Cast off!

10:45 AM, Saturday, October 24

After playing in repertory since October, Tom Stoppard’s massively successful trilogy “The Coast of Utopia,” about real-life revolutionary thinkers and thinking revolutionaries in mid-19th-century Russia, was about to launch its first marathon run: all three parts, “Voyage,” “Shipwreck,” and “Salvage,” in one day. For die-hard fans, this was a must-see.

But even for the biggest theater buffs, eight-and-a-half hours — plus breaks for lunch and dinner, of course — is a test of endurance.

As I approached the Vivian Beaumount Theatre, I saw Lincoln Center Theater’s artistic director Andre Bishop standing toward the back, watching like a good mother hen to make sure the first marathon performance got off to a safe start. “This is the best part for the actors,” Mr. Bishop said. “No more rehearsals!”

I headed in, but not before spotting the artistic director of the Mint Theater Company Jonathan Bank. Was he seeing the whole thing? “Yes,” he shouted back, with a slightly pained grin. “$600!”

Once located in my seat at the center of a row halfway up the orchestra section, I surveyed the troops. To my left was a middle-aged couple from Pittsburgh. Their tickets were a gift. To my right, a man in a dark suit calmly worked on a crossword puzzle prior to the curtain call. A scan of the crowd revealed a couple star sightings: Sam Waterston two rows ahead; John Glover across the aisle.

The show began with its smashing opening image of Brian F. O’Byrne as a despairing Alexander Herzen, spinning in a suspended chair while a sea of blue-lit cloth billowed about him. He and the fabric ocean sank into a hole in the stage and lights came up on what seemed like hundreds of standing serfs. The crowd applauded. The cast performed confidently; they know this part best.

At the first intermission, a man behind me flitted through his program trying to sort out the many blond sisters of budding anarchist Michael Bakunin. “Varenka is the one with the baby,” he said to his not too interested companion. “The third one has slightly different hair.”

In the lobby, men and women lined up for the restrooms like the many dutiful serfs just presented onstage. “I don’t like the Turgenev,” one waiting man said. “The London Turgenev was much better. But the Belinsky is fantastic!”

Back in the auditorium, many audience members had hit the books, intently reading the plot synopses in their programs. Even by the end of the first part, Program Man was still trying to dope out the cast: “So who was that with the father at the end, Tatiana?” he asked.

1:45 P.M.

The crowd streamed out into the bright winter light in search of lunch. A good deal of them marched down West 64th Street to O’Neals’ restaurant, which offered a “Utopia”-ready special prix fixe lunch. People were shuttled to their tables with machinelike efficiency. A lady told her friend she knew Mr. Stoppard and insisted she would need a one-hour nap at some point in the day. The man next to me ordered red wine. “Maybe today isn’t the best day for wine,” he admitted. From soup to espresso, I was out of O’Neals’ in 30 minutes. Meanwhile, in the dressing rooms of the Beaumont, the cast was feasting on catered food.

3:30 P.M.

“Here we go,” the woman from Pittsburgh said as “Shipwreck” began. The chair spun. The sea roiled. Herzen sunk. Billy Crudup’s neurotic, excitable Belinsky seemed to be a favorite of the crowd, and there was a sense of disappointment when he died halfway through the play.

At intermission, two woman were still trying to suss out the significance of a the human-size, top-hatted Ginger Cat in “Voyage.” Back at my seat, the man with the crossword puzzle noted that he, like myself, had previously seen “Voyage.” Still, he was not going to read the synopses for the other two plays. “I’m winging it,” he said. Asked if the play is providing answers to any crossword clues, his wife replied, “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

6:00 P.M.

After “Shipwreck” ended, I passed by the stage door, and noticed the young boy who played Herzen’s eldest son having a break, skating about on his Heelys— the sneakers with wheels embedded in their soles.

O’Neals’ was twice as packed at dinner, but service was just as swift. My guest, who missed the first two parts, arrived, and I did my best to bring him up to speed plot-wise. Quite a few of my character descriptions ended with “He’s dead now.” I ordered a gin Gibson. A day like this required a drink.

8:00 PM

Back at the theater for “Salvage.” The woman from Pittsburgh noticed Sam Waterston. “Well, that’s a special extra for me,” she chirped. Discussing the play with someone in the next row, Mr. Waterston joked, “I’m waiting for Martin Luther to show up.”

Thus far, I noticed no sleepers or escapees in the audience, and only three cell phones rang (all during “Shipwreck”). As sports commentators say, this team came here to play.

Set mostly in England, Part III is darkly lit and has a wintery feeling. Herzen, Turgenev, and Bakunin have grey hair. The characters are framed by the backdrop of a stormtossed sea as the show ends.

There were no curtain calls before this point, but, finally, the cast got its due. At 11 PM. They had begun work 12 hours earlier. All 46 congregated onstage. The audience members stood; They looked spruce and alert, their attention unflagging. The cast applauded the crowd. There was mutual admiration in the air: We had done well on both sides of the footlights. Ethan Hawke, as exuberant as his character, Bakunin, shook his fists in triumph. And the little girl who plays Herzen’s young daughter Olga jumped and skipped her way into the wings.

“The Coast of Utopia” marathon repeats Saturdays until May 5. For more information, see www.coastofutopia.com.