Ivanov ★★★★

Ivanov is Anton Chekhov’s first produced play, one that’s rarely seen now as it bears all the hallmarks of this beloved Russian writer’s emerging oeuvre without ever being fully satisfying. Frustrating boredom in the countryside, unrequited love, boisterous drunkenness, financial stress, petty annoyances that simmer before exploding into angry outbursts, and guns (oh, the guns!): all the elements are there, ready to go, but not yet finessed in ways that would make The Seagull, Uncle Vanya, and The Cherry Orchard the works that are constantly adapted and staged more than a century after his death.

Now the New American Ensemble, a theatre company dedicated to the ensemble process, is tackling Paul Schmidt’s translation of the play at the West End Theater. Directed by Michael DeFilipis, the company’s artistic director, the result is an enjoyable and worthy attempt at a play that remains stubbornly tricky.

The story is simple: Ivanov is a nobleman struggling through a profound midlife crisis, one which has no obvious solution. Dramatically, the biggest challenge is that Ivanov (Zachary Desmond, commanding) stays depressed from beginning to end, with no real change, or even the suggestion of it. He even refers to Hamlet more than once, but the brooding Prince of Denmark at least had a mission: vengeance for his father’s murder. The only deaths Ivanov has to contend with are the impending demise of his ill wife, Anna (a lovely and moving Quinn Jackson), and his own, as he idly considers whether he needs to be or not to be.

Fortunately, among those two downers are colorful characters galore, including the lusty-for-life Borkin (Mike Labbadia, the production’s standout), who can’t stop scheming for money, including trying to arrange a proposal for the widowed Martha (a hilarious Alexandra Pearl) by Shabelsky (Glenn Fitzgerald, delightfully buffoonish and tender in equal measure). To escape from the guilt he has for no longer loving his wife, Ivanov pays regular nightly visits to Lebedev (Paul Niebanck, enjoyably jocular), his ruble-pinching wife Zinaida (Mary Bacon, priceless), and their daughter Sasha (an affecting Maya Shoham), who against all good reason loves Ivanov and wants to wait for him to marry.

The fireworks between Sasha and Ivanov — both emotional and literal (wait till you see what lighting designer Sarah Woods has devised) — bring the show’s first half to an exciting close, a level of energy that’s never again matched. The production can’t quite solve the central problem of Ivanov himself; he’s a protagonist too depressed and inert to lift the play to real dramatic heights, already as good as dead, like the towering tree that hangs above the stage, held up by frayed ropes. Nonetheless, this early Chekhov still offers plenty of rewards, including Ashley Basile’s immersive set and a finely tuned company working beautifully. With a production this strong at this early stage, it’s clear that New American Ensemble is a company well worth watching.