About freaks and fools

"Troilus and Cressida" by Rimas Tuminas at the Vakhtangov Theater

Immediately after the premiere, critics wrote articles about the Vakhtangov production of “Troilus and Cressida” that were both confused and enthusiastic. They always talked about the strangeness of this Shakespearean play - too mocking, too confused and introducing too many jokes and allusions to its own Elizabethan time into the ancient plot for it to be considered a tragedy. Yes, the main characters remain alive, even though the beautiful Cressida, who has just sworn love and fidelity to her first man Troilus, is going through hands in the camp of the Greeks. But critics felt that the genre of “dark comedy” that Shakespeare scholars came up with for this play could not be more consistent with the talent of Rimas Tuminas, who chose it for his debut on the stage of the Vakhtangov Theater in the role of chief director.

And indeed, the talent of the famous Lithuanian director, called to “direct” the Moscow theater, is paradoxical: his gaze is able to snatch new details from the material, grotesquely enlarge them and turn them in an unexpected direction. Just remember the recent “Woe from Wit” in Sovremennik, which became scandalous after Putin’s visit – how many amazing finds and interesting details there were. But it all didn’t add up to a coherent story or significant thought. The difference between “Troilus and Cressida” and Griboedov’s masterpiece is that Shakespeare’s mannerist play itself has an indistinct and branched plot; more than any other, it needs a clear and coherent director’s idea, capable of collecting and conveying a little-known plot to the viewer.

Tuminas still doesn’t have a clearly formulated thought about “Troilus and Cressida,” except for a strong, but not very productive disgust: “Everyone here is self-righteous freaks and fools, it’s impossible to live in this panopticon.” But his gift again throws out spectacular, bilious and sometimes very funny scenes like prominences. Here, for example, is a couple - Achilles (small, arrogant Viktor Dobronravov) and Patroclus (a two-meter absurd creature disguised as a woman - he is hilariously played by Sergei Epishev). Everyone knows about the homosexual relationship between two Greek heroes, but why suddenly Patroclus is a cutesy and tremulous girl in curls, and the brutal little Achilles is literally “breathing in her navel” is unclear. But it’s fun, as always happens in this situation. Tuminas allows this couple to make the audience laugh properly, composing for them several wordless sketch scenes, for example, with throwing a pebble into the sea (the sound of the surf accompanies the entire performance): Lady Patroclus behaves, puts her leg aside, throws it crookedly, like a girl, and then throws up his hands when he sees how beautifully Achilles throws, and just grabs him in his arms out of emotion.

The homosexual theme in Tuminas's play is revealed in all its glory, as a reason for jokes: here Pandarus (Vladimir Simonov), a politician and pimp, unexpectedly, amidst all this bacchanalia, dressed in a modern three-piece suit, almost immediately begins to explicitly chase the servant of his niece Cressida . And the chubby, feminine boy Paris (Oleg Lopukhov) constantly throws himself on the neck of every warrior. Although, on the other hand, why should there be any surprise here: the scary and middle-aged woman he conquered, with a broken, hoarse voice, the mountain woman Elena (played by Maria Aronova) will frighten anyone. And when, at the end of the first act, the red-haired Greek queen sitting on the throne suddenly gets up, opens her cape and remains standing naked, like a picturesque nude in a frame, not only the Trojan warriors, but also the audience are speechless. The “naked” costume turns the already thin Aronova into a swollen and pink, like ham, monster on a pedestal, and little Paris can only bury his head in her pubis in trepidation.

In general, there are a lot of unknowns. Why, for example, does Thersites (Yuri Kraskov), “ugly and obscene” according to Shakespeare’s definition, differ from others mainly in that he has a gigantic disfigured ass? Or why does the Messenger in a short tunic make curtsies, holding onto her skirt like a schoolgirl? Well, okay, these are little things. And why does the long-haired, mannered Ulysses pronounce one of his monologues, squatting, with tense grunting and clucking, and then it is discovered that he has laid an egg? I won't continue.

At least some way out of this cabinet of curiosities was needed. It seems that Tuminas planned that the story would take shape with the beginning of the love of young Troilus and Cressida, played by the lovely, impetuous and curly-haired Evgenia Kregzhde, who recently came to the theater, and the spectacular Leonid Bichevin. But nothing new happens: instead of the old monsters there are child monsters who, although cute, still run around stupidly, scream and play ambiguous jokes. (When the excited Troilus, waiting for his beloved, moans: “How my heart beats,” clutching at the causal place - this, you see, is not the first grade of humor.)

However, according to the director's plan, it seems that young and old, ugly and handsome, idiots and cunning people - everyone will equally be crushed by the war. And in the finale, depicting a battlefield, many metal kitchen tables are brought onto the stage, on which they begin chopping cabbage with a roar. And after the performance, what you remember most of all is not the mocking heap and bustle on stage, but the gloomy and powerful, as always with Faustas Latenas, minimalist music - the tread of war.

Dina GODER