In turn of the century rural Russia, the aristocratic daughters of a dead colonel each have their own dreams and aspirations.

Laurence Olivier's own stagey adaptation of Anton Chekhov's play has at times some minimal sets and stage decoration. Adapted from one of Chekhov's best known plays makes for an overlong and at times tedious viewing. There is something cliched in this well intentioned film does little to elevate the cliches.

Laurence Olivier was justifiably proud of his National Theatre company and this film is essentially a showcase, designed to replicate the type of ensemble playing for which Stanislavski's Moscow Art Theatre was renowned. It was there that Chekhov's 'Three Sisters' was first performed in 1901 with his wife Olga Knipper in the role of Masha.

Olivier's fortunes had been in decline of late with dwindling Old Vic audiences, the theatrical disasters wrought by Kenneth Tynan and the toll taken on his health by overwork.

You cannot keep a good man down of course and he summoned up sufficient strength, energy and technique to both direct this and reprise his role of the amiable army surgeon Chebutikin. The cast from the stage production remains the same with the exception of Alan Bates as Vershinin who has been drafted in to replace an ailing Robert Stephens.

The entire cast is simply splendid but of course Olivier, Bates and Joan Plowright as Masha possess that indefinable 'something' which sets them apart.

Watching this piece always calls to mind Gershwin's lyric "More skies of grey than any Russian play can guarantee." There are various sub-plots here but the main theme is the failure of two of the sisters to ever realise their dream of going to Moscow. Irina doesn't really love Tusenbach but will marry him anyway which makes their parting when he goes off to fight a duel even more poignant. Masha and Vershinin are fated never to be together whilst Natasha is resigned to a life with lapdog Andrei.

Positivity abounds however with Tusenbach talking excitably about a healthy storm arising and Vershinin seeming to think that wars are a thing of the past! Cruelly ironic of course with WW1 a few years away not to mention another peak of human insanity known as the Russian revolution.

This is a studio version of a stage production which by its very nature falls between two stools and cannot be wholly satisfactory but it is lovingly made and this piece, as with all of the plays of Chekhov, who declared that 'a writer must be humane to his fingertips', will never cease to cast its spell. Moura Budberg is an ideal choice as adaptor and had previously worked on 'The Seagull' of Sidney Lumet. Mention must be made of the lovely score by William Walton, without which no film directed by Olivier would be complete.

The film was not the success for which Olivier had hoped but bearing in mind the attention span and literacy level of the average cinema-goer one is hardly surprised.

As one who loves Chekhov in - and is prepared to put up with - any form I came to this secure in the knowledge that the vastly overrated - in my opinion - Olivier had only a supporting role and nepotism to one side - as Artistic Director of the National he clearly had as many qualms as Brian Forbes about casting his wife - I was prepared to savor the Chekhov and endure the Oliviers. Okay, Louis Malles' Vanya on 42nd Street is still, and probably will always be, the Chekhov movie to beat but that doesn't mean no one should attempt it. There is - on video at least - a filmed record of Michael Redgraves' Uncle Vanya recorded at Chichester but the video is terrible quality and a DVD transfer may well be a solution. Here we have a play written by one Russian, translated by another and co-directed by a Frenchman. I detected only serviceable rather than memorable performances but in spite of the best efforts of the actors the genius of Chekhov shone through it all like a beacon.