Is the taking of a human
life ever justified? Is a murderer redeemable or by extension rehabilitatable? Does the belief in God matter?
This triune conundrum is at the heart of a taut new adaptation by Marilyn Campbell and Curt Columbus - who seem to answer:
no, yes, and maybe - of Fyodor Dostoevsky's famous novel Crime and Punishment being performed at the Pittsburgh
Irish and Classical Theatre (to 10/3).
Playing before a packed and riveted audience in the black box Heymann Theatre,
PICT's three-member cast delivers a powerful theatrical experience. Brilliantly directed by Matthew Gray, using elements
of design, movement, and staging in highly creative ways, this C & P packs a wallop. It's not unusual
for a good director to introduce several innovations - stage business, if you will - to tell and move the story along, but
in this production I counted about a dozen and they all worked to good effect. Mr. Gray clearly is a man to watch.
If you could never wrap your arms, not to mention your mind, around this 600-page tome with a score of impossibly-unique,
impenetrably-named characters, this stripped down, highly focused version, is the place to start. C & P
tells the story of a student, Raskolnikov (Joel Ripka), who has planned and carried out a brutal murder of a pawnbroker Alyona,
leading by chance to the slaying of her sister Lizavetta, based on an idea, a manifestation of the ends justifying the means.
The crime is being investigated by a detective, Porfiry (Larry John Meyers), using psychological profiling and an interrogation
method still current today; cagey Porfiry bends them till they break. Comforted by prostitute Sonia (Susan Goodwillie),
the unregenerate killer is supplied the unconditional love and support to face his crimes and change his heart.
The
justification for the crime comes from the exceptional man theory. An ordinary man must live within the constraints
of the law, while an extraordinary man - Napoleon is advanced as a test case - is allowed to step outside its bounds if the
greater good of society is served. One useless life can be taken if one hundred or one hundred thousand can be saved,
if not improved. Variations of this theme have been kicked around at all times in all cultures, but in the utilitarian
19th century must surely have been in the air.
The first flaw in this theory, and the
one the adapters have concentrated their attention on appears with the murder of Lizavetta. Once you start down this
slippery slope, where can you draw the line? When the student kills Ayona it is repugnant, but somehow explained; when
he murders her innocent sister, to ostensibly eliminate a witness, he has gone beyond the pale.
Mr. Meyers in a canny
performance completely disappears into his character. Is he playing with Raskolnikov or does he recognize an earlier
possible version of himself, down a road not taken? Is he offering paternal love and guidance to get him to confess,
here to his advantage, or is he just a tired investigator looking to clear his desk before retirement? Perhaps Porfiry
has recognized his alter ego in the flesh - concept of The Double is a common motif in the 19th century and was
used by Dostoevsky. Whatever the motivation, the wily Porfiry and his vehicle do not tip their hands.
Mr. Meyers invests his considerable talents in yet another character role, that of the alcoholic father of Sonia, Marmaledov,
who here is in stark contrast to Porfiry. All on the surface - what you see is transparently what you see - Marmaledov
delivers many of the novelist's strident views on science, politics, and society.
Mr. Ripka completely
inhabits Raskolnikov, getting inside his head, in an emotional portrayal that is edgy, energetic, and kinetic. Pacing
the short confines of his constricted world, climbing up onto and over chairs, his grimacing and leering countenance is one
of a frightened and striking animal.
As Sonia, Ms. Goodwille gives a dignified depiction of a fallen woman,
while stretching her instrument to the max, in multiple roles. With a few twists of her scarf and donning of a
hat, she supplies deft characterizations of the invidious pawnbroker, the almost Marian mother, and child-like Lizavetta.
The sawdust covered, functional set with plastic drapes of scenic designer Gianni Downs and the weird, sometimes
subliminal, at other times striking sounds of Joe Pino created an eerie, fatalistic atmosphere throughout. Together
with the sharply contrasting and shifting lighting of Jim French - a swinging bulb, a penetrating profile, a sudden illumination
- the fractured, "lower depths" world of Raskolnikov is tellingly depicted. Costumes of Pei-Chi Su complemented
the character's darkened environs and economic status.
Toward the end the play the reeling Raskolnikov confesses
his crimes to Porfiry and Sonia. With the aid of the investigator comes confession, a necessary first step on the road
to redemption. With Sonia comes a submission - it plays out like an exorcism or conversion experience - what the director
described in a post-performance discussion as a capitulation. Religious symbolism will be apparent throughout.
The conclusion, however, is not as straightforward. At the start of the play Raskolnikov is asked whether he believes
in the story of Lazarus, whether he arose from the dead, and whether he believes in God; he responds with a tentative yes.
At the end, he seems uncertain of either belief. At each time he responds by posing the question "Does it matter"
and his interlocutors always answer in the conditional, "It might." What are we to make of this?
The
adapters want to leave the story with an uncertainty, but with most viewers, including this one, uncertainty is a vacuum worthy
of abhorrence. The student may have had a garden-variety view of the spiritual and transcendent initially; but when
he is truly confronted with the enormity of his crime and his punishment (physical and religious), he may be overawed.
Or when the slate is wiped clean a new belief system, perhaps using identical words, must emerge. Perhaps there can
never be a question or answer that can be uttered or proved rationally - Dostoevsky was a gambler and decided his odds favored
"The Divine Wager." If God does not exist, everything might be permitted, but if he does, you have everything
to loss. It's an existentialist dilemma at the very least; we don't know and must act.
Other than a reading by a living writer, an adaptation is the closest thing we have to the artist's voice.
If you are a book lover almost any serviceable adaptation - and C & P is a very good one - is a welcome opportunity
to read or revisit the text. Together with the directing, design, and acting this is a highly recommended play.
Sound check: Excellent
Program notes: Very good with adapters's interview and Dostoevsky chronology;
might have benefited from director's notes. Contains a misleading picture on the cover of another production's
actor, set, and costuming
Applause meter: Highly recommended, 4+ hands, a memorable theater experience
Photo
credits: Suellen Fitzsimmons
Copyright by John F. Glass September 21, 2009
All rights reserved
