Three sisters

Anna Sokolova
May 11
5 min read

Updated: May 12

Old Fitz Theatre 7-9 May 2026, Sydney

The review

For the Last Waltz Productions, it is a second, and again based on a Russian play work after last year’s “Dear Elena Sergeevna” @oldfitztheatre Late night program.

Design by Ella Wilkinson - a smart use of space, visually extending it by placing a long table and a couch diagonally, so the stage is virtually split in two, a dining and guest rooms, doubling up the volume with a massive framed mirror on the wall, and a bit smaller one in the corner. The stairs at the back wall lead up to a tiny corner fenced by a wooden barrier, with a warm yellow lamp, shaping a small room in the attic.

The furniture and multiple objects - vases, glasses, a clock, furniture, and costumes (elaborated, elegant, and thoughtful design by Bronte Hunt) refer to the time the play was written. Commissioned in 1900 by Konstantin Stanislavski and Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko, founders of that time young, only two years in existence, contemporary, brave, tradition-breaking Moscow Art Theatre, the play was a groundbreaking new, unusual. Deeply psychological, without big dramatic moves of the story, it focuses entirely on the inside of the inhabitants of a house somewhere in provincial Russia, three sisters Olga (Teodora Matoviċ), Masha (Madeline Li), and Irina (Tessa Olsson), and their brother Andrej (Matthew Alexander), mothered by an elderly servant Amfisa (Cym).

Far from Moscow, a place the sisters are longing to return to, something like a dream anchors them in the reality they ought to be but don’t belong. They are beautiful, each in their own way. Slender figures, thin fingers of pianists, intelligent speech - they are overeducated for the place they live. Wearing long dresses, Masha always in black, Olga wearing brown outfits of a school teacher and then a headmistress, and only the youngest, Irina, in a creamy white first, changing to sparkless brownish as time goes by.

Their house is often crowded, so at some moments conversations are layered on top of each other a bit too much, becoming indistinct - fault of a lack of space. There are a lot of language references left intact, which are a pleasure for my ears - I speak the language, but it might not be clear otherwise. The concept of patronymic names is very specific. Names like Olja and Olga are the forms of the same, but when Olga is repeatedly correcting Vershinin: “it is Olga, not Olja” it is not about a mistake. Olja is only for family and close friends, so she draws a line there, not letting him close.

Three sisters are together, the house is their world. It is full of men admiring them, and the selection is what was available. Lightened up by a sunlight and then more and more with real candles, accompanied by mood-shaping sad Russian romance songs, month after month goes by.

Life pivots when Andrej marries Natasha, bringing a new woman to the house. Emma Wright plays against the nature of herself - beautiful, intelligent, educated. Her Natasha is commanding, vulgar in her self-allowing to destroy the gentleness of the house, a lack of ability to notice, to sense the deep soul of the sisters. She holds things together, with that, with her power and domesticated, grounded control, destroying the ephemeral nature of it.

Every man here holds his own character. Vershinin (Alfred Kouris) - lost, broken soul. Talk, straight back, open shoulders - appearance is classy. It is something disturbing about him - with his certainty of claiming space and attention, deep, loud voice, long, intensely direct looks, presenting themselves as a struggling, holding an unjustified burden. At some point, he repositions himself, establishing himself as a decent one, but slips again, letting himself have a glimpse of attention to yet another woman. He crashes a certainty that he deserves compassion a moment before his farewell.

Solyony (Lập Nguyễn) - a drunker, solid, loud, the only one without moustaches - a mandatory attribute of an office at that time. One senses some inner hidden crack - a clown as he presents himself, gulping shorts and making bold jokes. He is laughing, his eyes not, giving away a danger brewing inside. He is principless, big-ego, and loves to gamble with life - watch out.

Baron Tuzenbach (Toby Cary) is a gentle, loving, but somehow not made to make it. Idealistic, not really belonging to the world he is in. Doctor Chebutykin (Ren Watson) - educated, disappointed philosopher, an admirable career for Irina, who reminisces about her mother. A woman who is the doctor’s love of his life. He has a wonderful soul but is spineless. A loving but weak intelligent, a common type in Russian literature in the 19th - very early 20th centuries. Sensitive, perfectly educated, worried about the fate of the world, but practically helpless. Andrej, losing the reins he thought he was holding, gambling away money and the house, letting go of his dreams.

Teacher Kulygin (Faisal Hamza) - not much in him except his bold appearance and bright red hair. He is boring for his wife, Masha, so all her feelings are long gone. He has a lot of energy, but seems like nothing else. Repeating a couple of lines, not witty, not original, not funny. Till - Masha’s hysterical cry when Vershinin is gone, with the rest of the military officers from the town. He witnesses her on the floor, screwed by unbearable pain and desperation, and is the one who holds her. He makes Olga and Irina laugh with her. Masha hugs him, panicking to let him go as he is the only something she can hold on to. A most ordinary man suddenly appears attractive, because he has a heart that can truly love.

Three and a half hours of play is a testament to the original. A story where nothing much happens, but the lives of gentle, rich, soft souls not made for their merciful faith. Beauty is destined for a drama on a small scale - physically. It is deep, moving, touching, humorous, full of light at first, transformed into one that is gloomy, soaked in palpable loneliness, and tragic at its conclusion.