The Seagull review – Caroline Quentin sparkles in sharp, stylish Chekhov

It is quite something when Caroline Quentin dominates the stage. Quite something, because of the competition. One of the great strengths of this rewarding production – the first to be staged by James Brining since he became artistic director – is its sharp characterisation. Every one of Chekhov’s frustrated figures, variously in search of love, validation and applause, is drawn here in bold lines, clear and precise.

For Quentin to stand out in the role of Irina Arkadina, the egotistical repertory actor slumming it in the country for the summer, means pulling the focus from a richly realised ensemble. When she holds court, centre stage, it is as if she draws Lizzie Powell’s early-autumn lights towards her, glowing in the attention while the rest of the busy household becomes her attentive, obedient audience.

“I care about myself,” she says, leaving a fractional pause before spitting out: “… passionately!”

It is a funny, bold performance and starry only in the sense she is playing a star. In Mike Poulton’s light-footed translation, Quentin plays just one lost soul among many. She turns her insecurities into noise and fanfare, in contrast to the quiet despair of a boozy Masha (Tallulah Greive), a hangdog Medvedenko (Michael Dylan) or an apologetic Polina (Irene Allan) – all excellent.

Rewarding production … Harmony Rose-Bremner in The Seagull. Photograph: Mihaela Bodlovic

Her young lover Trigorin (Dyfan Dwyfor) keeps quiet and goes along for the ride, while her son Konstantin (Lorn Macdonald) is trapped in an Oedipal bind, unsure whether to upturn or embrace the old order. Such an attitude fails to impress aspirant actor Nina (Harmony Rose-Bremner) who chooses the urbane glamour of Trigorin and lives to regret it.

With equally distinct performances from Forbes Masson as Dr Dorn, John Bett as Sorin and Steven McNicoll as Shamrayev, Brining’s production has a certainty that brings out Chekhov’s humour as much as his pathos. Played out amid the distressed grandeur of Colin Richmond’s set, the colour of straw as if drained of life, it loses some momentum in the closing confrontation between Konstantin and Nina, a relationship too deranged to be heartbreaking. Even so, this is a vibrant, flavoursome and sure-footed start to Brining’s tenure.

• At Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh, until 1 November