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It must be 20 years since I read Volkov’s Testimony but what lingers in the memory is the titanic personal struggle between the composer and Stalin, a covert one, as the tyrant had the power to wipe out any opponent with the wave of a hand. Instead, Shostakovich chose to undermine and subvert through heavily coded artistry, passing off his “formalist” composition as adherence to the party line. His Fifth Symphony, “a Soviet artist’s reply to just criticism” following his near-crucifixion for upsetting Stalin with his Lady Macbeth opera, is supposedly ironic rather than triumphalist.
But, while it’s an attractive picture of a David and Goliath fight, it’s one that was arguably intended to reinstate the composer’s reputation after his death and New Yorker James Sheldon’s new play which, with flights of fantasy including a bi-sexual love triangle involving a Jewish agitator Isaak Bashevsky and a young translator, muddies the water further.
The framework is an investigation by the authorities in 1979 attempting, in the light of the Volkov book, to prove that Shostakovich was no dissident but a faithful servant of the system and a Great Patriot who betrayed his former friend Bashevsky, consequently assassinated in America. There are some interesting ideas floating around in Sheldon’s script – in particular the exploration of whether forging something you know to be true is a lie or just an authentication of the truth - but an over-literalness in much of the writing smacks of theatrical timidity.
The same could be said of Blanche McIntyre’s production. She and designer Lucy Read hamper themselves by cramming the tiny stage of the Cock Tavern with benches, a filing cabinet, desk, chair and lecterns, causing the actors to shuffle and squeeze themselves around obstacles, when a lone chair would suffice.
Stylish projections by Adam Tyler, artfully shot and allowing us to see off-stage action such as the murder of Bashevsky, could have been used more boldly and extensively (budget permitting, of course).
The five actor cast work hard to dodge between characters and ages as well as furniture, as the play flits around a 50 year period. Paul Brendan as Shostakovich’s doctor Albedov, in particular, has his work cut out persuading us he’s in his late 70s. Richard Keightley is a nerdish “Mitya”, seen mostly as a young and pliable prodigy.
As with many a conspiracy theory and biographical mystery, the truth about Shostakovich’s rocky path between artistic licence and sheer survival will continue to fascinate, and Sheldon’s play adds something to the debate. More poetry and less reliance on personal narrative (true or otherwise) would help it fly.
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