Review of ‘The Cherry Orchard’ (2026, Harold Pinter Theatre): “Connor McPherson’s sapped adaptation is too green to blossom”

Way to ruin a classic. I could end my review right there. There’s nothing else you need to know other than this isn’t Chekhov at its finest — or its averagest, if you forgive the clunky neologism. The thing is, if you’ve seen this new adaptation, you probably will. That’s how everything in it comes across: oblivious, lacklustre, and impassive. A story that pulsates to the beat of existentialism, as the characters grieve the ghosts of their past, is deprived of its spirit and heart. In other words, Connor McPherson’s take has betrayed the roots of Chekhov’s seminal work.

It’s interesting how the events are intact. And yet, the narrative is deeply affected. McPherson’s inability to generate pathos and introspection has turned a philosophically and emotionally powerful script into a superficial and virtually boring piece of theatre. It feels melodramatic at best and derivative at worst. It has no voice, truthfulness, or resonance in the slightest. Despite its theoretically stirring conflict, the action is dreadfully sluggish. And on a similar level, the character’s impact on the viewer is awfully weak.

Its unclear tone is one of its biggest issues. For the most part, McPherson’s approach is overly comical. There’s nothing wrong with using humour within a tragedy, but knowing how is crucial: apply it at the right places and in the right dose, and it can even magnify the tragic elements; employ it too much without giving at least as much room to its counterpart, and it will become totally out of touch. Even if the jokes land, audiences will find it awkward to laugh. And that’s exactly what happens in this version.

The writing’s overall ineptitude is matched by its completely misguided direction. Anyone who’s previously experienced Kristin Scott Thomas and Stephen Mangan knows what they can do. And this is way below it. Ian Rickson’s input has turned nearly the entire cast’s performances into something flat, mechanical, and overenunciated. There’s absolutely no layering or nuance, resulting in one-note portrayals that can’t grasp or convey the personages’ complexities.

As such, Ranevskaya’s repressed pain over the loss of her son is hardly palpable. Her longstanding affliction, which should permeate every aspect of her journey, doesn’t solidify in Thomas’s interpretation except for rare flashes. Consequently, her suffering doesn’t travel beyond the stage, simply because it doesn’t fully materialise on it. The same happens with Lopakhin’s low self-perception as a peasant climbing up the financial ladder, which Mangan doesn’t seem to grasp. And the shortcomings could go on and on with every member of the company, aside from Anastasia Martin’s Anya — admittedly, the only one who delivers some authenticity.

Although its representational design is detailed and somewhat impressive, it soon proves incapable of serving the play’s setting’s requirements. The entire performance is staged in the same indoor space, whose confusing entrances (a staircase into a second floor and a garden door on that second floor) are more distracting than functional. At the same time, its lack of versatility and dynamism compromises its world-building, as we often don’t really know where we are. The cherry on top is that the aforementioned orchard is nowhere to be found during Act Two, which is supposed to take place in an open field — once again wiping out the piece’s symbolism and, ultimately, its essence.

You would not come to this show if you love Chekhov. You would not attend either if you appreciate theatrical craftsmanship. The only reason that might entice you is its celebrity casting. Then again, the West End is oversaturated with household names, so you don’t really need to endure this. A few people left during the interval, and none of them looked like the uncultured type. They probably knew better. So did I. And chances are you will, too.

All pictures credit to Johan Persson.

The Cherry Orchard plays at London’s Harold Pinter Theatre until 9 January. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara