Temple Repertory's "Three Sisters'

At a first glance, Anton Chekhov's Three Sisters appears as little more than a period piece. Chekhov's setting depicts a slim slice of Russian history between Alexander II's freeing of the serfs in 1861 and the political undoing of the nobility in the Russian rebellion of 1905. His central characters include members of the aristocracy and military elite, who would vanish completely less than two decades after the play was written.

In mannerisms and education, the family of the title embodies the culmination of educational and civilizing reforms started more than a century earlier, and whose Eurocentrism would fuel debates between Russians who argued for more pro-European modernization and the pan-Slavic ethnonationalists of the second half of the 19th Century (arguments brilliantly realized in Tom Stoppard's trilogy, The Coast of Utopia).

Though stationed far from the cultural capitals of Moscow and St. Petersburg, the three sisters and their brother Andrei all speak multiple languages, play musical instruments and read European literature and philosophy. No one in their set considers such knowledge useless, even in a small backwater garrison town that affords them little opportunity to capitalize on such enrichment.

In contrast to the transpositions regularly visited upon the similarly dated works of Shakespeare, few directors have dislodged Chekhov's story from its time and place. Consequently, any production of Three Sisters places the action squarely in a remote foreign culture that no longer exists. Yet the embodiments of the actors in Dan Kern's psychologically evocative production yield surprising relevance.

Dreaming of Moscow

While the play opens on the one-year anniversary of a father's death, it nonetheless begins in the hope of fulfillment and change. No longer tied to the small town by their father's deployment, the youngest and oldest sisters (Irina and Olga) dream of returning to Moscow with their brother Andrei, who wishes to resume his university studies in science. The middle sister, Masha, has become disillusioned with her marriage but reignites with life upon the arrival of the dashing Colonel Vershinin.

As time passes— the play spans several years— the ambitions of youthful dreams lose traction, and luxury decays into a lazy decadence. Andrei puts aside intellectual pursuits for a petty position and an equally petty wife; later he succumbs to the cheap thrills of alcoholism and gambling. One by one, the sisters sink deeper anchors into the town life, until a rebirth in Moscow seems as remote to them as their lives look to us today.

All of them rely on philosophy for consolation, if not salvation. Not a scene passes without one character longing for a paradisiacal future that will grow out of their suffering.

The Utopian future

Vershinin speaks of hundreds of years in the future, when all mankind will live in glorious harmony and fulfillment because of the misery they experience. Irina longs "to work," as she believes all men and women must, to strive toward a glorious tomorrow built on sweat and toil. Each sincerely believes that the people of the future will thank them.

Here, the characters again appear anchored in the play's era. All four major philosophers of the 19th Century— Hegel, Marx, Darwin and Nietzsche— grounded their views in an ends-driven view of history and looked toward a better future as a way to eliminate (if not justify) present misery. Elements of Hegel's spirit-driven progression of history sift in and out of the conversations ideals, Marx's materialism takes concrete form in the sister's desire to work in labor-intensive positions at brick factories and telegraph offices.

Outbursts of philosophy

But thanks to the precise, almost exquisite naturalism of the acting and direction, even these outbursts of philosophy remind us of the common humanity that underlies them. No matter what demeanor Rob Kahn's visage expresses as Vershinin, or the bitter jealousy that passes through Steve Kuhel's measured glances (as Solyony), the straight-backed, hands-at-side military posture never deserts them or the cadre of soldiers on stage. While Vershinin speaks high-mindedly of a far-flung happiness, Solyony cynically derides pedestrian concerns. Both, however, realize a longing for some sliver of contentment.

When fate or inertia grinds down or crushes each of the three sisters in turn, we can see that their dreams for a better life are our dreams. The greatest joy and suffering centers on Masha, who knows and loses love, which Kate Czajkowski's Slavic features express with a devastating capacity for both resilience and anguish. At any moment, Czajkowski's chin looks capable of withstanding a battleship's blow; her eyes look like they would cave into the slightest breeze.

To Moscow or heaven

The steady hand of Dan Kern's direction blends the philosophic conversation into everyday speech in a manner that reflects the sincerity with which Chekhov's characters espouse these beliefs. These characters appear as the secular manifestations of Christian ideals, who can't "return to Moscow" or heaven, but know that their hardships pave a path toward a better (though distant) tomorrow.

Because of this naturalism in approach, when Chekhov's characters console themselves with philosophy, they echo contemporary forward-looking ideologies— from the millennial cults of 2000 to futurists like Ray Kurzweil to the environmentalists who promise a better tomorrow in exchange for sacrifice today.

Only the rich ornamentation of Millie Hiibel's costumes traps this play in its time and place. In three too-quick hours, Temple's staging evokes a world throbbing with a pulse of hope and despair that still beats today.