Reviews for Many Loves and Other Plays

The average rating for Many Loves and Other Plays based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2014-04-08 00:00:00 Joe Clem 'Oh, how easy and simple it all is! But you are mistaken, doctor; in each one of us there are too many springs, too many wheels and cogs for us to judge each other by first impressions or by two or three external indications. I cannot understand you, you cannot understand me, and neither of us can understand himself.' Anton Chekhov's The Seagull was the first play I attended in out-of- school context, and I was blown away by it (and not just by the gun shot). It affected me so deeply tears rolled down my cheeks by the end of the play. So when I discovered that Chekhov's 1887 play Ivanov was on the program of the local cultural centre, I jumped on the chance - it looked the perfect occasion as a means to reconnect with theatre, after a pause of seventeen years without attending any play. As the performance was presented as an adaptation and even a deconstruction of Chekhov, afterwards I was curious to discover the original text -to which the performance stayed remarkably true, apart from removing a few of the numerous minor characters from the plot - and with it obliterating the symbolism of the card playing in the backdrop of the play which serves as a commentary on the unpredictability of life and fate. 'If an intelligent, educated, and healthy man begins to complain of his lot and go down-hill, there is nothing for him to do but to go on down until he reaches the bottom--there is no hope for him. Where could my salvation come from? How can I save myself? I cannot drink, because it makes my head ache. I never could write bad poetry. I cannot pray for strength and see anything lofty in the languor of my soul. Laziness is laziness and weakness weakness. I can find no other names for them. I am lost, I am lost; there is no doubt of that.' The 35 year old Nikolai Ivanov is a complex and moody man. Is he guilty - as he repeats over and over again himself - or innocent? His environment - his moribund wife Anna, the doctor Lvov who thinks he is a cold and heartless monster and a fortune-chaser, the brash manager of Ivanov's estate, Borkin, the Lebedevs, the cynic count Shabelsky (Ivanov's uncle), Sasha wishing to rescue him - everyone is discussing him, criticising him, loving him - Ivanov is the anti-hero at the centre of the play, but no-one seems to hear what he is trying to say - all are too absorbed by their own dreams and little drama's. No-one understands what is eating him, why he changed into an prickly, paralyzed man outwardly indifferent to his wife dying and his estate going to ruins by debts and neglect. Ivanov's motives might not be as low as they look at first glance. Depicting Ivanov's unrest, melancholy, despair and subsequent inability to take care of himself and of others, pushing everyone away in his shame, Chekhov paints a nowadays utterly recognisable, poignant and convincing portrayal of a state of depression - and how difficult it is for others to respond to it in a meaningful way. Can love save one from depression? What can one do to help a loved one who is struggling with depression cope? Some of the questions Ivanov rises seem timeless - or rather timely, thinking of present day in which so many struggle with the condition and the pharmaceutical industry grows fat on the profits from selling antidepressants. Michel Houellebecq poses similar questions in his latest novel Serotonin. And as far as Houellebecq and Chekhov suggest answers to these issues, don't expect them to be of the heartening kind. 'I am a bad, pathetic and worthless individual. One needs to be pathetic, too, worn out and drained by drink, like Pasha, to be still fond of me and to respect me. My God, how I despise myself! I so deeply loathe my voice, my walk, my hands, these clothes, my thoughts. Well, isn't that funny, isn't that shocking? Less than a year ago I was healthy and strong, I was cheerful, tireless, passionate, I worked with these very hands, I could speak to move even Philistines to tears, I could cry when I saw grief, I became indignant when I encountered evil. I knew inspiration, I knew the charm and poetry of quiet nights when from dusk to dawn you sit at your desk or indulge you mind with dreams. I believed, I looked into the future as into the eyes of my own mother... And now, my God, I am exhausted, I do not believe, I spend my days and nights in idleness.' Ach Ivanov, poor Ivanov, how heavy life can weigh on a man's shoulders! 'The life of a man is like a flower, blooming so gaily in a field. Then, along comes a goat, he eats it, and the flower is gone!' Once Chekhov told Tikhonov, a young mining engineer, contemplating Russia, 'Our cities are without paved streets, our villages poor, our people worn. When we're young we all chirp fervently like sparrows on a dung heap, but we're old by the time we're forty and we start thinking of death. What kind of heroes are we?' Not everyone can carry the weight of the world. (paintings by Isaac Levitan (1860-1900) - Anton Chekhov was the artist's closest friend)

Review # 2 was written on 2013-08-20 00:00:00 Dara Dyer Ivanov, Anton Chekhov Ivanov is a four-act drama by the Russian playwright Anton Chekhov. Ivanov was first performed in 1887, when Fiodor Korsh, owner of the Korsh Theatre in Moscow, commissioned Chekhov to write a comedy. Chekhov, however, responded with a four-act drama, which he wrote in ten days. Despite the success of its first performance, the production disgusted Chekhov himself. In a letter to his brother, he wrote that he "did not recognise his first remarks as my own" and that the actors "do not know their parts and talk nonsense". Irritated by this failure, Chekhov made alterations to the play. Consequently, the final version is different from that first performance. After this revision, it was accepted to be performed in St. Petersburg in 1889. Chekhov's revised version was a success and offered a foretaste of the style and themes of his subsequent masterpieces. تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز هفدهم ماه نوامبر سال 2006میلادی عنوان: ایوانوف؛ نویسنده: آنتون چخوف؛ مترجم: سعید حمیدیان؛ لوگزامبورگ، انتشارات پیام، 1349؛ در 145ص؛ چاپ دیگر تهران، نشر قطره، 1383؛ در 136ص؛ چاپ سوم 1388؛ شابک 9789643412586؛ چاپ ششم 1392؛ موضوع: نمایشنامه های نویسندگان روسیه - سده 19م عنوان: ایوانوف؛ نویسنده: آنتون چخوف؛ مترجم: ناهید کاشیچی؛ تهران، جوانه توس، 1392؛ در 104ص؛ چاپ سوم 1395؛ شابک 9786009652024؛ عنوان: ایوانوف؛ نویسنده: آنتون چخوف؛ برگردان: پرویز شهدی؛ تهران، پارسه، 1395؛ شابک 9786002532664؛ ایوانف، نخستین نمایشنامه ی بلند، و اثری از «آنتون چخوف (درگذشته به سال 1904میلادی)»، نویسنده ی واقعگرا، و طنزآفرین «روسیه» است، که نامبرداری او، بیشتر از جهت نمایشنامه‌ ها، و داستان‌های کوتاه ایشانست؛ پرسوناژ اصلی این نمایشنامه، «نیکلای الکسیویچ ایوانف»، مردی است، باطنا نیک سیرت، خوش‌قلب، و معصوم، اما ناتوان در عالم عمل؛ حتی نزدیکان او، از مباشر، یا پیشکار او گرفته، تا دوستان، و آشنایانش، شناخت درستی از او ندارند، و دائما یا در مورد او، شایعه می‌پراکنند، یا شایعات را، باور می‌کنند؛ زنی دردمند، و مسلول دارد، که ماه‌های پایانی عمر خویش را می‌گذراند، زنی که «ایوانف» را، از جان و دل دوست می‌دارد، و برای خاطر او، و ازدواج با او، قید پدر و مادر مخالف‌خوان با ازدواجش را زده، و حتی از دین «یهود» به «مسیحیت» گرویده، و به راستی جز شوهر، کسی را در این جهان ندارد، و تنها دلخوشی‌ اش، حرف زدن با او، یا پیانو نواختن برای همسر خویش است؛ اما «ایوانف» از ملال حکمفرما بر فضای خانه، و همسر بیمارش، گریزان است، و برای رفع بی‌حوصلگی، گاهی عصرها، به منزل «لیبدف»، بوروکرات پول‌پرست، و در عین حال ساده‌ لوح، می‌رود، و در میهمانی‌های پر از حرف‌ها، و حرکات لوس و بی‌معنی (که به‌ ویژه در محیط روشنفکر نمایان آن روز «روسیه»، رواج داشته است) شرکت میکند؛ دختر «لیبدف»، «ساشا»، که نخست به انگیزه ی ترحم و دلسوزی، نسبت به زندگی بی‌سامان و ملال‌ انگیز «ایوانف»، جذب او شده، پس از چندی، به او دل می‌بازد، و قصد دارد مرد محبوب خود را، با احساس نوعی قهرمانی، از چنان وضعیتی نجات دهد و ...؛ نقل از پرده نخست: (باغی در املاک «ایوانف»، طرف چپ، نمای جلوی خانه و تراس آن؛ یکی از پنجره ها باز است؛ مقابل تراس، محوطه ای نیمدایره ای، که از وسط و سمت راست آن، دو خیابان، به دورترین نقاط باغ میرود؛ در طرف راست میز و نیمکتهای ییلاقی، به چشم میخورد؛ چراغی روی یکی از میزها روشن است؛ غروب به باغ میخزد؛ با بالا رفتن پرده، صدای «ویلن سل» و «پیانو» را، در حال تمرین «دوئت»، از درون ساختمان برمیخیزد، میتوان شنید؛ «ایوانف» روبرویی میز نشسته؛ و کتاب میخواند؛ «بورکین»، پوتین شکار به پا، و تفنگ بر دوش، از دوردست باغ ظاهر میشود؛ مست گونه است؛ با دیدن «ایوانف»، پاورچین پاورچین، به او نزدیک میشود، و هنگامی که کاملاً به نزدیکش میرسد، تفنگ را به صورتش نشانه میرود؛ «ایوانف»: «بورکین» را میبیند، تکانی میخورد، و برپا میجهد؛ «میشا»! خدایا! چه...؛ مرا ترساندی...؛ من به قدر خودم آشفته هستم، حالا تو هم با شوخیهای احمقانه ات...؛ مینشیند؛ مرا ترساندی، و البته این تنها خودتی که کیف میکنی...؛ «بورکین» از ته دل میخندد؛ خُب، خُب،...؛ ببخش، ببخش؛ کنارش مینشیند؛ دیگر از این کارها نمیکنم، به خدا نمیکنم؛ [کلاه نُک دارش را برمیدارد.] گرم است؛ باورت نمیشود جانم، ولی من، پانزده مایل را در کمتر از سه ساعت، طی کردم...؛ خسته و مرده ام...؛ فقط دستت را بگذار رو قلبم، ببین چطور تاپ تاپ میکند؛)؛ پایان نقل تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 03/10/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی