EIF Review: [seagull]

Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull has travelled through more than a century of theatre history, repeatedly staged, translated, adapted and reimagined across theatre and film. Finding a genuinely new way into such a familiar classic is no small task. Yet in Olympique Dramatique’s [seagull], Konstantin’s famous desire for “new forms” takes on an unexpectedly literal meaning: the new form is Flemish Sign Language.

Presented entirely in Flemish Sign Language, the production brings together three Deaf and five hearing performers, placing the question of communication at the centre of a play already filled with people desperately trying, and repeatedly failing, to understand one another. In this context, language becomes physical, visible and spatial.

A rectangular wooden playing area divides the audience into two facing sides, enclosing the performers between us. There is little attempt to conceal the mechanisms that normally sit behind theatrical illusion. Watching actors move between performing, waiting, changing and rebuilding gradually blurs the boundary between the theatrical and the everyday. The whole space acquires a peculiar honesty: theatre is being constructed in front of us at the same time as Chekhov’s fictional world slowly unfolds.

“Finding a genuinely new way into such a familiar classic is no small task. Yet in Olympique Dramatique’s [seagull], Konstantin’s famous desire for “new forms” takes on an unexpectedly literal meaning…”

The ensemble handles this demanding form with assurance. The hearing performers underwent extensive training in Flemish Sign Language, and the investment is evident. Unaware of the cast beforehand, I often could not tell which performers were Deaf and which were hearing. What stood out was how fully sign language had entered their physical presence—not only in formal signing, but in eye contact, facial expression, small vocalisations, and the textures of sound, silence, and hesitation. It rarely feels learned; the language simply lives within the interactions onstage.

Sound, Silence, and the Symbolism of The Seagull

The seagull image intensifies through Konstantin’s three encounters with the gun: the bird’s death, his failed suicide attempt, and his final shot. What begins as a gesture of wounded love when he presents the dead seagull to Nina gradually reads as foreshadowing. Nina, meanwhile, is repeatedly turned into an image for others’ projections—Konstantin’s idealised love, Trigorin’s fascination, and the narrative of a girl “destroyed like this seagull.” This makes the final encounter between Nina and Konstantin particularly moving. By this point, the once-flat wooden stage has been dismantled and piled into layers beneath them. Nina carries that wreckage with her yet has found a reason to continue. Konstantin can find no way beyond it. Their brief reunion makes the distance between them painfully visible.

The recurring gunshots also shape our physical relationship with the performance. Each return builds an anticipation of sound and impact, gradually training the audience to respond almost instinctively. When this motif reappears towards the end, the production handles it with striking restraint. In a work that has spent two and a half hours asking us to reconsider what it means to hear, speak and listen, the relationship between sound and silence becomes one of its most powerful final gestures.

With no interval, [seagull] also asks a great deal from its audience. I would strongly recommend arriving with at least a basic familiarity with Chekhov’s original plot. Eight characters, overlapping relationships, acting and English captions demand constant shifts of attention between bodies, text and narrative. Without some prior knowledge, trying to follow the plot and interpret everything simultaneously can easily compete with the pleasure of simply watching the performers.

Overall, Olympique Dramatique’s [seagull] expands the possibilities of who can occupy this theatrical text, while also stretching what theatrical language itself can look like. If you are looking for an unusual two and a half hours at the festival—rich in literary depth yet punctuated with moments of lightness—this distinctive reimagining of Chekhov is well worth experiencing.