Chekhov's The Seagull is a great play but a very difficult one for young actors. The production at the Loeb Ex, under the direction of Charles Langmuir, is an earnest attempt, but clumsy and ultimately unsuccessful. The actors lack the experience and the finesse to make the boredom that their characters feel bearable, or their characters' doomed hopes and lost loves moving.

On a country estate, the characters play out their sad lives. They are either too old, and their failures weigh them down, or they are young, and they are only just seeing that their ambitions will be thwarted. Two years pass, and nothing has changed except that the characters are older, and more sure of their unhappiness. The cumulative effect of this sadness, culminating in Treplev's suicide, should be devastating.

It isn't, but not all the blame can be placed on the actors. Langmuir's direction is uncertain, and sometimes downright sloppy. His blocking, especially when there are more than a few people on stage, is awkward, and often destroys the fragile spell of Chekhov's language. He realizes that the lack of action in a Chekhov play can become oppressive, so he keeps his actors moving, but they move aimlessly and unnecessarily, and simply make us feel uncomfortable.

The actors' problems are varied. Jack Gilpin, as the young writer Treplev, and Sarah Payne as Nina, the girl who leaves him for a more successful writer and a career on the stage, simply do not generate enough excitement as the principle characters. Some of the actors cannot convincingly portray characters who are supposed to be older than they are. Frank Leupold, as the old man, Sorin, exaggerates his senility too much to be effective. Scott Munerbrook, as the successful writer Trigorin, on the other hand, looks and acts too young for the part. There were, however, two fine performances, by John Archibald as Doctor Dorn, and Anne Garrels as the aging but beautiful actress Arkadina. Both are completely right for their roles, in looks, movement, and tone of voice.

There are a few poignant moments in the production, and a decided improvement after the intermission. But the moments are too few, and the improvement isn't enough. It's a good try, but Chekhov deserves better