The performance-enterprise “Psychopaths” was presented by the Dobronravov family studio Do it Bro. True, not a single representative of the famous family was on stage this time, although in the program they were announced as one of the performers. But there were sparkles, chaos and people in white. Isn’t it trivial, Weekend argues.
Staging Chekhov today is a thankless task. The younger generation will not know and there is a risk that they will not understand. Older people may consider it trivial. If we are to embark on an experiment, then rather like Polina Agureeva at the Pyotr Fomenko Theater LINK – so that it is clear: all the volumes of the great have been studied, the best has been selected. Although there were some common places there – the heroes drank a lot and cried no less.
Director Fyodor Malyshev nevertheless decided to take a risk. And immediately throughout – recognizable stories by Chekhov from the school curriculum like “The Death of an Official”, “Joy” or the same “Psychopaths”, which gave the name to the entire production. Recognizable solutions – the heroes in the first short story appear in classic, early 20th century costumes. Recognizable flirtations with the public. “The director said that if I walk around the hall, it will be funnier,” says actor Ivan Fedotov, who plays Chervyakov in Death of an Official, making his way between the audience’s knees. But then something changes. Bryuzzhalov (Sergey Gilev) has white underwear sticking out from under his satin vest. Accidentally? But now he is already in snow-white underwear, and Fedotov, and others. There are five people in total on stage – the plots replace one another. Dmitry Endaltsev in the role of Mitya in “Joy” jumps out from behind the scenes in one boot and a coat over family shorts and a T-shirt. Sergei Gilev in “Gimp”, in order to become an old woman, pulls a coat over his head, Denis Samoilov grabs a vest over the same underwear in order to either sell a dog (Dubov in “Dear Dog”) or portray it himself (“Conversation between a Man and a Dog”). Clown makeup suddenly appears on the actors’ faces—the eyebrows fly up onto the forehead, the cheeks turn white, but gradually it wears off.
For an hour and a half on stage, the actors based on Chekhov’s texts seem to be going through the program of a theater university. Here they are pronouncing familiar texts with well-learned intonations. Here they are mastering stage movement in a cheerful dance, now they are learning to work with a partner in a dialogue between father and son, now they are moving on to complex things – playing very drunk, choking, blushing in the face, falling, rolling around the stage. They strengthen the base by depicting animals – a dog, a dinosaur, a chicken. And finally, they reach a shameless level with all human fears, mistrust and joy from the unfulfilled bad things in the heroes of “Over Salted”. But maybe this is a diagram of our simple human growing up? From giggles and giggles to the inevitable and inescapable?
The program promised that the stage will be about the secret of the Russian mentality. So you can’t avoid the bear and the dancing. Fortunately, it does not reach the gypsies. But they are easily replaced by one Dmitry Endaltsev with eggs and sparkles taken out of his pockets. And there really is more than enough mentality here.
“I almost started dancing,” a spectator of about 40 in an expensive jacket shares with his companion as he leaves the hall. “I want to cry,” a woman in her 50s, following behind, confesses to her peer. “To occupy the evening, that’s fine. But does anyone get that drunk? — One incredulous buzzer booms to another. “Shall we go for a cocktail?” The bear leaves the hall through a separate door.
