A
verse play Pushkin
tells about the last turbulent years of the famous Russian poet in a refined
production that lacks nothing but oomph.
His
name was Alexander, he was the pride of the entire nation and was tragically
shot in a duel. No, I am not talking about Alexander Hamilton, but about
Alexander Pushkin, the “Sun of Russian poetry” and father of modern Russian. No
lesser a titan than his American namesake, Pushkin could easily become the
center of a lush tragedy. Yet Jonathan Leaf chooses to follow a different path.
His Pushkin, a verse play about the final
years of the legendary 19th century author, is a sober-minded, reserved
narrative.
Ian Lassiter and Lexi Lapp in Pushkin. Photo by Carol Rosegg. |
Sewn tightly into their detailed
period costumes (by Elivia Bovenzi), with each piece of hair perfectly in its place (wig
design by Tommy Kuzman), the actors move with grace and dignity, faithful to
the period. Despite the bare minimalism of the scenery (Troy Hourie) dominated
by scarlet carpeting, one feels truly immersed in the 19th century society
life. There, the poet Alexander Pushkin (Ian Lassiter), the Tsar’s “favorite toy”, has to
submit all the writing to Nicholas I (Gene
Gillette)
weekly.
Not only does the monarch claim
the right of the last word before Pushkin’s verses go to print, he also feels
himself entitled to the company of the poet’s beautiful wife Natalia (played
with magnificent poise by Jenny
Leona) at the balls. As somebody who was brought up in the palace, Pushkin
knows the moves of political dances. Yet his liberal views, and the wish to
write without censorship, get him in trouble. While the entire country is eager
to read each new chapter of Eugene Onegin, Pushkin secretly writes Boris
Godunov, a play in which another Russian Tsar dies on stage.
Cards seem to take his mind away
but then his debt grows and the relationship with the friends at the table
crack. An almost religious devotion of his sister-in-law, Alexandra (Lexi
Lapp), is fluttering and easy to fall for. Lapp’s embodiment of quiet Alexandra
torn between passion and family honor is one of the play’s gems. The contrast
between her open heart and constrained movements, with her gaze locked on the
floor or the pages of the books she reads, tell more about her character than
any lines.
The
melodic flow of Leaf’s verse creates a steady rhythm to which the director, Christopher
McElroen, tunes the staging. I overheard somebody during the intermission
calling Pushkin “a play of moving
chairs”. Mute and nameless servants dressed in peasant attire quietly move the
few pieces of furniture during transitions between the scenes giving us a
chance to listen to fragments of Rachmaninoff, Prokofiev and Glinka, among
many.
The
music selection is as meticulous as every element of the visual design. The
actors reciting verse with the ease of breathing evoke the elegance of
high-ranking Pushkin’s circles. As my companion observed, Leaf’s
text, although written in modern times, leaves an impression of a classical
play. With all the elements of a successful production visibly in place,
something imperceptible is amiss, namely the lack of charisma in performance by
the lead man, Ian Lassiter. He seems too well collected and cool for all that’s
happening, as if he doesn’t truly feel anxious about the gipsy’s mortal
prophecy and thinks he is James Bond.
__________
Pushkin
plays at Sheen Center at 18 Bleaker Street, through August 25th,
2018. Running time is 1 hour 45 minutes with one intermission. Tickets are $57 and are
available at sheencenter.org and by calling 212-925-2812
Pushkin is by Jonathan Leaf. Directed by Christopher McElroen.
Scenic Design is by Troy Hourie. Lighting Design is by Zach Weeks. Costume
Design is by Elivia Bovenzi. Sound Design is by Andy Evan Cohen. Choreography
is by Bruce Heath. Wig and Hair Design is by Tommy Kuzman. Prop Design is by
Leila Ben-Abdallah.
The cast is Ian Lassiter, Jenny Leona, Lexi
Lapp, Olivia Gilliatt, Christopher Kelly, Gene Gillette, Lou Liberatore,
Michael Earl Fajardo, Daniel Petzold, Kyle Cameron and Tracy Sallows.
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