The Seagull

★★★★☆ The Seagull, Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

The Lyceum’s new era opens with a confident, darkly comic Seagull that largely soars. James Brining’s first production as artistic director has an easy, unshowy assurance: it’s clear about the story it’s telling, brisk without feeling rushed, and alert to Chekhov’s sardonic humour as much as his ache. Mike Poulton’s fresh, unfussy adaptation keeps the characters’ egos and yearnings in crisp focus, and the production lands the see-saw of comedy and melancholy with appealing clarity.

Caroline Quentin is a deliciously self-regarding Irina Arkadina, every entrance a performance, every exit a power play. She can fling a line like a dagger, then soften into vulnerability when the mask slips, and her chemistry with Dyfan Dwyfor’s suave, slippery Trigorin is electric. Across the lake’s choppy waters stands Lorn Macdonald’s raw-nerved Konstantin, restless with ideas, and Harmony Rose-Bremner’s Nina, all bright surfaces and dangerous belief. Their tragic collision is charted with keen, unsentimental detail.

Around them, the ensemble is richly drawn. Tallulah Greive’s Masha, deadpan and smoky with disillusion, quietly steals scenes, while Michael Dylan’s put-upon Medvedenko gives the play its comic undercarriage without condescension. Forbes Masson brings mordant warmth as Dorn; John Bett’s Sorin is a wistful host; and Irene Allan’s Polina has steel beneath the stoicism. It feels like a company pulling in the same direction, and Brining lets their rhythms breathe.

Colin Richmond’s elegantly distressed design frames the action with a sense of faded glamour and creeping rot. Costumes locate the vanity and status games in fabric and fit, while Lizzie Powell’s lighting and Michael John McCarthy’s score delicately shift the emotional weather. The world is specific and lived-in without fuss — handsome, yes, but always in service of the actors.

Brining leans into the comedy of self-delusion without sanding off the bruises. You feel the play’s preoccupation with art, ambition and appetite, but the staging keeps a lightness of touch: scene changes glide, movement (guided by EJ Boyle) is understated and purposeful, and the jokes land cleanly even as disappointment thickens the air. As an opening gambit for a new artistic leadership, it signals a taste for actor-centred storytelling and supple pacing.

If there’s a caveat, it’s that the final movements don’t quite break your heart. The pacing slackens after the interval, and the famous last scene’s despair registers more as a cool mist than a riptide. You feel the shape of catastrophe rather than its undertow. Yet the cumulative effect remains satisfying: a production that respects the play’s complexity, refuses to wallow, and trusts its audience to join the dots.

Bottom line: At 2 hours 30 (including a 20-minute interval), the evening passes agreeably; and with performances of this calibre it’s easy to recommend. The Lyceum has a vibrant, actor-centred Seagull that balances bite with tenderness—a strong start for Brining’s tenure. It runs in Edinburgh until 1 November.

Star Rating: ★★★★☆