UK Theatre Network

A powerful new play from the unequivocally adventurous Second Skin Theatre and penned by resident writer William Whitehurst  brings the story of Rasputin –that mythical mad monk who helped destroy an empire – and his era to the stage in a stunning new production at the Rosemary Branch Theatre in Islington.

The opening moments of the play resound with the sounds –and even the smells –of Russian orthodoxy and as the lights go up we are confronted with a set that really wouldn’t look out of place in a national theatre. This kind of high-reaching and meticulous approach used by designer Mike Lees acts as an indicator of what’s to come on stage.

Andy McQuade brings to the role of Rasputin an astonishing depth of feeling and authenticity, capturing at once the man’s raw peasant vitality, his lust, his craftiness, and most of all the extraordinary pain at the core of his being. His principal antagonist, Felix Yussupov, is played to the hilt by one of the two Russian actors in the cast, Benny Maslov. Maslov brilliantly captures the sinister aspects of Yussupov but we also see this shell progressively shredded by the final dramatic scene –“In spite of everything, I still believe!” And we all know he’s not even fooling himself any longer.

The other Russian actor in the cast, Nika Khitrova, plays the bitterly wronged servant girl Katya, who transforms from humble servant to raunchy stripper to dark instrument of revenge with bone-chilling conviction. With just a few short scenes spread throughout the play she manages the near impossible task of presenting a monumental journey across many years with gut wrenching authenticity; her final moment is as moving as it is horrific.Alice Fernbank as the tormented Tsarina, caught between the demands of empire and a desperate desire to help her suffering son, offers such emotional nuance and range that we come to understand and deeply sympathize with her even as we watch her help unleash the chaos that will destroy her world.

The last link in this remarkably talented ensemble, Alastair Natkiel, creates in the Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich a thoroughly sympathetic portrait of a vulnerable, wounded man who wants most of all to love and be loved. Natkiel understands how to maintain the outer façade while showing us how the inner man crumbles. Love may be all this character really wants, but it is in desperately short supply in Russia in the last years of empire and so he like everyone else is swept along by a tide that ultimately chokes off all but the worst aspects of human nature. And that, this play suggests with extraordinary power and conviction, is ultimately the tragedy of Russia itself at the dawn of the twentieth-century.

Do not miss.

http://secondskintheatre.com/

Sean Baker