Aaron Posner’s Chekhov update destroys the fourth wall

Adam Magill as Con and Joseph Estlack as Dev in SF Playhouse’s production of “Stupid Fucking Bird,” an adaptation of Anton Chekhov’s “The Seagull” by Aaron Posner. (Photo: Jessica Palopoli)

Aaron Posner’s “Stupid Fucking Bird” transportsÂ Chekhov’s “The Seagull” into the 21st century with ukulele songs, expletives and plaid shirts.

The dramatist’s mostly cosmeticÂ updates makes Chekhov’s angsty drama more approachable for modern audiences albeit in a thoroughly superficial way. There’sÂ some goodÂ acting and aÂ fluidÂ mise en scene toÂ SF Playhouse‘s current production directed by Susi Damilano. But I don’t think Posner’s version, which hews fairly closely to the original in terms of narrative — though bafflingly avoids the protagonist’s suicide — Â improves in any way uponÂ Chekhov’s drama.

Yet the play is undeniably entertaining (which cannot always be said of Chekhov productions, especially since so many of themÂ suck the humor dry.) And in one way in particular –Â its volatile breaking of the fourth wall — I was sucked in by the show.

Chekhov’s earlier plays, such asÂ “The Seagull,” include things like asides. “The Seagull” even has one moment where a character steps completely out of theÂ scene to talk directly to the audience. The effect is quite startling in an otherwise realistic set-up where characters speak amongst themselvesÂ without consulting with the audience.

“DORN. I may have lost my judgment and my wits, but I must confess I liked that play. There was something in it. When the girl spoke of her solitude and the Devil’s eyes gleamed across the lake, I felt my hands shaking with excitement. It was so fresh and naive. But here he comes; let me say something pleasant to him.”

In “Stupid Fucking Bird,” it’s Con, Posner’s update on Chekhov’s troubled young playwright protagonist, Konstantin, who is responsible for the most arrestingÂ piece of fourth wall demolition. Adam Magill’s Con, distraughtÂ by his paramour Nina’s lack of interest in him, leaps up and asks — no, demands — that the audience help him figure out how to win her over. And he won’t take silence for an answer.

I usually find these sorts of direct audience addresses to be a bit painful. People don’t speak up. Or if they do, it’s the oneÂ drunk guy in the front row who says something idiotic. But in this case, Magill, who strikes me from this one production as a consummate improv artist, compelled people all over the house to speak up and actually shareÂ useful suggestions for how to get the girl. Some of these were funny (At one point someone yelled “Shave!” which drew giggles because the young actor is heavily bearded. MagillÂ responded without missing a beat that someone tells him to crop his beard at nearly every performance.) But other catcallsÂ were inÂ earnest. Someone’s advice toÂ “tellÂ her you love her!” sent the actorÂ bounding off the stage with a determined “Yes!” That’s all the encouragement Magill’s ConÂ needed in the end.

Outside of standup comedy and British pantomime, where performers routinely ask audience members to shout a rote lineÂ at the stage in response to a stockÂ question (Q: “Where is he?” A: “He’s behind you!”) I have never seen such a real, two-way conversation take place betweenÂ the stage and the stalls in a serious dramatic work.

It’s the one and only time that this sort of appeal happens in the play, and it works surprisingly well, dramatically. What’s more, it takes Chekhov’s breaking out of realism to a new and strange extreme.