with the sound designer, Sinan Refik Zafar. The last music the audience hears, though, was composed by Ritvo. The effect of it all, in tandem with the other design elements, is a sense of ethereality. (The set is by Marsha Ginsberg, costumes by Anita Yavich, lighting by Amith Chandrashaker and projection and video by S Katy Tucker.)Ruhl’s plays are sometimes mistranslated from page to stage — rendered less poetic than they are, and more earthbound. Like Les Waters with “Eurydice,” Whoriskey is the rare director who grasps the ineffable in Ruhl, and knows how to make sense of it in three dimensions. For all its talk of this world and corporeality, “Letters From Max” exists on a slightly other plane.Ruhl and Ritvo’s conversation was as much about the life of the mind, and the work of an artist, as it was about the life of the body and the existence of the soul. Ruhl has fashioned from it the kind of play that makes you want to dig in afterward: into the letters between them, into her plays, into his poems. Since the closure of Signature’s thoughtfully curated lobby bookstore — a casualty of the coronavirus pandemic — no production there has made me miss it as powerfully as this one.In my mind I can see the bookshop display that might have been: the volume of their correspondence; Ruhl’s many published plays, particularly “The Oldest Boy,” which affected Ritvo powerfully, and her epistolary plays “Eurydice” and “Dear Elizabeth”; his poetry collections “Four Reincarnations” and “The Final Voicemails” (which you can buy at Signature, along with their book of letters, but only at some performances); and “Words in Air,” the letters between the poets Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell that inspired “Dear Elizabeth.”If “Letters From Max” were any other play, I would think dreaming up a fantasy bookstore display — which is essentially a fantasy reading list — was a strange response. But it feels like a natural extension of the conversation pinging back and forth between Sarah and Max. Theirs is so much wider and more voracious a discussion than any stage could hold.So go see the play, and feel their relationship alive and tingling. Then open some of those books. Bliss.Letters From Max, a RitualThrough March 19 at the Pershing Square Signature Center, Manhattan; signaturetheatre.org. Running time: 2 hours. More

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      With ‘Letters From Max’ Onstage, Sarah Ruhl Again Mourns a Poet’s Death

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      Through dialogue, poetry and ritual, the playwright revisits her correspondence with her former student, who died at the age of 25.About 10 minutes into “Letters From Max, a Ritual,” Sarah Ruhl’s new play about her epistolary friendship with the poet Max Ritvo, something akin to a sacred rite takes place: The lights dim, a spotlight illuminates center stage, and the actor portraying Ritvo walks toward a winged tattoo artist. For a few moments, they circle each other. Then the tattoo artist-angel removes the hospital gown that the poet is wearing and lifts him with grace. With a miming gesture, he offers a compact mirror to Ritvo so he might examine the birds newly adorning his back.“It’s dope,” Ritvo says of the tattoo, looking over his shoulder. “I really love it in this light.”But that quiet exchange was not dreamed up by Ruhl. It is actually a scene from a play that Ritvo wrote for Ruhl when he was a student at Yale in 2012, four years before he died of cancer at the age of 25. (After each surgery, he would acquire a new tattoo of a bird.) Before handing in the project, he told Ruhl, “I am adamant that something extravagant and silent happen.”With the Signature Theater production of “Letters From Max,” his desire for the work is now being realized in a way he might not have imagined.Ruhl’s play, adapted from a book she compiled of their correspondence during Ritvo’s chemotherapy, boils down to a single, yearslong conversation about poetry, love, mortality, the afterlife and soup. But this is not a traditional play. Poems and live music are interspersed between the dialogue, which comes from the letters, texts and voice mail messages they exchanged.Edelman, right, as a tattoo artist-angel, helping Pais remove his hospital gown in the play. The two actors alternate in the role of Max.Ye Fan for The New York Times“I don’t think of this play as ‘show business,’” Ruhl said in an interview, “but instead an encounter for the audience.” She hopes viewers will “bring their own grief or their own need for communal sadness,” she said, adding that the theater has been a place for catharsis dating back to the Greeks. “We’ve all been through so much in the last two years.”Though Ruhl feels her own grief in this production, which opens on Feb. 27, she has also found joy in sharing Ritvo’s work, and in seeing it move people the same way he did. “He was such a present, joyful person who made everyone around him laugh,” she said. There are other small tributes to Ritvo, too: A song he composed recurs throughout, and the titles of his poems are projected in his handwriting above the stage.There were no plans to adapt “Letters From Max” upon the book’s 2018 publication. But as Ruhl read sections at events — often with an actor reading Ritvo’s words — people asked, “Is this going to be a play?”Before distilling the 309-page book into a two-hour stage production, Ruhl consulted Ritvo’s literary executor, the poet Elizabeth Metzger.“She asked me long ago, ‘Do you think Max would want this?’” Metzger recalled, adding that she was “very, very certain that Max would.” For Ruhl, finding “the bones” within hundreds of pages of correspondence became a process of trial and error.She realized the first act is “about a teacher and a student getting to know each other and forming a friendship,” she said, “that would then reverse the teacher-student relationship” in the second act, which opens with a dialectic on the afterlife. “I was trying to offer Max a comforting view of the afterlife when he was afraid of death,” Ruhl said. “And he ultimately said, ‘Thank you. But no.’”Kate Whoriskey, who directed the New York production of Ruhl’s previous epistolary play, “Dear Elizabeth,” also about two poets exchanging letters, signed on to direct, and the actress Jessica Hecht was game to portray Ruhl, her longtime friend and collaborator. But casting Ritvo introduced a unique challenge. “I’m definitely sensitive to the fact that he had a huge reach and people are still in mourning,” Ruhl said.She said she was moved during auditions. “It was actually beautiful to see Max’s language inside a young person’s body again,” Ruhl said. Ruhl and Whoriskey liked the idea of a third body onstage — similar to the Stage Manager in Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town” — who might “care-take the space” by delivering soup and poems to Ruhl and Ritvo. When the actors Ben Edelman and Zane Pais read for the role of Ritvo, Ruhl said, the team believed they “could do beautifully in both roles” by alternating nights. It turned out that Edelman plays the piano and Pais plays the guitar, so each composed music to perform while the other recites Ritvo’s poetry.“There’s some mystery, and it’s beyond words,” Ruhl said of the duality. “But it’s something about the spirit and the body, and the observer and the observed.” Not to mention, as Ruhl writes in the program note, the actors’ interchangeability demonstrates that Ritvo’s spirit and legacy is “bigger than any one actor.”“Max was many himself,” Metzger said. “Every time he read a poem, he read it differently, because he allowed the moment of the poem and the moment he was reading to merge.”When rehearsals began, Metzger texted Ruhl some guidance for the actors: “Reading the letters, the character is coming to face death,” she wrote, but “reading the poems, the character is not dying but being born, coming to life!” Metzger hoped the actors might “capture the shock of Max’s performance style, even the strange wild aliveness of the poems on the page.”Ritvo’s mother, Riva Ariella Ritvo, has been “an incredibly staunch supporter,” Edelman said, calling a video meeting she had with the cast members “one of the most intense experiences of my life.”He and Pais didn’t study Ritvo’s mannerisms. Instead, they aimed to embody his work. “Neither of us are trying to do an impersonation of Max at all,” Pais said.Hecht and Pais onstage during rehearsals at the Pershing Square Signature Center. Marsha Ginsberg’s spare set includes a white zoetrope that rotates to reveal scenes inside Max Ritvo’s childhood home, hospital rooms and a theater.Ye Fan for The New York TimesTo foreground the writing, the scenic designer Marsha Ginsberg kept the stage spare. The sole set piece is a white zoetrope that rotates to reveal scenes inside Ritvo’s childhood home, hospital rooms and the 13th Street Repertory Theater, where he accepted the 2014 Chapbook Fellowship from the Poetry Society of America while wearing a pink kimono. At one point, during a silent sequence, the outside of the zoetrope becomes the window of an Amtrak quiet car. “We were trying to create a world where imaginative scapes could happen,” Whoriskey said. “So that a poem happens, and then suddenly, you’re seeing skeletons across a bridge, or a poem happens, and you’re seeing the shimmering of water.”Hecht didn’t work through the emotional arc of Ruhl’s character until the week before previews began. Though it’s easy to cry on command, she said, “I felt embarrassed to do that before we lived through the play for a while, and I really felt the weight of that story and that person coming into our lives.”For the past 30 years, Ruhl said, she has carried on an “intense” dialogue on life and art with Paula Vogel, her former professor. “When I met Max, it felt like he was one of those people that I would have that kind of dialogue with, had he lived that long,” she said. “It’s a comet-like thing. You might only meet those people once every … how often do comets circle?” Perhaps Ritvo made such an impact because he valued relationships. “He’s not a poet who just went inward and was exploring his own self and soul. It was always about talking to another person in a room,” Metzger said. “It was happening all the time, these little births and deaths of just being with a person in a room. I think that’s why he had so much intimacy with so many people. I’ve never met someone with as capacious of a soul.”When Ruhl attended the first preview performance of “Letters From Max, a Ritual” earlier this month, she could finally observe “how the humor landed,” how the emotional beats played out, and how Ritvo’s poetry “theatrically holds an audience.”But it wasn’t until intermission that the project came full circle. As part of the play’s “ritual,” she said, audience members sat at tables in the lobby to write letters to loved ones. A young woman approached Ruhl with an envelope addressed to her. The playwright opened it and drew out a note reading: “I have incurable brain cancer. And this production gave me hope.” More

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      Review: In High-Tech ‘Orchard,’ It’s Hard to See the Forest for the Trees

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      Jessica Hecht, Mikhail Baryshnikov and Chekhov himself too often get overwhelmed by this ambitious Arlekin Players Theater adaptation.A black-clad figure shuffles a curving path through the cherry blossom petals carpeting the ground. Ancient, dignified, slightly stooped, he is searching for his cane in this strange and beautiful landscape where almost everything, including the cherry blossoms, is a shade of swimming-pool blue.The opening moments of “The Orchard,” Igor Golyak’s adaptation of Chekhov’s “The Cherry Orchard,” belong to Firs, the serf turned servant who has been attached for generations to the same house in the countryside, and devoted to the same frivolous family now in peril of losing their beloved home. It is Firs who reliably pierces our hearts at the end of “The Cherry Orchard,” so to start with him here is fitting — all the more so because he is played by Mikhail Baryshnikov with the ineffable magnetism and captivating grace that have always made him a riveting performer, and that now make him the quietly scene-stealing anchor of this ambitious and cluttered production.We don’t know it yet, but that brief interlude — with a single line of dialogue about the weather, and the pleasure of watching Baryshnikov whirl when a wind whips up — is the last we will have before this show starts obstructing our view of the actors with video frequently projected on its transparent downstage scrim.It is extraordinarily frustrating, like trying to watch a play through a black-and-white film: a film that is often showing a close-up of what is happening on one part of the stage while blocking something else — such as Baryshnikov making a choreographed movement that we can’t see clearly even though he’s right there in the room with us. And this theater at the Baryshnikov Arts Center is a fairly intimate space; we are not in need of a zoom lens.Baryshnikov, as the servant Firs, and Hecht as Madame Ranevskaya, the lady of the house.Maria BaranovaA clue to the root of the chaos is the giant robotic arm sitting center stage in Golyak’s production for the Massachusetts-based Arlekin Players Theater, where he is artistic director, and its Zero Gravity Virtual Theater Lab. “The Orchard” is a hybrid, meant to provide one experience to in-person audiences and another, more interactive experience to online audiences. One of the show’s multiple cameras, none particularly well deployed, is on that robotic arm. There is also a robotic dog, who is surprisingly charming. (Robotics design is by Tom Sepe.)Experimenting with virtual theater is how Arlekin made a bigger name for itself during the industry shutdown; Baryshnikov and Jessica Hecht, the other star in this cast, first worked with the company online.But the creators of this production are in thrall to technological possibilities they have yet to grasp expertly, which hampers both incarnations. Seeing it in person is better, or certainly it was on Wednesday, when I caught the matinee at the theater and watched the virtual version — which is also live, and supplemented with activities like touring virtual rooms inhabited by Baryshnikov as Chekhov — from home at night. As intended, online viewers miss the beginning of the stage performance; why this would seem like a good idea I cannot fathom.It turns out that those close-ups on the scrim can be helpful if you’re watching the show on a laptop. On the other hand, the online video jerked and stopped so often on my screen, and for so long, that there were whole chunks of action I heard but didn’t see; the video feed cut out before the curtain call; and the scripted online ending mysteriously failed to appear. The ending I watched in person, though, didn’t entirely come off, either, because the final, vital projection never happened.A robotic arm gathers some of the video that is projected live onstage and shown online. In person, the images often prove distracting to a viewer captivated by the performers.Maria BaranovaWhat about the play, though? Well, that’s exactly the problem: You have to hack your way through an enormous amount of distraction merely to get to it, and even then the production doesn’t have the storytelling clarity the play needs to land. On the sidewalk after the matinee, I overheard some audience members who had never seen “The Cherry Orchard” and were left none the wiser, in terms of plot, after “The Orchard.”This disjointed production gives the impression of not being especially interested in comprehensibility. For all its projections (designed by Alex Basco Koch), significant passages of dialogue in American Sign Language, Russian and French go untranslated.Still, it is pretty to look at, with Anna Fedorova’s set ravishingly lit by Yuki Nakase Link, and the actors clad in Oana Botez’s elegantly contemporary take on period costumes. And Hecht is a gorgeously frothy Madame Ranevskaya, the lady of the house: sentimental and self-absorbed, with a decorative layer of ever-pleasant femininity and a spritz of teasing sexiness.During Wednesday night’s performance, when Hecht broke off to take a few live-chat questions from the virtual audience, she remained in character as a viewer reported a long-frozen computer screen.“I am so sorry,” she said, noting that a solution would require someone versed in such things. “I can only speak of matters of the heart.”One would think that this production might speak eloquently of matters of the heart — not only because Chekhov’s play does, but also because the Kyiv-born Golyak and his Arlekin, with its immigrant origins, are no strangers to the reality of having to leave a beloved home and build a life elsewhere.Aside from Madame Ranevskaya’s less-favored daughter Varya, played by Elise Kibler with a touching hopefulness, there’s not much in this production beyond sweet, funny, delicate Firs to suggest a heart at all.But, ah, Firs — so certain all his life that if he looked after this family, they would do the same for him. When the truth dawns at last, with the shock of disillusion, he collapses into human wreckage. Even in utter stillness, he is fascinating.The OrchardThrough July 3 at the Baryshnikov Arts Center, Manhattan, and online; theorchardoffbroadway.com. Running time: 1 hour 45 minutes. More

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      Chekhov Two Ways, With a Robot and Baryshnikov Along for the Ride

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      When the director Igor Golyak began working on a staging of Chekhov’s “The Cherry Orchard,” he had an idea in mind. “There was a concept,” he said, then interrupted himself. “I’d rather not talk about what it used to be, if that’s OK. The war started, me being from Kyiv and having this affinity for the Russian culture. …”Golyak’s voice trailed off. He was speaking in a coffee shop a block from the Baryshnikov Arts Center, in Midtown Manhattan, where his show, now titled “The Orchard,” is set to begin previews June 7 with a cast headed by the busy stage and screen actress Jessica Hecht as the estate owner Lyubov Ranevskaya. Also onboard is the center’s namesake, Mikhail Baryshnikov, as the old servant Firs.Golyak was born in Kyiv and his family landed in the United States in 1990, part of a wave of Jewish refugees. He finished high school in Boston then studied theater in Moscow — you might say Chekhov is in his bones. But although he felt he had a handle on the Russian writer’s work, the war in Ukraine made him reconsider his approach.Mikhail Baryshnikov, center, on the set of “The Orchard,” at the Baryshnikov Arts Center. “The miracle of Chekhov’s writing is that, no matter where it’s performed, it feels local,” Baryshnikov said.Amir Hamja for The New York Times“How do you do theater and Chekhov when there’s bombings and killings?” he said. “I keep asking ‘How and why and why is it important?’ But not on the theoretical level — on the level that really touches me. For me, every show is very personal. The idea in ‘The Cherry Orchard’ is the loss of a world, loss of connection, loss of each other, loss of this family. It’s a story where a human being is forgotten — Firs is forgotten,” he added. “And right now human being is forgotten.”In the play, a family in financial straits must decide whether it should sell its beloved orchard. In “The Orchard” this will be starkly visualized in a parallel virtual version that complements rather than merely captures the physical one — though streaming viewers get to watch parts of the version being performed live. (Audience members can attend either or both.)The virtual world is a post-apocalyptic dystopia in which the Baryshnikov Arts Center stands in for the orchard. There, the building, now a husk of its former self, is for sale, and virtual audience members can tour it as if they were doing a walk-through of a home on a real estate website.“It’s almost as if you’re inside this building and you find these magical rooms, and in each room, it’s like you’re finding a lost world,” the producer Sara Stackhouse said. “You’re discovering a letter or a memory, then you discover this theater where a play is in progress and you join it.”Jessica Hecht, center, with Nael Nacer during a rehearsal.Amir Hamja for The New York TimesThis grounds the show in a historical reality — Baryshnikov portrays the playwright in the digital version, and Hecht pops up as Chekhov’s wife and his mistress — while nodding to our troubled current circumstances.“The miracle of Chekhov’s writing is that, no matter where it’s performed, it feels local to the culture,” Baryshnikov wrote in an email. “How that translates in Igor’s version remains to be seen. Obviously he speaks the language the play was written in, but he’s taking a lot of risks — technical and artistic — and avoiding clichés.”Something that definitely can’t be called a Chekhov cliché is a 12-foot robotic arm, which sits in the middle of the physical stage — it is part of the family and tries to understand humans — and was painstakingly programmed to execute such tasks as serving coffee or sweeping the floor. (The production process has demanded many hours of Zoom calls with a technical team spread all over the world.)The juxtaposition of past and future (typically, Oana Botez’s costumes for the physical version are a hybrid of period and modern), human and robot feels like yet another leap for Golyak’s Arlekin Players Theater, which is based in Needham, Mass., and has been the rare company to use the pandemic as a creative spur.Until then, it had been a bit of a tough slog. As Golyak, now 43, learned the hard way, a young Russia-trained director was not a hot commodity in the American theater scene of the early 2000s.“Nobody wanted me,” he said. “For an immigrant, it’s very difficult: Where do you go? How do you start? I had an accent — and I still do, of course. I would send résumés but nobody would call me back. At some point I decided that I’m going to stop doing theater because it’s just not possible to make a living.” His day jobs included selling ads for the Yellow Pages.Eventually Golyak befriended a small group of other immigrants from the former Soviet Union, who asked him to help them work on scenes, guide them through what worked or not. He requested a nine-month commitment, and they agreed. Arlekin Players Theater emerged from that initiative, in 2009, and the troupe, which then mostly performed in Russian, developed an esprit de corps.From left: Nacer, Elise Kibler, Mark Nelson, Hecht, John McGinty, Juliet Brett and Baryshnikov during a recent rehearsal.Amir Hamja for The New York Times“We are like a family,” said Darya Denisova, 32, an actor with Arlekin and Golyak’s wife. “We celebrate holidays together, we support each other when there are emergencies. Now that there’s this awful war going on between Russia and Ukraine, we are all trying our best to support people in Ukraine. We’re looking for ways to send more money, to support, to organize more and more help.”The company quickly earned plaudits on the community-theater circuit, but it took the pandemic to give the company a decisive push into greater recognition.Russia-Ukraine War: Key DevelopmentsCard 1 of 3Power consolidation. More