Writer : Sharanya Deyy Cast : Monalisa Chattopadhyay, Mary Acharya, Rahhul Roy, Raju Bera, Haridas Dey, Namrota Roy, Samudra Singha, Parmita Saha, Arthes Das, and Sharanya Deyy
GANGCHIL Review
Sharanya Deyy's Gangchil, a reimagining of Anton Chekhov's The Seagull, is a captivating departure from the familiar. In this reimagining of the play we see: gone is the cozy, old-world atmosphere of traditional Chekhovian naturalism - no samovars, no period furniture. Instead, Deyy crafts a minimalist, modern space that feels deliberately detached from time and place. The set is stark: simple white curtains bathed in harsh overhead lights, with the actors dressed in plain, everyday clothing, seated in identical, unremarkable plastic chairs. It's a setting that strips away any pretense, pushing the focus onto the performances themselves. Deyy's innovative use of a chorus shifts the dynamics of the play, offering a fresh lens through which we can explore Chekhov's timeless themes, breathing new life into this classic work.
In a production that prides itself on a cohesive, collective performance, the standout moment ironically comes when an actor boldly steps outside these boundaries. Monalisa Chatterjee dazzles as the self-centered, cold-as-ice Anasuya, a role she plays with such effortless charm and alarming detachment, it's impossible to look away. Chatterjee is masterful in balancing the dark comedy of her character with a subtle undercurrent of desperation, hiding her pain behind a perfectly curated façade. It's a tour de force. Yet, while Chatterjee's performance is undeniably compelling, there's an unspoken rule in theatre: no one actor should overshadow the collective effort. There are times when Chatterjee's antics border on excessive, leaving her fellow performers scrambling to catch up. The rest of the cast visibly struggle to match her improvised cues, creating a jarring disconnect. Rather than complementing the ensemble, Chatterjee seems to have taken the reins of the play, and though she succeeds in captivating the audience, she risks undermining the balance of the production. Her solo moments, at times, don't leave room for her co-actors to breathe, overshadowing them and turning what should be a unified performance into a one-woman show that detracts from the overall integrity of the piece.
Chekhov's 1895 masterpiece dives headfirst into the messy intersection of passion and despair, where the only thing more tangled than the love triangles are the fractured egos of its artists. Konstantin, desperate to carve his name into the world of avant-garde creativity, is in love with Nina, an aspiring actress who, in turn, adores Trigorin, a celebrated writer whose fame has left him hollow and yearning. Meanwhile, Trigorin is locked in a romance with Arkadina, Konstantin's mother. A tangled web, indeed. The play unfolds through sharp exchanges, each character stewing in their own unfulfilled desires. Trigorin, in a moment of vulnerability, reveals to Nina the dark side of being a writer: the constant internal dissection of life itself, as if he's constantly consuming his own existence for the sake of material. "It's as though I'm devouring my own soul," he confesses. "What's the point of cannibalizing even the most mundane moments?"
Mary Acharya possesses an authenticity that shines through in every moment. Her eyes, coupled with an effortlessly warm smile, widen with genuine joy as she blossoms under the weight of Sharanya's robust Trigorin. In the final scene, armed with Deyy's powerful interpretation of the iconic actress-vs-seagull monologue, she gracefully opts for restraint over grandeur. While many seasoned actors fall into the trap of emphasizing Nina's anguish and the intensity of her unreturned love, Mary strips it down to its essence: a quiet, almost detached disillusionment. Despite minor aspects her portrayal offers a calm, unactorly performance of moving truthfulness.
Raju Bera, as Krishnendu, delivers a performance steeped in raw honesty. His portrayal of a young man weighed down by depression remains unfailingly sincere. Yet, his interpretation, while deeply truthful, feels almost too contained, too emotionless at times. It risks losing the audience in its introspective nature, distancing himself from the character rather than connecting with it. It's a performance that, despite its truth, teeters dangerously close to becoming a stereotype.
Namrota Roy brings a listless, almost adolescent Manjima to life, a character who thrives on the misery of her existence, finding strange satisfaction in her own discontent. Yet, her performance feels like a misstep, her efforts directed towards a space where the character fails to resonate. Similarly, Samudra Singha's portrayal of Medvedenko injects a touch of weary solitude into his role, yet it comes across as too laid-back, ultimately dulling the emotional core of the play. Rahul, playing Sorin, aims for authenticity, but there are moments where his performance feels drained, lacking the necessary vitality. But in some moments his performance offers laudable moments. However, each of these actors shows genuine effort and potential, and with more refinement, they have the ability to truly unlock the depth and complexity of their characters. Arthes Das delivers a nuanced portrayal, skillfully navigating the complexities of Ilya Shamraev's psyche with subtlety and authentic resonance.
Subhrajit's set design is an inspired stroke of brilliance, as he turns his idea into a vividly evocative theatrical landscape. It encapsulates the essence of Gangchil, using minimalistic yet deeply symbolic elements. minimalist aesthetic-highlighted by hanging white curtains bathed in vibrant shades of blue and pink lighting-creates an evocative visual tension. The stark branch suspended above the stage seems to stretch out like a desperate hand grasping toward unreachable dreams and unfulfilled desires, subtly echoing the inner turmoil and longing of the characters in Gangchil.
In Sharanya Deyy's reimagining of The Seagull (Gangchil), presented by 10th Planet, there's a deliberate break from tradition that is as bold as it is invigorating. Gone are the comforts of period décor and the safety net of naturalism. Instead, Deyy's minimalist set - with its stark, clinical whites and harsh, unforgiving lighting - pulls the play into an unnerving present, where time and place are irrelevant and the actors are left to stand naked before their emotions. It's an unsettling, even jarring choice, but one that allows Chekhov's web of desire and despair to breathe in new ways. With time, the cast's nuanced attempts will no doubt deepen, allowing this Gangchil to soar to the heights it promises.
Somudranil Sarkar, a writer-editor-critic-translator-theater practitioner, is a postgraduate in English language and literature. He published C/O Bonolata Sen, a collection of short stories, in 2019. His second book translation of Rabindranath Tagore's My Growing Years (Hawakal Publishers) came out in 2022. His third book "Leonard Cohen and I" (a collection of English stories) came out in 2023. His work has appeared in Scroll.in, Strange Horizons, The Critical Flame, World Literature Today, and elsewhere. In addition, Sarkar often curates workshops on theater and pantomime. As a performer, he meddles between the esoteric and the unexplored itinerary.
