Dialogues with the past are becoming something of a tradition at the Chekhov Moscow Art Theater.
Over the last two seasons, the theater has mounted new productions of several plays that played important roles in its history. First there was a return to Alexander Vampilov's "Duck Hunting" after a quarter of a century. Next came fresh approaches to Maxim Gorky's "The Bourgeoisie," originally staged in 1902 and again in 1949, and to Mikhail Bulgakov's "The White Guard (The Days of the Turbins)," previously mounted three times, in 1926, 1968 and 1982. Most recently is Moliere's "Tartuffe," a play first produced in 1939 and again in 1981 -- the latter a now legendary work by Anatoly Efros. On Wednesday, this small ritual will continue with the premiere of a new rendition of Alexander Ostrovsky's "The Forest," first staged at the Art Theater in 1948.
"Tartuffe" marks the debut at the Art Theater of the hot director Nina Chusova. Her name is often spoken in tandem with that of Kirill Serebrennikov, another newcomer to fame whose productions at the Art Theater include "The Bourgeoisie" and the upcoming "The Forest." Both directors debuted in Moscow more or less simultaneously a few years ago, both have a flair for extravagance, both made the move to the big time with productions at the Sovremennik Theater and now both have been accepted into the fold at the Art Theater.
Fans of Chusova will find much that is familiar in "Tartuffe" -- colorful caricatures rather than careful characterization; loud and ever-present music; gaudy costumes (designed by Pavel Kaplevich); the effort to establish style through kitsch, exaggeration and even overkill. Chusova's productions, and "Tartuffe" in particular, bear such a resemblance to contemporary television that there is something impertinent in their stance, something brashly unconcerned with substance. The image -- the pose -- is all. If nothing is discernible behind it, so much the better, for that would appear to be the message.
"Tartuffe" is set by designers Anastasia Glebova and Vladimir Martirosov in a garish, palatial interior that looks as if it might be styled after ornate, gilded tissue boxes stood on end. Small balconies located high above the stage expand the usable acting space vertically. In the second act, rows of undulating sheets stretched across the stage create the impression of a pool of water in which two characters swim back and forth during a seduction scene.
In this excessive, spacious environment, it is little wonder that notions of the circus come to mind, something that is reinforced by the often humorous costumes and the goof-ball style of acting. Oleg Tabakov's Tartuffe and Alexander Semchev's Orgon, the man in whose household Tartuffe has taken up residence, are, in large part, a pair of clowns. The characters around them, often bopping and jiving and swaying to the relentless background music, exist in various degrees to highlight the eccentricities of the two principals. The "what" of their dialogues is often drowned in the attempts to make the "how" of their delivery as clever as possible.
Moliere's notoriously long introduction -- close to half the play -- gives us an opportunity to hear every possible point of view about Tartuffe before we see him. Orgon's mother Madame Pernelle (Natalya Kochetova), his son Damis (Roman Khardikov), his daughter's maid Dorine (Marina Golub), his brother-in-law Cleante (Avangard Leontyev) and Orgon himself argue at length about the mysterious visitor. Is he a pious demi-saint or a wheedling hypocrite who is terrorizing the household? Chusova tosses in one of many theatrical jokes by giving Tartuffe a silent, though ostentatious, appearance in the guise of a sarcastically grinning angel during one of the arguments about him.
But Tartuffe isn't the only character who might be a fraud. Even Orgon's daughter Mariane (Darya Moroz) and her suitor Valere (Maxim Matveyev) -- in most productions the two most unsullied and sincere of the lot -- emerge here as shifty, sated characters. This, in the long run, robs the production first of perspective and, later, of meaning. Orgon's suggestion that Mariane marry Tartuffe comes off as nothing more sinister than a bad joke. With the whole lot representing various shades of sleaze or ignorance, we are left to admire -- or not to admire -- a rogue's gallery of crooked and distorted portraits.
Tartuffe is a childish, spoiled, insidious type, in love with himself and blissfully ignorant of anything but his own whims. For reasons not entirely clear -- in this production it seems to be the result of another passing whim, this time on Orgon's part -- Orgon signs over all his possessions to Tartuffe. This hardly causes the unscrupulous house guest to raise an eyebrow. He quietly takes his good fortune in stride and waits for the next windfall to drop in his hands.
That isn't long in coming, of course, and this time it takes the form of Orgon's wife, Elmire (Marina Zudina). Once again, Chusova's production steers clear of the path of the usual approach to the play. The traditional reading is that Elmire deliberately encourages Tartuffe to make a pass at her in order to get her husband to see the truth of the man in whom he has mistakenly put so much faith. Instead, at the Art Theater, the seduction scene is just so much frivolous hanky-panky, milked as long as possible for titillation value and comic effect.
Surrounded by a leering aide (Vladimir Fyodorov) and two giggling, voluptuous nuns (Varvara Shulyatyeva and Yulia Galkina), this Tartuffe does not represent the hypocrisy that has become synonymous with his name, but rather the blatant, indifferent vulgarity of the world as we know it. It all concludes with a big, booming fashion show, suggesting that everything is cool as long as it's hip. Perhaps this is the modern transformation of Marshall McLuhan's maxim "the medium is the message" into something like "the medium has replaced the message."
The Art Theater's new dialogue with its own past has brought mixed results. Of all the revivals so far, only "The Bourgeoisie" can legitimately and honestly be compared to its historical predecessors. "Tartuffe" is loud, extravagant and brazen. By the end, not one character on stage has come across as a person, let alone a person capable of attracting sympathy or even interest. When the last explosion faded and the last scrap of confetti fell, the only thing I could think was "good riddance to them all."
"Tartuffe" plays Dec. 26 and 30 at 7 p.m. at the Chekhov Moscow Art Theater, 3 Kamergersky Pereulok. Metro Okhotny Ryad. Tel. 229-8760. Running time: 3 hours.
Over the last two seasons, the theater has mounted new productions of several plays that played important roles in its history. First there was a return to Alexander Vampilov's "Duck Hunting" after a quarter of a century. Next came fresh approaches to Maxim Gorky's "The Bourgeoisie," originally staged in 1902 and again in 1949, and to Mikhail Bulgakov's "The White Guard (The Days of the Turbins)," previously mounted three times, in 1926, 1968 and 1982. Most recently is Moliere's "Tartuffe," a play first produced in 1939 and again in 1981 -- the latter a now legendary work by Anatoly Efros. On Wednesday, this small ritual will continue with the premiere of a new rendition of Alexander Ostrovsky's "The Forest," first staged at the Art Theater in 1948.
"Tartuffe" marks the debut at the Art Theater of the hot director Nina Chusova. Her name is often spoken in tandem with that of Kirill Serebrennikov, another newcomer to fame whose productions at the Art Theater include "The Bourgeoisie" and the upcoming "The Forest." Both directors debuted in Moscow more or less simultaneously a few years ago, both have a flair for extravagance, both made the move to the big time with productions at the Sovremennik Theater and now both have been accepted into the fold at the Art Theater.
Fans of Chusova will find much that is familiar in "Tartuffe" -- colorful caricatures rather than careful characterization; loud and ever-present music; gaudy costumes (designed by Pavel Kaplevich); the effort to establish style through kitsch, exaggeration and even overkill. Chusova's productions, and "Tartuffe" in particular, bear such a resemblance to contemporary television that there is something impertinent in their stance, something brashly unconcerned with substance. The image -- the pose -- is all. If nothing is discernible behind it, so much the better, for that would appear to be the message.
"Tartuffe" is set by designers Anastasia Glebova and Vladimir Martirosov in a garish, palatial interior that looks as if it might be styled after ornate, gilded tissue boxes stood on end. Small balconies located high above the stage expand the usable acting space vertically. In the second act, rows of undulating sheets stretched across the stage create the impression of a pool of water in which two characters swim back and forth during a seduction scene.
In this excessive, spacious environment, it is little wonder that notions of the circus come to mind, something that is reinforced by the often humorous costumes and the goof-ball style of acting. Oleg Tabakov's Tartuffe and Alexander Semchev's Orgon, the man in whose household Tartuffe has taken up residence, are, in large part, a pair of clowns. The characters around them, often bopping and jiving and swaying to the relentless background music, exist in various degrees to highlight the eccentricities of the two principals. The "what" of their dialogues is often drowned in the attempts to make the "how" of their delivery as clever as possible.
Moliere's notoriously long introduction -- close to half the play -- gives us an opportunity to hear every possible point of view about Tartuffe before we see him. Orgon's mother Madame Pernelle (Natalya Kochetova), his son Damis (Roman Khardikov), his daughter's maid Dorine (Marina Golub), his brother-in-law Cleante (Avangard Leontyev) and Orgon himself argue at length about the mysterious visitor. Is he a pious demi-saint or a wheedling hypocrite who is terrorizing the household? Chusova tosses in one of many theatrical jokes by giving Tartuffe a silent, though ostentatious, appearance in the guise of a sarcastically grinning angel during one of the arguments about him.
But Tartuffe isn't the only character who might be a fraud. Even Orgon's daughter Mariane (Darya Moroz) and her suitor Valere (Maxim Matveyev) -- in most productions the two most unsullied and sincere of the lot -- emerge here as shifty, sated characters. This, in the long run, robs the production first of perspective and, later, of meaning. Orgon's suggestion that Mariane marry Tartuffe comes off as nothing more sinister than a bad joke. With the whole lot representing various shades of sleaze or ignorance, we are left to admire -- or not to admire -- a rogue's gallery of crooked and distorted portraits.
Tartuffe is a childish, spoiled, insidious type, in love with himself and blissfully ignorant of anything but his own whims. For reasons not entirely clear -- in this production it seems to be the result of another passing whim, this time on Orgon's part -- Orgon signs over all his possessions to Tartuffe. This hardly causes the unscrupulous house guest to raise an eyebrow. He quietly takes his good fortune in stride and waits for the next windfall to drop in his hands.
That isn't long in coming, of course, and this time it takes the form of Orgon's wife, Elmire (Marina Zudina). Once again, Chusova's production steers clear of the path of the usual approach to the play. The traditional reading is that Elmire deliberately encourages Tartuffe to make a pass at her in order to get her husband to see the truth of the man in whom he has mistakenly put so much faith. Instead, at the Art Theater, the seduction scene is just so much frivolous hanky-panky, milked as long as possible for titillation value and comic effect.
Surrounded by a leering aide (Vladimir Fyodorov) and two giggling, voluptuous nuns (Varvara Shulyatyeva and Yulia Galkina), this Tartuffe does not represent the hypocrisy that has become synonymous with his name, but rather the blatant, indifferent vulgarity of the world as we know it. It all concludes with a big, booming fashion show, suggesting that everything is cool as long as it's hip. Perhaps this is the modern transformation of Marshall McLuhan's maxim "the medium is the message" into something like "the medium has replaced the message."
The Art Theater's new dialogue with its own past has brought mixed results. Of all the revivals so far, only "The Bourgeoisie" can legitimately and honestly be compared to its historical predecessors. "Tartuffe" is loud, extravagant and brazen. By the end, not one character on stage has come across as a person, let alone a person capable of attracting sympathy or even interest. When the last explosion faded and the last scrap of confetti fell, the only thing I could think was "good riddance to them all."
"Tartuffe" plays Dec. 26 and 30 at 7 p.m. at the Chekhov Moscow Art Theater, 3 Kamergersky Pereulok. Metro Okhotny Ryad. Tel. 229-8760. Running time: 3 hours.