CHERRY PICKING

Simon Stone’s riveting Korean adaptation
keeps Chekhov’s plot while stripping
away much of what made it Chekhov

“Chekhov, everywhere, all at once!”

That’s what it has been like these past two seasons. Today’s theatre artists are reimagining Chekhov’s plays in new and surprising ways. Thomas Ostermeier’s The Seagull in London featured an acrobatic Cate Blanchett and a guitar-playing motorcyclist in a lakeside setting. Actor Andrew Scott dazzled us with his solo Uncle Vanya (London and New York), wherein he played all eight roles. Inua Ellams’s Three Sisters (London) was set in war-torn Nigeria during Biafra’s secession effort.

The latest offering is Simon Stone’s impressive adaptation of Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard, set in contemporary Seoul and performed by an all-Korean cast in their native language. It’s playing now at the Park Avenue Armory in an epic-scale, powerful production. Stone calls it a “reinterpretation” — but is it, really? Or is it an original play based loosely on the plot of Chekhov’s final masterpiece?

In Chekhov’s original (set in 1904), an aristocratic woman named Lyubov Andreevna returns from Paris to her family’s beloved estate in provincial Russia (after a period of mourning the tragic death of her young son). She is greeted by Lopakhin, son of a serf and now a rising capitalist, who warns her to sell the estate rather than permit it to be auctioned to pay off the family’s debts. But she is unable to face reality, which would mean the destruction of the estate’s famous cherry orchard. Subsequently, Lopakhin buys the estate and fulfills the prophecy — the cutting down of the orchard and the building of summer cottages for the emerging middle class.

Stone’s The Cherry Orchard has undergone a radical transformation in terms of time, place, and tone. The plot line follows Chekhov’s original, as do the identities of most of the generic characters — at least on the surface. In Stone’s version, Song Do-young (Chekhov’s Lyubov Andreevna) returns from New York (not Paris) after a five-year absence to the gorgeous home that her father built for her in Seoul. But, unlike Chekhov’s original, she has become alcoholic and promiscuous — guilt-ridden over her husband’s death as well as her son’s, as well as obsessed with her fear of aging.

The major plot change is the role of Lopakhin, the former serf/now aggressive capitalist named Hwang Doo-sik. In Chekhov’s version, he’s the son of a former serf; in Stone’s version, he’s the son of the family’s chauffeur. As played forcefully by Park Hae-soo, he drives the action, shouting warnings to the unresponsive Song Do-young (a fragile Jeon Do-yeon) that her family’s company is in jeopardy, as well as the house she loves. As the mouthpiece of Korean business and its rising dominance over Korean society, he engages in a semi-violent diatribe with her dead son’s idealistic tutor (named Trofimov in Chekhov’s original, now named Byun Dong-lim, played by a passionate Nam Yun-ho). That conflict between Dong-lim’s moral socialism and Doo-sik’s corporate beliefs constitutes the heart of Stone’s play. And in the end, the corporate force triumphs.

Stone directs this riveting drama on an impressive set designed by Saul Kim, featuring a stunning two-story, pure-white modern dwelling. His characters are always moving about on both floors as well as climbing the roof that towers over Seoul and beyond. The ensemble is uniformly excellent. It’s quite a thrilling spectacle.

But wait: where is the cherry orchard, you might ask?

Ah… therein lies the contrast between Chekhov’s original and Stone’s adaptation. Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard was his final masterpiece — he died in July 1904, six months after it opened in Moscow. He insisted that it be called a comedy; knowing he was dying, he wanted to “exit laughing,” so to speak. (There are colorful anecdotes about his clashes with Stanislavsky, the original director, who wept when he first read the script.) What’s important to note is that the essential features of Chekhov’s original vision are absent in Stone’s adaptation: namely, 1) the luminous cherry orchard in Act I, representing the past; 2) the sound of the breaking string (in Acts II and IV), signifying the moment when the past separates from the future; 3) the sound of an axe chopping down the orchard in the play’s final moments, precipitating historical change.

None of these essential symbolic elements exist in Stone’s version. Nor does Chekhov’s character Charlotta, the governess-turned-magician, whose magic tricks represent the mysterious unknown that lies ahead. Nor does Firs, the ancient family butler representing the last living serf. Nor does the mysterious Passer-by, who appears in Chekhov’s Act II following the breaking string — at that moment when time stands still. (The Passer-by represents the enormous social change that happened during Chekhov’s short lifetime, from 1860–1904.) How extraordinary it is that Chekhov’s play foresaw the future: the rise of industrialism and a new working class; the emergence of a radical intelligentsia; the first Russian Revolution of 1905; the second Revolution of 1917.

There are a few more significant differences. Stone focuses far more on psychological aspects of his characters than Chekhov did on his — especially with reference to women. As mentioned earlier, whereas Chekhov’s Lyubov has a poised and gracious exterior, Stone’s Song is unstable and unpredictable (at one point, she even kisses the suitor of one of her daughters). As for her older daughter (Varya in the original, Hyun-sook in Stone’s), who has been pursuing the affection of Hwang Doo-sik, in the end she rejects him and goes her own way, in a gesture of feminist strength (unlike Chekhov’s Varya).

Above all, Chekhov’s special tone of tragicomedy is absent in Stone’s work (despite what the program notes say). Furthermore, neither Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard nor any other of his great plays has a definitive ending, as Stone’s does. Those two features are what distinguished Chekhov as ushering in the era of modern drama.

Nevertheless, there is great value in Stone’s new play. It delivers a powerful warning against the rise of a capitalistic oligarchy that will soon dominate not only Korea, but also the world. Stone’s play also has had a significant international presence, having been performed in Seoul, Hong Kong, Singapore, Adelaide, and now New York.

This is both a wise and welcome warning, given what we are experiencing today in this country and throughout the world. I believe that Chekhov would have been pleased to have inspired it.

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photos by Stephanie Berger

The Cherry Orchard
Park Avenue Armory
Wade Thompson Drill Hall, 643 Park Ave. in New York
Mon–Thu at 7:30; Fri–Sat at 8
ends on Sept. 26, 2026
for tickets (from $45), visit Park Avenue Armory

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