Do you ever wonder what would happen if we could live our lives all over again but be fully conscious of it the second time?
I bet we’d try to do everything differently, or at least would know to create a different world for ourselves.
In a room in a house in a provincial town, three sisters wait for their lives to begin.
Olga, the eldest. Masha, the middle child. Irina, the youngest.
The clock strikes. A candle is lit.
The clock stops. Something catches fire.
The clock strikes. They wake up.
Patsy Ferran is in a class of her own in this fitfully successful revival
In its drifting strangeness, it reminds us why Chekhov is — ironically — so timeless and why he might speak afresh to today’s millennials
Patsy Ferran’s Olga is one of the many admirable performances in a production by Rebecca Frecknall that fails to deliver a full Chekhovian experience
This is a play about three women, bored with their lot, who are desperate for fun, love, stimulation. And so, after three hours of this, are we
Rebecca Frecknall's occasionally frustrating staging of Chekhov contains moments of great poignancy and some dazzling acting
Moments of brilliance but never sharply contemporary. It seems marooned somewhere between the 19th century and now
A slow-burning yet engrossing study of a young family's collapsing dreams
An over-ripe series of theatrical stylisations
There are many moments during this three-hour marathon when I longed for more focus and more concision
An absorbing start to Chekhov reinterpretation but feels overlong