The more popular is the artist, the harder is his life. The hour, when cunning well-wishers will exclaim “I will be straight forward – you are a great person, sir!”, and sincere ill-wishers will take a deep breath to blurt out loudly and clearly “Mister, you’ve exhausted your inspiration!”, approaches inexorably. There are two objects for irrepressible admiration and daring invectives at once in “The Demon” – the rapidly picking up director Kirill Serebrennikov and the celestial actor Oleg Menshikov.
This season Serebrennikov has already produced a performance with a star and for the star – “Sweet Bird of Youth” in the “Sovremennik” Theatre with Marina Neyolova. It wasn’t quite his story. Rather, an offer which is pleasant to hear and unwise to reject and which Serebrennikov managed without harm to his honor and talent. “The Demon” is completely his story. It is tempting to soar from the straightly-out described by the representatives of the new drama dirty vale of tears to Lermontov’s empyrean, sparkling with snowy whiteness and burning with cold and fire at the same time. Indeed, it is a very romantic attitude – to pretend being cynic, and secretly search for an ideal. Now, after the pre-premiere performances (the premiere will be in September) it is clear once and for all: the master of recreating the “new brutality” aesthetics and enjoying the aroma of the “flowers of evil”, investigating “Terrorism” in all its aspects and displaying to the public “Some Explicit Polaroids” seeks for this ideal, like Lermontov’s spirit of exile seeks for love.
Is it necessary to explain that for Serebrennikov it was an important and responsible work, and he didn’t simply feel that responsibility, but fainted under its weight. He collected all his knowledge and skills to find at once plastic, sound, musical and conceptual decisions for “The Demon”. Crowd scenes portray brisk evil spirits constantly skipping about the stage and opposing to Menshikov’s majestic hero; the musicians play authentic folk instruments and the music is stylized in a folk manner by Alexander Bakshi; the Caucasian local flavor is blended with the Slavic one, traditional reciting – with a folk one, and the traditions of street theatre – with elements of modern dance. The figures of folk narrators are introduced in the performance (not for too long, however); a special technique of reciting, which discloses Lermontov’s alliterations, is applied, and a special Swedenborg-like interpretation of events is presented, according to which Tamara’s fiancee turns into the Angel, who in the end saves the soul of the involuntary sinner (this very fiancee is being buried sitting, an iron mask is put on his face, and then he, like in some horror film, raises from the dead and his not very ethereal body climbs up to the Heaven).
In other words, Serebrennikov tried to conquer “The Demon” with all possible means (and we must admit that being one of the cleverest and most technical directors in the Russian theatre, he is capable of many things), but it played a mean joke on him. For, while he dealt with the modern drama, which requires strong theatrical support, his skills in various theatrical technologies were of great use. But applied to the great Lermontov’s verse, these crafty devices at times look as come cosmic trash flying together with the angels and demons about the Universal expanses.
The performance truly begins when the poem turns into a mini-play with the dialogue, and the voice of the author is shared between the characters. At this point, the multiple “inventions” of the production simply peel off – the music (good as it is) dies away, the narrators-musicians and the dancers step back, and fascinating Natalia Shvets (Tamara), expressive in his every move Anatoly Beliy (Angel-fiancee) and starring Oleg Menshikov nearly forget about the alliterations. Simply and quietly they reveal the tight dramatic flesh of Lermontov’s masterpiece.
The confrontation of the Angel and the Demon in Tamara’s cell is decided perfectly. The antagonists talk to each other holding a long pole on both sides (a year ago, in “Some Explicit Polaroids”, the same pole, though not horizontal, but vertical, symbolized phallus), and it becomes obvious that here, on earth, in this masculine, but not heavenly pastime, the victory will be his, who knows the power of passion. Sincerely and deeply Menshikov recites “By the first day of the creation”, nervously striking the keys now in the upper register, and now in the lower one, as if trying to find the proper note. Enveloped by the metaphysical mist, fanned by the folk motifs, penetrated by the play with the mystery theatre, the performance suddenly turns into a heartfelt story of love. Not that of a gloomy celestial, but rather of a suffering and quiet non-mere mortal. After all, despite the common opinion, there’s absolutely no demonism in Menshikov. There’s the ability to pretend it, as it was once in the wonderful Yuri Yeremin’s production “The Idiot”, in which Menshikov played one of his best roles – Ganya Ivolgin.
But to skillfully pretend being demonic, and to truly be it are absolutely different things. By the nature of his gift, Menshikov is warm and human. His kiss cannot kill. There’s no tiredness and indifference in him, rather impulsiveness and excitement. He is Chatsky, persistently, but in vain trying on the mask of Pechorin. Cosmic cold and universal abysses, so powerfully described by the Russian classic, are alien and inaccessible to him. He plays not the dark spirit of doubt, whose heart is wakened by an earthly love, but rather an earthly creature, who cognized the power of true love. He plays above Lermontov’s verse. It is a powerful and heartfelt story. But it is not about the Demon.
How does it sort with the folk environment and the hidden metaphysical motive of the performance? Not too well, so far. Can the pre-premiere shows of “The Demon” be considered a failure? I think, no. There’s no doubt that by autumn, the production will become more harmonious and logical. But even then, I think, neither admirations, nor invectives will be appropriate. Rather a fixed interest, especially on the part of critics. For each of the two main participants of this project, the work with Lermontov’s masterpiece was meaningful for personal reasons. For one of them it was an attempt to understand the difference between “playing demonism” and “playing the Demon”, and for the other – the difference between the romantic rebels of the 19th century and the rebels of the contemporary marginals, so dear to the modern drama. For one of them it was the work with a classical and poetic text (but not a modern one, full of bad language), for the other (finally!) – the work with a true director. For both of them – the struggle with themselves; and this is more valuable than banal struggle for success that won’t escape them anyway. So, “The Demon” flied by not in the vulgar slang sense, but in the very usual one. Flied by and touched them with his wing. And who knows what abysses will gape in front of them now.