This truly is the most wonderful production: a Chekhov that shows — as it must — the sorrows of wasted and wasteful lives but is performed by its exemplary cast to indicate also, as Chekhov wanted, the farcical comedy of those lives. Never before have I laughed so heartily at the third act of this play where Vanya shoots at his hated brother-in-law and misses, twice; where the other members of the family shriek, cower, sob, pray to God, wave pamphlets or offer the comfort of limeflower tea. It’s extraordinary. We sorrow for them. We roar with laughter.

Tom Morris, flushed with the success of War Horse, has only just taken over the running of this much-loved, recently threatened theatre. His opening season will not be announced until next week but in the meantime he has offered its facilities to one of this country’s most admired companies: Andrew Hilton’s Shakespeare at the Tobacco Factory.

The locally based company’s home is a floor in a converted factory where its productions have been in the round — or more accurately in the square. In contrast, the Bristol Old Vic is housed at the Theatre Royal, where its horseshoe-shaped auditorium couldn’t be more Georgian without propping the stuffed body of George III in one of the boxes. After designing the Roman plays in the round for Shakespeare at the Tobacco Factory this year, Harriet de Winton must have found it a different sort of treat to be given a back wall with which to do something. A soaring wall at that, which she colours summer blue at the start of the play and turns it to a lowering darkness for its wintry end.

The character of Astrov, an early advocate of climate control, is often played as a gruff rough diamond, but Paul Currier’s sensitive performance emphasises a refinement of voice and courtesy that makes him a much more persuasive love-object for the women. And in sublime contrast to this delicacy, Simon Armstrong’s haunted Vanya is volcanic in his display of intemperate yet blisteringly funny self-disgust. It’s a marvel of acting and direction to create such comedy along with such pain.

Third in this trinity of great male roles is Ian Barritt’s ludicrously testy Professor, a horrifying idol of self-interest — and during the scene changes we are offered quotes from his dry-as-dust lectures. The female roles are given equivalent richness, with the rapt attention Daisy Douglas’s Sonya gives to Astrov signalling such sad adoration, and Alys Thomas’s Yelena, the Professor’s idling young wife, showing temptations fumbling their way through propriety. We also have Avril Elgar balefully marking her pamphlets as Vanya’s mother. Hats off to Bristol.

Box office: 0117-987 7877, to November 21

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