While Anton Chekhov always thought of The Seagull as a comedy, that fact has frequently been forgotten through productions that fall into the soporific trap set by angsty, moping, lovelorn characters losing their hearts and minds in the Russian countryside.

There’s no such danger with Thomas Ostermeier, who once declared that he wanted to bring “some rock ‘n’ roll” to Ibsen (his Enemy of the People had the protagonist play Bowie covers in a band and open a political discussion with the audience). The firebrand German director now blasts the cobwebs off Chekhov with boisterous, dazzling delight.

But as irreverent as Ostermeier may seem — as self-referential, ironic, meta, playful — he’s true to his material. The reality of The Seagull is that it treads that fine line between comedy and tragedy. And while this production is an incredible blast, teetering on farce, Ostermeier and co-adaptor Duncan Macmillan (People, Places...