{"id":36257,"date":"2024-10-23T23:25:38","date_gmt":"2024-10-23T22:25:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/?p=36257"},"modified":"2024-10-24T06:45:53","modified_gmt":"2024-10-24T05:45:53","slug":"impossible-life-a-soldiers-mothers-story-performed-in-london","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/impossible-life-a-soldiers-mothers-story-performed-in-london\/","title":{"rendered":"Impossible Life: A Soldier\u2019s Mother’s Story Performed in London"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Photo by Vlada Nebo<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The play’s director, Ivanka Polchenko, has a background in philology and theater studies, which allows her to handle the complex text by Natalia Lizorkina with care and subtlety, without overemphasizing the horrors of the events. As written in the script, there is only one actor\u2014Nikolay Mulakov\u2014who plays all the characters, and there are many in the play. He wears light jeans, a black hoodie, sneakers, and a light beard. His hair is parted and tied back with an elastic band. There’s something faintly iconic in his appearance.<\/span><\/p>\n

No, there\u2019s no direct Christian analogy here, but as the play progresses, the connection becomes more apparent. Both the direction and the acting are nuanced and restrained. There are no angry gestures, no screams or sobs. Mulakov plays with restraint, almost detached. Most often, he delivers his lines with his hands down\u2014his large white hands hanging by his sides. Yet, this posture speaks not of confusion or fear but of non-resistance to evil through violence. When playing a policeman who grabs Alya, he makes no sharp movements, merely a half-gesture with his hand, a hint of a strike.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Photo by Vlada Nebo<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

From character to character, Mulakov hardly changes his tone or voice, but within the limits set by the director, any subtle shift feels vivid. Here\u2019s the prison doctor\u2014Mulakov plays him by simply hiding his hands in his pockets (a sort of medical examination, right?). Here\u2019s the shop assistant\u2014her familiar intonations, barely noticeable, evoke memories of childhood: \u201cMove along, lady! There\u2019s a line!\u201d\u2014even though the play is in English.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

This external restraint allows Mulakov to use his internal acting skills, which are hard to describe without veering into esotericism or something semi-mystical. His emotional state, inner tension, and despair are conveyed to the audience without any outward display\u2014that\u2019s what acting mastery looks like.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Photo by Vlada Nebo<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The plot can be summarized briefly: a mother receives news of her son\u2019s death on the front lines, followed by his funeral, and her despair leads her into a terrifying twist of fate. But the text is much more complex, built on ambivalence, metaphors, and contradictory words. At first, there’s discomfort as this young man walks around the stage, awkwardly pacing as if adjusting to the black-box space, familiarizing himself with the roles of an adult woman, a policeman.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

At the beginning, he comes out and introduces himself by name, distancing himself from the character of Alevtina, engaging the audience in light conversation. He\u2019s saying to us, “I\u2019m Kolya, not Alya, I\u2019m just going to tell you a story…”<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Photo by Vlada Nebo<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The audience stirs; someone plays along. Of course, “Vanya Is Alive” is not an interactive show, but this is a hook, a way to draw the audience into the narrative. Every performance, this part plays out differently. Without it, the play would lack something, as the audience is a full-fledged partner here.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

In the front row sat well-off, intelligent people who were genuinely engaged with the performance. They watched attentively and responded to the actor\u2019s questions. Notably, they weren\u2019t Russian speakers, which is important\u2014they could only grasp the context theoretically. One man even took off his shoe to show the actor his foot, asking if it was flat enough to avoid military service. A half-joke, but it made the situation more terrifying\u2014this man, in his fine shoes and neat socks, didn\u2019t fully understand the true significance of flat feet in the play\u2019s context.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Next to him was a very beautiful young woman who reacted with laughter, as did others. For them, this absurdity was a theoretical, dystopian fiction. This woman\u2014her chestnut hair shining, her bright miniskirt fitting perfectly\u2014suddenly burst into soft contralto laughter, and it was impossible to blame her. For her, this reality wasn\u2019t real. In her world, this was fiction, a mirage, a dream. That\u2019s why she laughed\u2014just as children laugh at the absurdity in Kornei Chukovsky\u2019s verses: \u201cBunnies in a tram. A frog on a broom. Riding and laughing, chewing gingerbread.\u201d She couldn\u2019t imagine a grimy staircase in a Soviet-era apartment block where Alya clutches a phone with terrible news, asking what she should do next. And this isn\u2019t about “checking privilege.” It\u2019s about checking our vulnerability\u2014because this young woman, who can\u2019t imagine an empty coffin without Vanya inside, or Alya listening to a podcast of silence\u2014that\u2019s normal.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Photo by Vlada Nebo<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Meanwhile, the rest of the audience listens in eerie (forgive the term in the context of the play) silence to Mulakov and the mother\u2019s mournful lullaby.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The play “Vanya Is Alive” has already been performed in London, will be brought back again, and is successfully shown in other European cities. Yes, it’s a play from 2022, clearly reflecting our current reality. However, director and actor manage not to fall into topical moralizing\u2014there’s none of that here. This is philosophical prose, written as a play and presented either as a chronicle or an apocryphal tale.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":91,"featured_media":36255,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[86],"tags":[],"type_post":[184],"column":[185],"class_list":["post-36257","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-culture","column-letters-from-the-theatre"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36257","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/91"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=36257"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36257\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/36255"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=36257"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=36257"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=36257"},{"taxonomy":"type_post","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/type_post?post=36257"},{"taxonomy":"column","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/column?post=36257"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}