Belgrade, Coventry
Any production of Chekhov seems to carry a certain number of given factors: there will be silver birches, there will be samovars, there will be parasols. The opening tableau of Helena Kaut-Howson's staging, co-produced by the Belgrade and the Arcola in London, packs in all three before a word is spoken. Fortunately, it appears to be an attempt to get the cliches over with quickly, because what follows is one of the fresher, funnier Vanyas of recent memory.
As a Russian speaker, Kaut-Howson observes that most English translations of Chekhov are susceptible to "a fossilising reverence which Russians find touching if slightly amusing". To this end, she has prepared her own version, which has been further tweaked by actor Jon Strickland (who also plays the title role) for "speakability".
It's hard to be sure who did what in this division of labour, but the result rolls off the tongue. Vanya's summary of his nemesis, Professor Serebryakov, as someone who "understands nothing, achieved little and influenced no one" dynamically captures the characters' situations as doomed satellites hurtling towards the void of a collapsing star.
The verbal modifications are otherwise minimal: Paul Bigley's timorous Ilya, usually nicknamed Waffles on account of his manner, becomes Porridge on account of his complexion. But the pace of Kaut-Howson's staging manages to suggest lassitude without succumbing to it, and it emphasises the play's kernel of farce more enthusiastically than most. Strickland's jittery, manic Vanya runs out of bullets and is reduced to shouting "bang" while Geoffrey Whitehead's crusty Serebryakov defends himself with a bunch of flowers. If Uncle Vanya could never be described as laugh-a-minute, Kaut-Howson at least acknowledges the benefit of a laugh every half hour.