Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull has long been on my agenda, a play hailed as one of his first great works. So when Seagull: True Story is advertised across London, I am intrigued. Given the current geopolitical climate, a contemporary retelling with Russian undertones promises to be timely and relevant. What unfolds at the Marylebone Theatre, however, feels closer to student theatre than a professional production, struggling to balance weighty subject matter with broad satire.
Directed by Alexander Molochnikov and based on his own experiences of exile, the play begins in Moscow’s Art Theatre. A young director, Kon (Daniel Boyd), is staging Chekhov’s The Seagull when news breaks of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. The company is shaken, and their attempts to speak out lead to censorship. Kon leaves for New York in pursuit of artistic freedom, abandoning his mother, Olga (Ingeborga Dapkunaite), a celebrated actress. Anton (Elan Zafir) takes up the mantle of free speech but is swiftly imprisoned. The story unfolds under the watch of the MC (Andrey Burkovskiy), who stitches the play together with both gravity and comic detours.
The opening scenes set the tone well. Burkovskiy commands the stage with charisma, while Zafir brings weight to the role of Anton. Yet from here, the production quickly loses its footing. Tonally, it veers between earnest political theatre and farce: solemn moments of censorship and protest give way to camp rehearsal skits, a scene where Kon and Anton urinate on Stalin’s statue, and the MC squawking endlessly like a seagull as Kremlin-shaped projections dance across the stage. The effect is jarring, and often undermines the seriousness of the themes at hand.
Still, the first act lands some strong moments. A chair sequence, though clumsily staged, sparks an engaging debate among the cast about the Ukraine–Russia conflict. Dapkunaite’s Olga provides depth, embodying the compromises required of an artist who remains in Russia. Boyd’s Kon oscillates between satire and sincerity, leaving the audience unsure whether he is parodying Molochnikov himself.
The second act, set in New York, promises new ground but instead leans further into absurdity. Kon discovers that even in the West, creativity is stifled—this time by commercialism. It is a compelling theme but left unexplored, diluted instead by a Hamilton-style rap routine, nightclub sequences, and a love story with Nico, a character who feels more distracting than essential. Once again, the tonal shifts derail what could be sharper commentary.
There are, however, flashes of brilliance. Burkovskiy shines again as a producer, particularly in a biting comic scene where Putin appears shirtless on horseback, tail swishing courtesy of an actor. Dapkunaite and Boyd deliver one of the play’s most poignant exchanges, as Olga and Kon grapple with Anton’s imprisonment. These moments suggest the potential of a more focused script.
Visually, the staging is one of the production’s strengths. The recurring use of plastic as a design element effectively conveys restriction, mirroring the constraints of censorship. The bold use of red lighting and soundscapes adds tension and atmosphere, even when the narrative falters.
Yet ultimately, Seagull: True Story is undone by its ambition. It tries to be too many things at once: a Chekhov reimagining, a political satire, an autobiographical drama, and a critique of both Russian repression and Western consumerism. In attempting to cover everything, it settles on little.
Leaving the theatre, I flick through the programme and find a striking image: Trump and Putin side by side with the warning, “BEWARE, we are entering a new phase of the Trump era.” It is bold, stark, and unsettling, everything the production itself aspires to be but never quite achieves. Instead of confronting urgent issues with clarity, Molochnikov’s play reduces them to spectacle, leaving audiences laughing when they might leave shaken.
Drama
By Eli Rarey
Fedor Zhuravlev
Alexander Molochniko
Photo Credit: Mark Senior
Stella Baker; Daniel Boyd; Andrey Burkovskiy; Ingeborga Dapkunaite; Elan Zafir
Until Saturday 11th October 2025
Approx. 2 hours 30 minutes, including a 20-minute interval