Chekhov play looks to be best of British

Some memories. Mostly fond. Sometimes shocking. Often hilarious. Consistently engaging.

Last January at the National Theater in London, I saw all threeof the productions due at the Blackstone Theater in the next month aspart of the Chicago International Theater Festival.

But remember, live, legitimate theater is the most fragile ofthe arts. That in itself is what makes it so special. It can beetched in marble or it can drift away like a gossamer cloud.

That was January. This is now. What will be interesting is ifand how those memories will be reaffirmed.

John Webster's 1614 horror epic "The Duchess of Malfi" is thehard one. I strongly recommend you read it first. Why? Because thelook and sound of the play is so striking, you may find yourselfputting your mind on hold. That's what almost happened to me.

As my eyes widened in my awe of the design and as my earswaited for the next clamor of terror, I got behind in the text. Sodo your homework.

Director Philip Prowse, famed for his stagings at Glasgow'sCitizens Theater, is most celebrated for his designs. And this is adesigner's show.

Death stalks. Bells peal. Crows craw. Conspirators huddle.Panels revolve at dramatic junctures and the opening dirge is enoughto remind you of your last will and testament.

Watch the tight-lipped, low-key delivery of Ian McKellen as thevillainous spy Bosola who betrays the widowed duchess by conspiringwith her brothers who are jealous that she has secretly married hersteward. He seems to do his dastardly deads by hypnotictranscendental meditation. I have reservations about Eleanor Bron'sduchess. But we will see.

As a nightmare masterpiece about revenge and counter-vengeance,it has few equals. Indeed, the stage is littered with the dead atthe finale. Not for the weak of heart.

But certainly for the funny bone is the evening that pairs TomStoppard's "The Real Inspector Hound" and Richard Brinsley Sheridan's"The Critic." What makes this production provocative is that Stoppardhimself has directed "The Real Inspector Hound" and in the processadded some outrageously funny visual and sound tricks you will neverfind in the original script. He also serves as assistant director toactress Sheila Hancock, who is the principal director of "TheCritic."

So for this production, you have the unusual alliance of aplaywright-director and an actress-director - in contrast to thedesigner-director approach for "Duchess."

Edward Petherbridge is marvellously droll as the jealous criticMoon in the first play, and you'll love Roy Kinnear as the fatuouscritic Birdboot.

"The Critic" gets off to a slow start, but it sure finisheswith a bang. The disastrous rehearsal of "The Spanish Armada" is astitch and when the whole set collapses and the Spanish fleet sinksat Britannia's feet, it becomes the funniest finale I've ever seen.

Prowse's production, I'm told, never wavers from a set delivery,but McKellen confided to me that what's exciting about Mike Alfreds'sstaging of Anton Chekhov's "The Cherry Orchard" is that it isdifferent every night. Certainly the National Theater productionreminds you how warm and funny Chekhov can be.

It is fresh, buoyant and exuberant, full of brightly changingcolors. The party scene brims with festive conjuring tricks, andMcKellen's Lophakin is a triumph of simplicity and complexity. Watchwhat he does when he wins the orchard. Brilliant. This is theversion that will make you blissfully forget the David Mametadaptation at Goodman Studio.

And a closing irony. In its week's run at the Blackstone, "TheCherry Orchard" will play to more people than it did at the tinyCottlesloe Theater in London.