I am not too sure the English are truly at home with Chekhov - the Russians are much more emotional and subtle than we are.

Although Chekhov called most of his plays comedies, this new production at Chichester plays it more like farce and most of the subtlety is gone.

There are some good moments in this new adaptation by Phyllis Nagy, a regular at the National Theatre, but there is no real sense of Russia and the use of modern colloquialisms makes the period far from easy to pin down.

Chekhov's account of love, hope, the nature of fame is in two distinct sections. Part one is played for laughs more than anything else and part two is better, although each mood changes comes with a sledgehammer blow.

Similarly, the ensemble cast is divided into two.

The younger actors tend to gabble their lines, finding enunciation and modulation something of a struggle - voice projection seems beyond them, too.

But the veteran cast members come off much better. Sheila Gish (as Constantin's mother) is impressive, bravely sporting an eyepatch following the loss of an eye to cancer.

While this may not be a great version of The Seagull, it does go some way to redeeming a lacklustre season for me.

For tickets, call 01243 781312.