ABSTRACT
That fascinating cascade of melancholia and soul-probing that is Chekhov's ‘The Sea Gull’ comes to bitter brooding life in the splendid production that the much-beset Theater Guild gives it as the sixth and most satisfying offering of its trying season. Perhaps the fact that the Guild, too, has been in a black mood this year enables it to be at its best in the presentation of a work that is one long wail of embittered and plaintive discontent. Whatever the reason, this new version of an old play, beautifully acted by Miss Fontanne, Mr Lunt and an excellent company, played in Stark Young's admirable new translation and capably directed by Robert Milton against Robert Edmond Jones's effective sets has not been so wisely given in this town within the fairly long play-going memory of this reviewer. Although ‘The Sea Gull’ had its first Moscow success forty years ago, and a whole world has changed since its appearance, it cannot be said that the play seems dated. In a civilisation overwhelmed by dire events, so wholesale a cry of disillusionment about life seems both timely and imperative. . . .
