Lorna Irvine reviews 'a perfect piece for the Autumn season'.
John Byrne's predilection for stunning, feisty redheads is a given in his work. This trio do not disappoint, in his latest adaptation of a Chekhov classic: with all of the trademark style and dialogue both ripe and philosophical. Jessica Hardwick, Sally Reid and Muireann Kelly play, respectively, Renee, Maddy and Olive, holed up in the sixties in a parochial Dunoon house where they are longing to return to London. Even Byrne and Charlotte Lane's beautiful set with ominous shadow-play and green plant tendrils stretching out in the background like claws suggest a stultifying atmosphere, a home becoming a prison.
Of course, the siblings are wonderful: matriarchal, sexually frustrated eldest Olive, gushing idealistic youngest Renee and proud sassy middle Maddy (Reid is outstanding), but it's the emotional resonance rather than exposition which makes the play so potent. The transitioning may not always work (it takes place over five years, but it is not always clear how much time has passed), but what director Andy Arnold executes so wonderfully here is the total undoing of a seemingly idyllic existence.
Darker tones are painted in the second half, as Maddy's affair with married man Captain McShane (an excellent angst-ridden Andy Clark) is cut short. The women's guardian Dr MacGillivery, played initially as endearingly scatty by Sylvester McCoy, becomes a memento mori, mumbling bitterly to himself about the essential pointlessness of existence. Their nerdy brother Archie (an uneven Jonathan Watson) is unhappily married. Worse yet, violence is simmering, personified by sailor Maloney (Martin McCormick) who practically forces himself on Renee.
However, Byrne being Byrne, this is only one side of the drama; he just cannot resist cheeky humour, with references to onesies, horrible politicians and skewering of period drama tropes. Especially fun is the high camp performance by beehive-wearing brasser Natasha (Louise McCarthy) whose swaggering, monstrous creation engulfs the space whenever she totters in. She's very funny, especially post-elocution lessons, when her thick Glasgow brogue still spills out. Also of note in comedic terms is Stephen Clyde's pompous ass McCool, the unbelievably dreary teacher, whose lack of humour and self-awareness is a real treat, almost Alan Partridge-esque at times.
In the main, though, with its low-key colouring of browns and maroons, swing outside the house where Renee swings surrounded by falling leaves, and a melancholic stately pace, this is a perfect piece for the Autumn season, infused with failure, excessive drinking and thwarted dreams. Its bleak ending is utterly uncompromising, a study in small-town suffocation and stronger for it. The Russian dramatist himself would be proud. But what is pride? A fleeting, absurd notion...
Three Sisters performs at Tron Theatre until October 18 and then the Kings Theatre in Edinburgh from October 21-25.
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