Inspired by the life and works of Anton Chekhov, Reedman’s play is ostensibly concerned with the formulation of his most famous work. There are overt references to The Seagull throughout, and in addition more oblique, thematic allusions; a prior interest in Russian literature is not prerequisite here, but it certainly helps.

Chekhov, played here by Henry Maynard, is a somewhat diminutive character, lacking the pretension and delusional grandeur of his peers. A medical student – protégé and friend of Osip Dymov – he writes stories to earn pocket-money. He is thus caught between two warring factions – ‘art’ and ‘science’, and their personification in his circle of friends. He offers the audience seemingly impartial reflections on their competing imperatives to describe the world.

Olga, Dymov’s wife, is a desultory painter and aesthete. She loves her husband, but is increasingly drawn away from his clinical, repetitive quietude and towards the leading lights of bohemia – loud, flamboyant and “original.”

Physically, this is embodied in a move from urban to rural environments, and in Olga’s “decadent” affair with artist Ryabovsky. When things turn nasty, Olga returns home to discover that loyal Dymov – who had shown such great academic promise – has committed a gruesome form of suicide. Her folly is rendered clear: she was chasing mere apparitions of greatness, whilst offering its material presence no support, no love.

Poprygunya is richly composed. There is a good deal of satisfaction to be derived from Reedman’s interplay and development, which remains delightfully ambivalent to these clashes of sense and sensibility. The image of the crows – symbolising the freedom of nature and the fear of that freedom – is high Romantic irony, as is Olga’s description of Dymov’s hands as “honest” when the play aligns ‘nature’ and ‘art’ with ‘truth’.

Interesting, too, is the play’s ostensible motif – clothing and masquerade. There is a sense of disingenuity in dress – of art and dreams being powerful, ideological forces in the world despite their status as decoration. Fittingly, the costumes are well chosen, though the stage design less so and Green’s lighting was – at times – a little blanching.

In addition, for a new play Poprygunya is a touch formulaic. The downwards spiral is typical of Chekhov’s writing, as one would expect; there are overtures, too, of Zola and Dostoyevsky. But a tribute needn’t risk predictability and rupture by being so formally faithful.

But these are minor problems. The play is otherwise well directed, with compelling performances and wonderfully evocative music. A rewarding experience indeed.

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