The dramatic energies of Uncle Vanya are basically centrifugal. As the play (first produced in 1899) rotates in its unwieldy way, the various characters – all of them dolorous creatures – are driven apart, pushed outward into the dreary wastes of private disappointment. Human relationships are of little consequence in this play; everyone is adrift in his or her own special incapacity. Maybe it is the increasing emotional and spiritual isolation of the characters, those lonely eccentrics gathered at the Serebriakov estate, that inspired director Sam Yates to create a one-man version of the show, concentrating the action, such as it is, on a single figure? In any case, this new adaptation of the play, with Andrew Scott playing all the parts, is one of the melancholier examples of Anton Chekhov you’re likely to experience – which is saying something.