FringeReview UK 2026
Summerfolk
National Theatre, London
Genre: Adaptation, classical, Comedic, Costume, Drama, European Theatre, Live Music, Mainstream Theatre, New Writing, Theatre, Translation
Venue: National Theatre, Olivier
Festival: FringeReview UK
Low Down
Riveting, despite the somnolent buzz of summer glozed over the production. That’s mainly Maxim Gorky’s fault and this shorter Summerfolk at the National Theatre’s Olivier, directed by Robert Hastie till April 29, makes the best case for it that audiences might bear. So we’re often told. Translated by Nina Raine and her brother Moses, it’s been decided that three hours is deemed just acceptable.
We need Summerfolk. Sided and slant, this version is a must-see. And almost as much as Chekhov, we need more Gorky
Review
“This picnic is… boring” says one character. “Like life” the other rejoins. It gets worse. And is riveting, despite the somnolent buzz of summer glozed over the production. That’s mainly Maxim Gorky’s fault and this shorter Summerfolk at the National Theatre’s Olivier, directed by Robert Hastie till April 29, makes the best case for it that audiences might bear. So we’re often told. Translated by Nina Raine and her brother Moses, it’s been decided that three hours is deemed just acceptable. Back in 1999 we could take four in the same place. So why is it this production brings frequent gales of laughter from its audience?
What the Raines’ condensation into three hours from four means is a distillation of bitters for Gorky’s gin-shots. We speed-read characters: they’re more caricatured and pointed than the original. It’s notable Alexey Peshkov got in with his “Max Bitter” soubriquet long before Sid Vicious, but it’s a parallel worth remembering: just as the original (literally Dacha-Niks) isn’t quite reflected in the title. The cherry orchard has gone and developer Suslov’s summer houses for the middle-classes (and cottages let by peasants) sprawl like the boredom they inspire in their sometime occupants.
In one way this more authentically marks the thrillingly dark transition from Chekhov (and Turgenev before them), heightening Gorky’s satire on a superfluous class: Chekhov still had a tragic-comic affection for people Gorky mostly dismissed as parasitic. On the other, we’re robbed of a certain amplitude – even generosity – of vision Gorky still owned. Four hours mightn’t be seen as viable: as it was in Trevor Nunn’s 1999 NT production using Nick Dear’s version. Though not a single character’s excised.
Nina Raine has driven a strong feminist emphasis latent in Gorky: it’s one of the very best things in it. There’s anachronistic swearing and references to “my wanking days”. I’m certain Gorky would have approved: it’s in his spirit though beyond what he could get away with (and Summerfolk was banned, after he was arrested in 1906). The Raines, who have some roots in Russia, restore a revolutionary ferocity that meant even the great Moscow Art Theatre turned it down.
Vavara Bassova (Sophie Rundle) is both alert and bored. Married to boorish lawyer Sergei (a magnificently sleazy Paul Ready) she’s besieged by men: hopeless wannabe Pavel Ryumin (Pip Carter, wrenching nobility out of hangdog) and Shalimov (Daniel Lapaine, exuding a cut-price Tregorin with more arrogance): a writer whom Varvara’s been reading since she saw him perform at 17. Now she’s met him, he’s just like everyone else. And more so by the end than even she imagines.
Rundle glows presence as she centres her discontent, both personal and existential: it flicks on like a searchlight, even if in a midsummer noon it seems invisible. Rundle only has to look, but her words, especially when dismissing, show a risen resentment like bile she spits out under a parasol. Yet even here she’s measured. Her Vasara wields a paradoxical regality when she denounces the whole culture. Gorky and the Raines point up a kind of political itch, only articulated by the end but hedged round the production by watchmen and noises off.
Most venom is retained for faux-bonhomie, half-whiny Sergei or disgust at his friend, self-made engineer Suslov (Arthur Hughes, darkly radiant in his babarity). A debased Lopakhin, he’s Gorky’s satiric twist on The Cherry Orchard, to which Summerfolk is meant as literal successor (it was premiered ten months after The Cherry Orchard in November 1904). His new dachas prove as jerry-built as anything in the 1960s. Suslov’s uncle Dvoyetochiye (Peter Forbes, discomfiting his nephew with saws) is almost redemptive. His comparative honesty, firm if wistful renunciation of pursuing women at his age, is refreshing. A major employer, Suslov’s yoked Vavara’s brother Vlass (Alex Lawther) to him as a clerk. Unlike Vavara in her poise, Lawther’s volatile Vlass is all fidget, almost physical discomfort. Vlass shares Vavara’s discontent but is emotionally truthful and (besides Vavara) capable of more growth than anybody by the end. Especially through love.
Vavara’s friendship group is equivocal. Suslov’s wife Yulia (Adelle Leonce), a vampish amateur actor diverting herself with affairs (with Brandon Grace’s amorous and heedless Nikolai, Bassov’s assistant) has found a kind of solution: sex, sensation and their avatar, theatrics. Yet she’s capable of venom. Bassov’s unmarried sister Kaleria, a poet forming this unequal trinity is full of spoilt ennui and self-indulgence as her frail poems show. Doon Mackichan’s burnished swoopy mezzo is perfect. Their trio of boredom flourishes after the interval like parasoled furies. They’re joined by a satellite: Vavara’s gossipy, occasional backbiting friend. Olga in Gwyneth Keyworth’s winningly ditzy performance seems both clueless and part of the only happily-married couple. Her hard-working doctor husband Dudakov (Sid Sagar, all anxiety laced with their make-up sex) is both decent yet flawed with a trace of the outrageous sexism exploding in the last act.
But peregrine to all of them is another doctor, Maria Lvona (Justine Mitchell). Politically astute, already hated by Suslov and Bassov as a malign influence, she embodies some of Gorky’s critique. Mitchell is both ardent and appalled at her own feelings: she like Rundle lights the stage in a sad renunciation (Maria is only 37). Mitchell though impels condemnation: her Maria frightens the bourgeois. Sister and brother Varvara and Vlass though chime with her, and Vlass is sincerely in love with Maria, who returns his feelings. Yet there’s tripwires and inhibitions. Keywords like “mother” and “respect” are like emotional S-mines, as Lawther’s gawky Vlass both excites and terrifies Mitchell’s Maria.
Her daughter Sonya (Tamika Bennett) and aspiring lover Maxim (Thomas Barrett) push the single fresh hope of a better world in their comedically awkward sincerity and (with Bennett) joy. The most touching scene of all is when Sonya cradles her own mother. Declarations of love almost go the way of a Turgenev and Chekhov tradition, itself a critique.
Paul Pyant’s lighting can shaft magic through the slants and slats of Peter McKintosh’s superb set: at the opening a dacha, with a floor later giving way to a moat and opened slats against a forest. Finally a sharded version of its former self descends: portent of a new clearance. Considering most of the 23 characters are white-clad, colour-coding has been cannily introduced. It’s not likely that Yulia for instance will wear that blue sash every day for four months: but you can spot her even in the background. And so on. Alexandra Faye Braithwaite’s sound stretches Chekhov’s eerie twang to less mysterious thuds of revolution; whilst Nicola T Chan’s romantic music skews throughout, as if in retreat yet trying to be born.
There’s darting, vivid appearances with Sasha the Bassovs’ put-upon maid (Rebecca Banatvala), truculent watchman Kropilkin (Same Jenkins-Shaw) in a sardonic counterpoint with watchman Pustbaika (an even more revolutionary Richard Trinder). Other roles, mainly musical, flicker through the ensemble on guitar and mandolin: Ivan Ivashkin, Aisha-Mae McCormick, Roisin Rae, Ellie Turner, Joe Usher.
At a paradoxically brisk three hours, there’s inevitably a stripping-out of some richness, and such moments are rare. Hastie plots a leisurely way through Gorky’s depiction of class superfluity. Yet Gorky’s bustle and diversity remain. Summerfolk’s not likely to come back for another 26 years, and only such institutions as the National or RSC would stage it. It’s our loss. We need Summerfolk. Sided and slant, this version is a must-see. And almost as much as Chekhov, we need more Gorky.
Music Director Candida Caldicott, Movement Director Thomas Herron, Casting Directors Bryony Jarvis-Taylor CDG, Voice Coaches Shereen Ibrahim and Zoe Littleton, Intimacy Consultant Bethan Clark, Associate Set Director Joseph Bisat Marshall, BSL and Staff Director Lilac Yosiphon.
Producer Adowa-Alexsis Minth, Production Manager Kate Chapman, Dramaturg Jeanie O’Hare, CSMs Laura Draper and Tamsin Withers, DSM Frances O’Donnell, ASMs Christopher Carr and Helen Stone, DSM Cover Rike Berg, ASM Cover Sammy Lacey, Deputy Production Manager Phil Connolly, Project Draughting Alan Bain, Digital Art Daniel Radley-Bennett, Costume Supervisor Yvonne Milnes, Assistant Costume Supervisor Sydney Florence, Wig, Hair & Make-Up Supervisor Philip Carson-Sheard, Running Wardrobe Supervisor Michelle MacMillan, Props Supervisor Chris Lake.
