Word: masha
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Nancy Cox (Olga), Susan Yakutis (Masha), Martin Andrucki (Vershinin), Deborah Holzel (Natasha), Daniel Seltzer (Doctor), Paul Shutt (Kulygin), and practically everyone else-all let their souls pour over the auditorium from time to time if not all the time. Lori Heineman as Irina and Andre Bishop as Andrei go even further than that, opening themselves up to let us see their entire nervous systems almost every second they are on stage. No matter how self-enclosed you are upon arrival at the Loeb during the next two weeks, you simply will not be able to pass up Heineman and Bishop...
Kate Reid is the show's weak link as the middle sister Masha (the role originally played by Chekhov's own wife), bored with her marriage to a pedant and fated to be separated from the one man she comes to love. For one thing--and it may be ungallant to say so--Miss Reid can no longer pass for a young woman in her midtwenties. Masha is also the most complicated of the three sisters. Miss Reid has no particular trouble conveying the blunt, even coarse speech of Masha, but she has not sufficiently plumbed the poetic sensitivity that...
Michael McGuire, with handlebar moustache, goatee, and a chest full of medals, cuts a handsome and dashing figure as the garrulous, fortyish battery commander Vershinin, who saddled with an impossible wife, obtains Masha's love in one of the play's several amorous triangles. He is just fine as he repeats his desire for a glass of tea, and finally gives up, saying, "Well, if we can't have any tea, lets philosophize...
Joseph Maher is acceptable as Masha's doting husband Kulygin, a pathetic and essentially brainless schoolteacher who likes to go around spouting worn-out Latin slogans. We must forgive him, for he knows not what he does to Masha...
...Their credo is not "Life is short. Art is long" but "Life is short. Art is shorter." Sibylline Utterances. To move from the coffeehouses to an Old Vic revival of The Three Sisters is like catapulting through time. The production is exquisitely mounted, the acting impeccable. Joan Plowright makes Masha a woman of neurotically vulnerable ardor, and as her lover Vershinin, Robert Stephens is a colonel of spineless charm. And yet by comparison, the new experiments in theater make the play seem greyer, dustier, more sibylline than it used to be-as if the sisters' failure...