Akhmatova  challenges Soviet history and art

Romulus Linney's play, Akhmatova, takes place in Moscow, the week after Joseph Stalin's death. Directed by junior Monica Flory, the play opened Thursday night. It deals with the utilitarian policies of the socialist republics as they conflict with individual rights.

The play looks at a particular event in Soviet history and plays out a diametrical opposition, pitting the florid self-expression of the poet Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966), played by sophomore Hannah Cabell, against a supposed threat to Russian social order. This opposition is echoed throughout the play.

The drama centers around one of Akhmatova's poems. The poem, entitled "Requiem", is the subject of a fierce inquiry by the minister of culture, Pecdov, played by sophomore Ben Grubb. Little is known of the poem, other than the fact that it might be counter-revolutionary.

As little is known about the poem, it is Akhmatova's personal history which raises questions. She writes political and personal poems. She has been known to write tributes to Stalin, but the minister doubts her sincerity. Her son has been taken from her and imprisoned. She too has suffered. She is referred to as half-whore and half-nun. The minister has doubts as to which side does what.

All the minister knows is that the poem tells of an old woman waiting for someone or something outside a prison, telling us only to dig at the foot of a statue in the forest. This may be a political comment. So, without benefit of doubt, she is classified as potentially dangerous.

The minister questions all of Anna's acquaintances, including a prisoner, Rudinsky, played by sophomore Calvin Ahn, placed in her son's cell. To one, he says that Stalin is dead and Anna has written a poem, and asks if she could relate the two things.

For a moment it seems evident that the two things have nothing in common. But the minister repeats that Stalin is dead and says he doubts anyone will be able to keep the land from turmoil or revolution - events it could not withstand. That is how her poem is important to the government. Other instances echo this, presenting opposing elements. The minister repeats that Anna is "half-nun, half-whore." Anna talks of God, the minister of the Republic.

And then, Klarina, played by first-year Margaux Shields, falters while answering a question because she fears for Anna and her son, to which the minister replies, "If Russia faces turmoil, who cares?" And this presents the final opposition: the needs of the collective versus those of the individual.

But it seems that Linney would have the audience believe that these two things do not oppose each other, but are in fact the same. We are told that Anna once shouted, "If you love Russia, you can dig for her" in reference to her poem in which one digs at the base of a statue.

At last it is revealed that Anna has made this monument to herself. Perhaps the whole poem and its digging are Anna's development and search into herself, of her individuality. And, furthermore, perhaps to save society, each of those that compose it, should be digging before his own self-monument. The real turmoil is in the suppression of a person's individuality. A society is saved in the freedom of its members, perhaps, as in Anna's case, even if only to be incongruous.

Linney shows the audience that these people fight for the same end; that the good of the people is the good of the individual. Anna, the warrior for the individual, and Pecdov, the warrior for the state, come together and recite prose with eyes closed. For this moment, the play's consistent tension stops. As if transported only a little, for a moment they do a dance of union.

The production, like the play, is simple. There is a table, two chairs and various desk items, a bottle of Courvoisier. There are five actors. One of whom, Pecdov, remains on stage for nearly the entire play. The rest approach him, as if in opposition. They stand, or sit, facing the minister and are questioned.

Like many of Linney's plays, he uses few props or large designs. Accordingly, the staging is sparse and simple as if to provide no distractions. The characters react slowly, and even when with force, there is a terrible deliberation to their action. Voices are hushed, gestures are reserved. One has to pay painstaking attention.

Grubb's Pecdov uses this well. It compliments his officious tone. He is reserved and ever polite, almost to the absurd. "I start my day with joy. I end my day with joy. In between, I do a lot of smiling," he says. It's not certain whether he is serious or cruel in these words. In a greater sense than just the pale, Russian setting, Linney's play has taken on a Chekovian air, in that emotions are sometimes blurred.

This too, is good with regard to the production's reserved manner. We sometimes cannot tell if the minister holds back out of manner, or sympathy or inner conflict. He perhaps fails to see the ultimate goal of his inquisition? Nevertheless he continues, giving pleasing dynamic to the role of inquisitor.

Klarina is the first person whom we see questioned. She is the adversary, pitted against the minister. And she seems to play coy and innocent, to protect her side's interests. She defends Anna. But she defends herself as well. She knits. While she speaks, her attentions are diverted.

Although she knits more fiercely when agitated, Marya is even more silent than the others. She walks as if bruised and feeling inadequate to fight what she does. She is played as greatly unsure of what she does, not too greatly reassured that she can win on moral grounds.

The prisoner, Rudinsky, tests a spectator's expectations, or even beliefs, of how a prisoner might behave in an important man's office. He screams and stomps his feet. This heightens drama, but momentarily as Pecdov quiets him with sympathy. When Anna enters to be questioned herself, it is Rudinsky who approaches her first and is her aggressor. He does this well and the action glides smoothly into confrontation of Anna from all sides by those around her, whom she had trusted.

Akhmatova is played exactly as she should be. She is matronly, yet worn and stiff with resistance. Her glance is cold and dauntless. Moreover, though the others seem unsteady, she is firm. She is neither nun nor whore, but a champion of her own creation.

Akhmatova is running Friday and Saturday night in Peters Hall at 10:30 p.m. and in Russia House on Saturday at 2 p.m. Admission is free.