"I missed him. Bugger!" yells Brian Pettifer's Vanya after failing to shoot his pompous, self-important brother-in-law ("a little Jesus on wheels") in Theatre Babel's new production. "Bugger" is not a word that generally crops up in Chekhov translations, and Tom Leonard's juicy version is novel in other respects, filtering the Russian psyche through both a Scottish sensibility and a Scottish vernacular. It has its own rough poetry, with a whisky warmth rather than a vodka coolness.
Graham MacLaren's production is unevenly cast and doesn't entirely come together. But there is hope for it. The period, one guesses, is the 1930s, the geographical location is slightly uncertain, although there is talk of pounds, shillings and pence.
What is clear from the dark, heavily-draped drawing room is that these people live like moles, occasionally blinking into the sunlight but then retreating into the darkness. Vanya talks at one point of the uselessness of "sunlight down a mine shaft". Their despair is infectious. When Vanya reluctantly returns the stolen morphine, both Astrov and Sonya look at it with a fascinated longing. Despite Sonya's final brave words you wonder how they will survive the darkness of winter.
Chekhov knew better than anyone how to break his audience on the wheel of a joke. MacLaren doesn't quite yet. The timing needs to be tighter, particularly in the final act, which is as farcical as it is tragic. Brian Pettifer hasn't entirely stamped his considerable authority upon Vanya, but he captures the man's immaturity (the men are all egotistical and infantile in this play) and the pain of knowing that he is utterly ridiculous. Pettifer's impish features wear the clown's mask of despair.
As Astrov, John Kazek gives the most rounded performance of the evening. He gets right to heart of the disgust and self-disgust of a good man who finds that he can't change the world so gives up bothering - sending it, and himself, to the dogs. The sweetest, most straightforward and honest performance is Isabelle Joss as Sonya. She is like a flickering beam of light, trying to illuminate the darkness, but always in danger of being snuffed out.
· Ends tomorrow, then tours. Box office: 0161-236 7110.
