The Daily Worker Newspaper, September 18, 1926, Page 13

The State Ballet, Costume Design EING chiefly interested in finding something new in Moscow thea- ters, we shall not here consider the “Bolshoi,” for in this great opera house of red and gold the ballet and opera continue much as in pre-revolu- tionary days. Kings and queens, fai- ries and mermaids appear in magnifi- cent costumes in settings the grandeur of which leaves one breathless; huge choruses of townsfolk fill the stage with colors, swans sail in a blue back- ground, ballet dancers float like clouds in their filmy skirts. The main difference now is that there are no kings and queens, lords and ladies in the audience. And to those who thought that the old Moscow Art Theater was actually presenting a “revolutionary” play at the opening of the season, ““Pugachev- schina,” the historic tragedy of. the bandit leader, was disappointing. It has no revolutionary appeal and at the same time falls short of the classic standard of Stanislavsky’s theater The play depicts a rising in Siberia 150 years ago, when Pugachev played the role of the legendary “Czar Peter” and was accepted by the oppressed people as their deliverer. Moskvin as Pugachev does not “create a sympa- ‘thetic “Character, and the play itself makes of him a weak adventurer. The fourth scene alone lives in the mem- ory: the inhabitants of a village wel- come the approach of Pugachev as their last hope, but in place of a de- liverer, a detachment of czarist troops appears and in punishment for their rebellion one out of every three hun- dred inhabitants is executed. The set- ting—which follows the almost crude simplicity of the other scenes—the desolate village on the steppes, the poor huts, the crushed: people, leaves an impression of the hopeless life. of the Russian peasants before the revo- lution, But in a little theater in the Arbat, the third studio of the Art Theater, we find the classic art of the past link- ing itself with the present. The splen- dor of what was formerly a palatial residence creates an appropriate en- vironment for the versatile art of these gifted players. On one night they give you a fantastic fairy tale like “Princess Turadet,” which holds all the childhood thrills» in lovely princesses and charming princes, tak- ing the audience into their confidence by changing their costumes and sets before your eyes; or perhaps they give you an old French melodrama like “Marion de Lorm,” in which they play with such emotional intensity that you weep luxuriously—and then on the very next night you see them in a play of today whose realism hurts, “Verenea,” which, from the point of view of conventional drama, is the best play of the season. . “Verenea” has been dramatized from the novel by Lydia Sifulina, The scene of the story is a village in the period previous to and just after the . oN = if ve Facade of Moscow Art Theater ” By Ruth Epperson Kennell. October revolution. The characters are everyday types of villagers, so real that they seem, all unawares, to have been transported from their vil- lage to the stage. Verenea is the type of village girl often found in Russia, strong, gracefully poised and independent, in her full, winsome face both fire and ‘tenderness. And this splendid young creature is married to a weakling and is a domestic drudge for him and his harsh mother. The first act ends with her rebellion and final departure from the squalid one-room home, from the whining hus- band and the nagging mother-in-law scolding her from her bed on top of the brick stove—out into the darkness of the village, where, afar off, can be heard a chorus of young voices sing- ing. A member of a fanatical religious sect has announced that God will sum- mon him to die on a certain day. In the next scene we have a winding road with a fence, a piece of the thatched roof, steps and a section of the room of his log cottage. The other members are preparing his bed; against the wall stands bis wooden coffin. Outside are gathered the vil- lagers. The deacon standing before the roster announces importantly: “The death will mow take place” and approval she springs up indignantly. Left alone by her companions, de- fiant, a little drunk, she is just in the mood for the chief engineer of the village factory, who has more than once made unsuccessful advances to her, and abandons herself to his kisses. In this compromising situa- tion the deserted husband finds her, and, mad with grief and jealousy, he appeals to the half-insane old prophet to do that which he is too weak to do himself. The scene ends with the ering darkness of the lonely road. Verenea has undertaken to look after the house of a neighbor who has been called to the bedside of her wounded husband. Pavel drops in to talk with Verenea about taking care of his motherless. children. Pavel is a heavy, dependable type, so natural that he seems quite accidentally to have dropped into the play. Verenea, having learned something’ of men, tells him that she does not want to be his servant and mistress. He an- swers that he quite agrees with her— a woman is a free human being who has a right to earn her living and love whom she chooses. They are both young, and if they should want one another, well and good, but that has nothing to do with her work, “Turandot” as produced by Moscow Art Theater, First Studio the prophet, his huge figure clothed in white linen, takes a lighted taper and lies down. The others take light- ed tapers and begin chanting. The villagers draw nearer to watch thru window and door. At this point there comes a long in- termission, during which the audience, }as is the European custom, gravely promenades thru the rooms of the mansion. The audience is “NEP” in character, for in spite of fifty per cent reductions to trade -unions, a great many workers cannot afford to come. While we have been promenading, drinking tea in the tapestried dining hall and eating apples, the people in our drama have been waiting for the prophet to die. The curtain parts on the weary watchers. Candles are be- ginning to splutter, and tired heads to droop. The skeptical young people, among them Verenea, begin shouting ribald remarks. Suddenly, raising himself, the prophet attacks the two kulaks nearby, drives the frightened watchers out, throws after them the stand, the ikon, and lastly the coffin, and then curses the God who betrayed him, The boys and girls, lifting the coffin on their shoulders, form a rak- ish procession, and the accordion breaks into a merry tune as they pass out of sight, f The fourth scene is a country cross- road. By the fence sits a crowd of young men and women singing. They have been drinking and are very hila- rious. A slender youth in a red ru- bashka plays on his accordion the most sentimental of Russian village songs and, leaning amorously on one another, the boys and girls eing. Pavel, the Communist, comes down the steps at the cross-road and turns to look at Verenea, who is sitting against the shoulder of a strapping youth, At his stern words of dis- The neighbor, returning that even- ing with news that her husband is dead, lifts her voice in a shrill lament which summons the villager. But Pavel, entering, bids them cease mourning for this victim of the ezar’s war—the czar has been dethroned! The mourners break up into excited groups, already divided into Bolshe- viks and counter-revolutionists. As Pavel is leaving Verenea speaks to him: “I am coming to work for you tomorrow!” Then we see the first elections after the revolution. street visible at the side. Pavel is in charge of elections, and a Men- shevik is election clerk, The villag- ers are hanging thru the open win- dow, impatient for the balloting to begin. When the wooden ballot box is produced and the people are per- mitted to examine it, they approach it in fearful curiosity, tap it timidly and shake it, looking inside with a know- ing air. It is then locked and that most solemn of Russian ceremonies— the application of the wax seal—is performed. The voting begins, the vil- lagers entering one by one, thus giv- ing us an opportunity to study the types singly, One old fellow in a high fur hat and dirty shuba, his ex- pression childlike in spite of his grizzly beard, wants to show his bal- lot to ‘the clerk. “No, it is secret!” shouts the horrified Menshevik. “But Ialready showed it to everyone out- side,” he answers. The act ends in a general fight out by the fence. A sleek kulak (rich peasant) makes some remarks which the Bolsheviks Object to and Verenea challenges him. Enraged, the kulak attacks her and a battle’ensues. At last, Pavel deserts his post. Dragging her inside, he tries to conceal his pride in her, while she, calmly arranging her hair and re- murder of the engineer in the gath-| placing her kerchief, looks pleased A bare room with win-} can be distinguished sitting against a dow and door at back and the village | ‘"e®. At last, in the growing light, The Big (Bolshoi) Theater, Moscow with herself. Verenea is sitting in Pavel’s home. She is wearing a new holiday dress of white cotton with a pattern of small flowers. The widow, entering, starts to cross herself and, seeing no altar, spits instead. Her open hatred of the Bolsheviks exasperates Verenea to the point where she throws her neigh- bor out. Pavel, observing only this part of the controversy, comes in and scolds her for her violence. Verenea laughs and, sitting down beside him, tells him that she is expecting a baby. They begin laughing happily like two children. Then he seizes her and kisses her, swears and throws his hat on the floor with great fervor. A brief moment of happiness—and then to the serious business of life. He must go away at once; the whites are coming. With a stricken face she pre- pares his knapsack and then stands waiting for the simple farewell. At the door, turning once more to look at her, he lifts his hand and brings it down at his side in a gesture of sup- pressed grief., The last scene takes place some months later in the house of Pavel. Verenea enters carrying a bundle. She has been in prison and gave birth to her baby in the hospital. One of the Bolshevik girls comes in with three comrades. Verenea begs the men to undertake a dangerous mission to Pavel in the woods. They turm away in fear, but her scorn overwheims them and at last they agree. When they have gone, she lifts the baby, her face radiant with tenderness, But outside we see her friend creeping to the window. In a hoarse voice she warns Verenea to leave at once. Vere- nea hands the bundle to the old nurse and rums out. On her bed on top of the stove the old woman, her head lifted in an attitude of tense waiting, begins crooning a lullaby. Almost at once two rough soldiers led by the Menshevik and the kulak enter the yard and bang at the door. ereoning stops sharply. Finding, no trace of Verenea in the. room, they hold a conference. “Wait,” says the sleek kulak, strok- ing his beard, “she will come back. The baby must have its milk.” When they have gone, tle old woman blows out the lamp and the place is in utter darkness. The croon- ing begins again. Gradually the light of morning comes, The two soldiers The the figure of Verenea approaches, moving stealthily toward the door, toward the baby waiting for its food. She is seized, she frees herself, turns and runs—into the arms of the other soldier. A brief struggle and she falls. The two soldiers creep away, clinging in terror to one another, A far-off chorus of boys and girls return- ing from some festival dies away. Cc. S. STANISLAVSKY Co-director Moscow Art Theater i