The Cherry Orchard: How to Adapt Chekhov’s Work

written by Charlotte Groombridge

The first thing you often hear when talking about works of the great Russian writers is this: “I tried reading [insert play here] years ago, but I found it really boring”.

And this is an issue which has plagued Russian translations for generations. Dry wit is often cut out, subtext lost, and aphorisms directly translated without a thought to their English counterparts, leaving the work dull, obvious, and devoid of any real meaning. 

Recent years have seen a plethora of more accurate, and dare I say better, translations which have utilised native speakers able to understand the intricacies of the Russian language. However, these translations require rights, which is something we at CSF try to avoid wherever possible (for budgetary reasons!). This meant the only option left available was to create a version of the script ourselves. 

Although this was going to be a challenge, it was one I relished. Original and semi-original works are something I am no stranger to, but adapting an existing script was a completely new skill which, due to the self-inflicted time frame, I had to learn as I went. 

The first thing I did was collect as many different versions of the script as I could manage, reading through each one to mark down the differences and similarities. Obviously the basic plot didn’t change, but there were fascinating differences when it came to subtext, the most striking being the interactions between Gaev and Lopahkin.  

Within the play Gaev, the younger brother of the delusional mistress of the house, has a terse and often confrontational relationship with Lopahkin, the former Serf turned businessman. This is not surprising, considering how often Lopahkin “forgets his place”, making his affections for Lubov perfectly clear. These affections also explain his hot and cold feelings towards Varya, the young niece who represents everything Lubov does not. She is hard working, she is realistic about the tragedy unfolding around the estate, and she is very much in Lopahkin’s league. Marrying her does nothing to prove to himself or to society that he has left Serfdom far behind him, and Gaev takes several opportunities to remind everyone that a Serf with money is still just a Serf. 

This is by far one of my favourite conflicts in the play, and considering the British fascination with Class and social mobility, it is a theme which is as relevant as ever to modern audiences. But as any good writer knows, conflict is served best when bubbling just below the surface.

In some of the more inferior translations, there is no room to doubt Gaev’s utter disdain for the socially ambitious Lopahkin, rebutting every mention of holiday homes (the ingenious plan to save the estate at the expense of the cherry orchard) with variations of “You are a man who has terrible plans”. 

Adding the subtext back into these scenes wasn’t difficult and added monumentally to the tension, replacing these lines with variations of “That is a terrible idea”. The distinction is subtle, but significant to the play as a whole. People rarely attack each other directly. They prefer the indirect approach. Harder to spot, harder to call out. That means when a character finally does snap, it makes the shift in the scene all the more effective.     

Chekhov is often described as a master of character, and modern translations helped me to realise just how adept he is at creating real relationships, tense conflicts, and characters who you love to hate and hate to love. I hope you enjoy watching my own humble attempt to capture his genius as much as I enjoyed creating it.