oh, so, by the way, Chekhov sucks.

when i was selecting plays for my ACT subscription, and saw a Chekhov play in the mix, i thought, "hm, Chekhov. he's famous. he must be good." but on Friday, i learned a painful lesson about infamy and entertainment worthiness. they are not the same thing.

the play, The Three Sisters, started off well enough. act one was pleasant, inviting, a little stilted -- easily chalked up to the translation, beautifully set designed, and cultured. oh, but act two through four did me in.

act two was really slow. very little actually happened during its passing. very little dialog was ... um, how do i put this? interesting? worthy of being listened to? but middle acts of plays are sometimes a little slow as they set up character development and scene development for following acts.

this was not the case. act three dragged even slower. by act four, we were in agony. i actually felt claustrophobic and thought briefly about climbing over Cory's lap and running for the exit, trying desperately to stifle my screams. instead, i did things like bite the inside of my cheek, stare at other theatre-goers, try to sleep, and distract myself with thoughts of how glad i was not to be Russian in the 19th century. i was making a go of keeping my sanity.

but then, when one of the characters repeated the same line for the third time, Corinne got the giggles. i could see her out of the corner of my eye doing the slight body convulsions that one does when one is trying to keep laughter under wraps. i tried everything not to follow suit. i chomped down harder on my cheek and thought of horrid things like dead puppies and an organic chemistry class i took in college. but when she grabbed hold of my knee and squeezed, i lost it.

"ppfftHAH!" i guffawed loudly. the actors, the professional actors trained to ignore all kinds of interruptions, audibly paused at my outburst. embarrassed, i tried desperately to cover it up with a cough and a throat clear. nothing to see here, just an inadvertent sneeze, move along, go on with the play, it's all good. i don't think it worked, though. out of the corner of my eye, i could see my neighbor in the seat to the right of my staring at me. i assumed she was giving me the look of death.

thankfully, the play ended a few minutes later and we escaped out the nearest exit without making eye contact with anyone and erupted onto the street in a ball of laughter, giddiness, and swears never to see another Chekhov play so long as sanity is within our grasp.