The Seagull

Published Monday 29 January 2007 at 11:45 by Nuala Calvi

Ian Rickson’s choice for his Royal Court swansong is not a gritty piece of new writing of the kind the venue is synonymous with but a classic about the pain of artistic creation, made fresh by Christopher Hampton’s new translation and an entrancing cast of well-known and lesser-known stars.

Mackenzie Crook, aka the sycophantic Gareth in The Office, cries the primal scream of emerging writers everywhere as the disaffected Konstantin, a man overwhelmed by his attention-seeking actress mother and the cultural traditions she represents.

Crook’s trademark gaunt looks lend Konstantin a world-weary expression fitting for a young man who already feels he has walked a lifetime on God’s earth, although his performance begins rather woodenly.

He gathers momentum but, as in the play, is upstaged by Kristin Scott Thomas’ Arkadina, a role which feels as if it was written for the enduring Hollywood beauty. Arms flung theatrically wide to reveal a waist she gleefully acknowledges is smaller than a 22-year-old’s, she stamps on any opposition for her son or lover’s affections with caustic sophistication.

Hildegard Bechtler’s simple set, with its peeling, colourless walls and lonely birch trees, evokes the blank tedium of days spent in rural self-contemplation by a Russian elite whose days are numbered.

Rickson’s flawless production excels in highlighting Chekhov’s gently humorous prodding of his characters even in their worst struggles, whether it’s Masha’s melodramatic protestations of bottomless despair in her unrequited love for Konstantin - played with perfectly indulgent eccentricity by an unkempt Katherine Parkinson - or Arkadin’s brother Sorin miscasting his life as a failure as an excuse to hit the bottle. Their dissatisfactions, whether about lack of money, success, love, talent or freedom, all feel as ludicrous as they are fervent.

Carey Mulligan’s Nina, a wannabe actress dazzled by the glamour of the theatre and the notoriety of Arkadina’s writer boyfriend Trigorin, comes across as naive as any Pop Idol contestant. Her description of playing the winter season in Yelets is a sage reminder of the realities of artistic drudgery. But she also delivers the play’s most fortifying message, following her convincing conversion from innocent to broken woman - that it’s the ability to endure that counts in art as in life. Young writers, take heart.