I had to do some research after seeing this one. I saw Sidney Lumet's adaptation such a long time ago I can scarcely recall it, and I've never read the damn thing. It's one of those works we all know fairly well simply because it exists so fully in our cultural consciousness (even if -- maybe especially if -- we've never actually seen it on stage or screen).
This adaptation would be terribly interesting, I imagine, studied in context of previous versions and with more understanding of the original script. As I can do neither, I'll simply report on what I saw.
Annette Bening does what she does best (playing actresses) as Irina, the Russian actress and lynchpin of her family who gather at their country estate (here, a gorgeous lake house). Tensions rise between the various characters for various reasons, and while there is no conventional plot, the action climbs and falls according to the characters' interactions. The rich characters are matched by dense dialogue, filled with subtext and sly jabs at each other while they all seem determined to find happiness and fulfillment.
Notable in the ensemble cast (all of whom are excellent): Corey Stoll playing a famous writer who is the current lover of Irina; he falls in love with a neighbor's daughter. Saoirse Ronan is that young woman, an aspiring actress who is currently in love with Irina's son. Billy Howle plays that young man, Konstantin, a depressed playwright of experimental works derided by his mother but worshiped by his admirer. Elizabeth Moss plays that woman, Masha, daughter of the estate manager and perpetually melancholy and morose. These are but a few of the colorful players, though they shine brightest.
Michael Mayer helms this picture, and while it may not be as technically accomplished or, well, sparkly as many of his theatrical productions, it shows a competent artist doing some really interesting things with highly familiar material. Seeing the gorgeous lake and house certainly adds something to the text we just can't get from theatre (though it can't be ignored that for a Russian play, there is a sharp disconnect with the all US/Brit casting and accents and the landscape of New York state). Then again, the camera in the film is so kinetic that it never once feels like The Seagull could be a stage play. Things move, and they move quickly. Even scenes that could be played with long takes are broken up mercilessly. Dialogue is shattered by cuts and edits between cameras constantly moving. A simple conversation becomes framed by shots at varied, even unnecessarily contrived angles, making the film highly aware of itself. Unfortunately, I'm not sure why, which is why I'm not sure it was always the right technique.
Then again, even if the medium suffers from a restricted aesthetic vision, the dialogue and acting are still there to soar. It's still Chekhov. It's still the same fabulous melodrama. It's still a good time at the movies.
IMDb: The Seagull
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