Don't be fooled by the other positive reviews. It's shocking how so many talented people could so egregiously misunderstand Chekhov and his intentions in this play. He wrote a comedy (despite the shocking ending); a satire on artistic pretensions, artists, and those who refuse to take responsibility for their lives and actions. This film succumbs to every cliché about the gloominess and static inertia that Chekhov supposedly deals in. Despite some efforts that aren't half-bad (Mason isn't bad, but is decades too old, and Redgrave tries her best), this film never misses an opportunity to take a misstep and do exactly the wrong thing.
In a word, awful.
In a word, awful.