Vanya On 42nd Street

Oh! Look at this guy.

- Andrushki.

- Oh!

- How are you?

- Oh, there's Wal.

- Hi, Wal.

- Weren't we going to rehearse at 5:00?

I think it was 5:15.

Is, uh -

Mmm. What is this?

- It's a knish.

- Mmm.

There he is. Wally!

- Hi. Hi. Great to see you.

- Hello.

Andr, this is Mrs. Chao.

- Uh, we met last summer in Berlin.

- How do you do?

Do you mind if she comes

to our rehearsal today?

Oh, I'd be delighted.

I love to have people visit.

In fact, you've come on a great day because

we're gonna be running through the entire play.

That's wonderful.

This is my friend Flip Innunu.

You know, Mrs. Chao

was explaining to me...

her grandfather

actually translated Chekhov into Bengali.

That was a long time ago.

My God!

You know, I've never seen Uncle Vanya.

Really? Well, it's certainly, uh -

- What part does Andr play?

- Oh, uh, he's the director.

Positive.

Hi, Phoebe. Nice to see you.

I want you to meet my cousin's niece,

Tucker, from Toledo.

- Oh, how nice to have you.

- What an amazing place! When was it built?

Well, I think around the turn of the century.

It's been abandoned for years.

We're just squatting here really.

And we can't use the stage

'cause the ropes, obviously...

have been eaten by, uh, rats.

I've lost it.

Larry, you've been losing it for 25

years, for as long as I've known you.

Hi, Jer.

Hi, there.

Hey, Andr. How you doin'?

I like these, uh, squirrels.

And the faces are actually from

Shakespeare's plays, or that's what they say.

God, I am just exhausted today. I, uh,

didn't get any sleep at all last night.

You know,

the Ziegfeld Follies were done here.

There used to be, uh,

dressing rooms here...

that could accommodate 500 actors.

Now, it's a little dangerous because

it's been raining through the ceiling...

and those nets are there

to catch the plaster that's coming down.

- Watch your step, Phoebe.

- I'm all right. But you look tired.

Yeah, well, I haven't had time to catch my

breath. You see, I'm doing these two other plays.

They keep calling me for extra rehearsals.

I was up at 6:
00 this morning

learning lines for the rewrites...

on the play I'm doing

over at the Hearts and Minds Caf.

- I've never heard of that theater.

- No reason you should've.

Thanks, Liz.

- So, what I'm doing in the first

act is okay? - Well, how does it feel?

Just very uncomfortable.

Well, that's the whole point.

Okay.

- Did you go swimming today?

- I'm gonna go tonight.

- If I don't swim, I don't move.

- Here, come on with me.

- Like the body just -

- I'm gonna get a cup of coffee.

- Under water, my hair turns green.

- ... my own mother?

- Your mother.

- My mother, she was so difficult...

and she was literally driving me so nuts.

It's all crumbling,

but it's all so beautiful.

Are you telling me Wally's going to strip?

- No. No, I just mean -

- He could, you know.

He could do anything.

Do what you've been doing.

You know, just get it -

- Drink?

- No. No, thank you. I don't want it.

A little vodka?

Not today, no. I can't drink it every day.

It's not good for me.

How long have we known each other?

- How long?

- Mm-hmm.

Let me think.

Eleven years.

How much have I changed?

- How much?

- Yeah.

Very much, I think.

Well, then you were young,

now you're old.

- Mmm.

- I think your looks have faded.

- And you're drinking now. - Ten years'

time, I've become a different man.

Oh, that's true.

Why?

Why? Overwork, simply.

On my feet all day, every day.

Every night I go to sleep

in fear I'll be called out on a call.

In the years you've known me, I have not had

one single free day. Do you know that?

And how can I help but to become old,

you tell me, living such a life?

- Not dead yet.

- Ha!

Some enthusiasms, some thoughts...

but quite subdued.

Dull, somehow.

There's nothing I want...

no one that I love...

nothing I need.

Well, I love you, of course.

Mmm.

Third week of Lent, I was called

to Mlitskoye - spotted fever.

There were rows of huts, people in the huts,

side by side on the floor, lying in filth.

Cattle living in the buildings with the sick,

young pigs in there in the same room.

- Ugh.

- All day, working, not a bite to eat.

I come home, thank God,

to lie down, to rest...

and they send in a switchman

hit by the train, and -

And I get him on the table,

I'm going to start operating...

and he dies...

under the chloroform.

The moment I least required it...

my conscience chose to inform me

that I'd murdered him.

I sat down and closed my eyes

and thought...

those who come after us...

for whom our lives are showing the way -

will they think kindly of us?

Will they remember us with a kind word?

And, Nanny, I wish to God I could think so.

The people won't remember...

but God will.

Thank you. That was nicely said.

Yes, oh, yes.

- Sleep well?

- Yes, very.

I'll tell you...

since the Herr and Frau Professor

have come to visit...

my life's gone completely off the track.

I'm sleeping days, I'm up nights...

I'm served all sorts

of "je ne sais quoi" to eat...

drinking wines.

Used to be,

all day, each moment ordered -

work, this.

Well, Sonya's still working, of course,

but what am I doing?

- Modern ways.

- Ah!

Absolutely right!

Yes, the professor sleeps till noon.

I keep the samovar boiling,

waiting for him to get up.

We used to have dinner at noon,

like people everywhere, hmm?

Now it's after 6:00.

He writes and reads all night.

What is it?

Excuse me. He wants his tea.

Wake up the house, put on the samovar.

Modern ways.

- How much longer are they here?

- Ah. A hundred years.

- He wants to move here.

- No!

Magnificent. Beautiful views.

- What a prospect.

- Beautiful indeed, Your Excellency.

And tomorrow I'll show you the plantation, Papa.

Would you like that?

Uh, ladies and gentlemen,

the tea is served.

Oh, would you please ask them

to send it to my study?

There's some things I have to do.

I know you'll like the plantation, Papa.

It's hot, sweltering.

Our great scholar dresses for December.

He's quite a careful man.

Mmm. I am happy today.

Birds singing, sun shining.

You know, whatever

I find myself doing today -

just now, walking in the garden, or just

standing here, looking at this table -

I feel happy.

God bless you.

- And her eyes, uh -

- Vanya.

- Yes.

- Tell us something.

- What should I tell you?

- Something new.

Something new.

What's new? Nothing's new.

Everything's old.

Nothing's changed.

I'm the same.

Probably a little bit worse

because I've grown lazy...

complain all day.

What's new?

Hmm? My old crow, my old mother's still

prating on about her dear rights of women...

one eye on the grave...

the other one looking in her book

for the secret of life.

What about the professor?

The professor, uh, goes on as before.

All day and half of the night,

he sits at his desk and he writes.

What is he working on?

Why doesn't he turn

to some magnificent subject...

like his autobiography?

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