over-ripe but very juicy

reviewed What a different beast thisversion of The Cherry Orchard is from Philip Prowse's production at the Citizens in March. The keynote of Prowse's interpretation was the kind of elegantlanguor traditionally associated with Chekhov - in the UK at least. Benchtours' new touring version sets out instead to exaggeratethe eccentricities of Chekhov's characters, often downplayed in more naturalistic approaches.

The two shows were created in fundamentally different circumstances. Prowse was both director and designer, working in a theatre he has jointly controlled and shaped for more than 30 years. Edinburgh-based Benchtours, by contrast, are working for the first time with the highly regarded Scottish director Gerry Mulgrew; while he, in turn, is a newcomer to Chekhov.

The company dipped a toe in the waters earlier this year with a double-bill of the playwright's one-act comedies; but it's fair to say that neither director nor company are obvious candidates to tackle this melancholic comedy about a complacent old order ousted by progress.

Both Mulgrew and Benchtours are celebrated exponents of "physical" theatre, creatingspectacle with minimal use of technology. The collision of their styles with Chekhov's seemed likely to have a visually arresting outcome, and on this level the show does not disappoint.

There are numerous beautifully staged set-pieces - some based around the revolving, mirrored doors of Laura Hopkins's ingenious set; others featuring a ragtag orchestra made up of cast-members; others simply making inventive use of movement. These could all be described as Mulgrew hallmarks.

Benchtours impose their stamp in a rather different way. Though only three founder members appear in this show, the group still functions as an ensemble of oddities: although the characterisation is often highly caricatured, there is a democratic alliance between the performers that lends coherence to the world they create.

These qualities come to the fore in The Cherry Orchard, with intriguing results. In dramatic terms, energy is much more appealing than virtue - and for this reason Claire Martin's flirty, fluttering Dunyasha and Tim Licata's ebullient performances as both the slick valet Yasha and the scrounging neighbour Pishchik are hugely enjoyable. So too is Alan Tall's accident-prone Yepikhodov - whose well-turned pratfalls offset his lugubrious manner beautifully. Even Firs, the bumbling old manservant, is given an injection of vigour in Matthew Bill Boyd's endearingly effortful portrayal.

In the Citizens production, it was Tam Dean Burn's Lopakhin who fired up the stage; butStewart Ennis's portrayal of the serf-turned- landowner - who buys up the estate, forcing the impoverished gentry into exile - is less sure of himself. Announcing his purchase, he is agonisingly torn between arrogant elation and remorseful commiseration.

In another context, this might be a brilliant sequence - and I cannot fault the delicacy of Ennis's performance. But the boisterousness that suffuses this production does mitigate against the more contemplative moods that dominate certain scenes. This creates a problem for Peter Grimes, no stranger to a quirk-loaded caricature, who plays the ineffectual idealist Trofimov straight and very earnest. It also impacts on Catherine Gillard and Peter Clerke as the sister and brother of the manor. Low on both energy and virtue, these two characters always struggle to engage our sympathy. They have to lure the audience into sharing their bitterness over the way the world's forward march sweeps away some good with the bad. But it's not so easy to engage with their misery when the minor characters are providing so much fun.

It's rare that central figures in a play are so sidelined, but it would be wrong to dismiss the whole show for this minor imbalance. The degree to which Chekhov was attempting belly laughs has been under debate for a century. There's not much harm in erring on the jolly side.

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