There are some opening nights where you feel you are watching a slice of the city’s theatre history forming in real time. Sitting at KXT for Montague Basement’s The Seagull, I had that rare feeling.
Maybe it was the sight of 120 props arranged with chaotic precision. Maybe it was the gentle creak of the Kings Cross stage. Or maybe it was the simple fact that Chekhov, reimagined through the lens of March 2020, suddenly felt far too familiar for comfort. The audience laughed uproariously, snickered uncomfortably and collectively gasped in recognition of how this production masterfully defined those early pandemic days.
Chekhov’s The Seagull premiered in 1896 and famously flopped. It took a remount by the Moscow Art Theatre in 1898 to reveal its brilliance. Since then, it has become one of the most produced plays in modern drama, with countless adaptations, translations and reinventions.
Many great actors have sharpened their craft in their roles, and theatre students around the world have weathered productions of varying quality. Montague Basement now joins this long tradition, taking a classic and bending it sharply toward the world we have just lived through.
The plot of The Seagull remains intact, though filtered through a COVID-era lens. Irene Nicholson, an Australian stage icon, retreats to her family’s property with her son Constantine, and her new partner Alex as lockdown begins.
What follows is a swirl of boredom, fracturing relationships, artistic despair, and painfully funny attempts at backyard theatre. Nina appears, bright-eyed and ambitious. Love triangles bloom and implode. As in Chekhov’s original, dreams collide with reality, and the characters face outcomes they cannot control.
The sense of confinement is immediate. The staging captures the clutter, repetition and strange domestic rituals of March 2020 to June 2022. The play, very pointedly, even bitingly at times, speaks to the current state of Australian theatre, and its satire cuts close without ever feeling cruel.
Writer and director Saro Lusty-Cavallari leads the production with assurance, blending respect for Chekhov with a modern, irreverent spirit.
Kate Beere’s set and costumes place us instantly in a North Coast holiday home: mismatched furniture, faded fabrics, and the tell-tale domestic sprawl of too many people stuck together for too long.
The sheer number of props gives the stage a frantic lived-in texture, and the transitions – guided with precision by stage manager Jemima Owen – become their own kind of choreography. Aron Murray’s lighting and video design carries the shifts in tone with clarity, marking changes in mood, memory and meltdown with clean, confident choices.
The ensemble is uniformly strong. Deborah Jones anchors the play as Irene Nicholson, capturing both performer’s pride and the cracking edges beneath it. Saro Lepejian brings vulnerability and frustration to Constantine. Talia Benatar gives Maddie a sharp mix of longing and spice, while Kath Gordon is affable and sympathetic as Polly.
Jason Jefferies makes Marty’s earnestness disarming. Shan-Ree Tan is compelling as Alex, grounding the character with stillness. Brendan Miles offers a dry, steady Dr Dorn. Tim McGarry gives Peter a weary, comic charm. Alexandra Travers shines as Nina, moving from giddy excitement to devastation with genuine clarity.
This is not the Seagull you did in drama school. It is sharper, stranger, funnier, and much more urgent. At its best, the production feels like a plea for the future of Australian theatre: generous, self-aware, deeply local, and brimming with possibility.
Montague Basement’s The Seagull is a bold and heartfelt reimagining of a classic, and essential viewing for anyone who cares about the future of our stages.
The Seagull is presented by Montague Basement and runs to 6 December at KXT on Broadway. 181 Broadway Ultimo NSW 2007.
Tickets: https://events.humanitix.com/the-seagull-2025
Website: https://www.montaguebasement.com/
Socials: https://www.instagram.com/montaguebasement/ and https://www.instagram.com/kxt_bakehouse/
Photo credits: Robert Miniter
