A world about to disappear, turned into an enormous tip. Not theatre for the casual, and half a manifesto for the theatregoer hidden inside a review.
A world about to disappear. It's turning into an enormous tip with freaks living on it. This isn't another science-fiction blockbuster — it's what Nikolai Kolyada's no-longer-new "Hamlet" looks like: physically filthy theatre, right on the edge of kitsch.
I don't want to talk you into going, least of all now. You have to be ready for it. This isn't theatre for the casual, and on top of that it wants the kind of immersion only the room itself allows.
But if you're set on tasting this particular delicacy and the season is dead anyway — go ahead. They took some care over the recording, too, with whatever they had at the time.
Which makes me want to talk theatres into putting up good recordings of their work. You can't exist in the digital era without it. The atmosphere gets cut off in the process, granted, but not everyone can afford a trip to Yekaterinburg, and touring is a sore subject, especially for a small house like Kolyada Theatre.
It's become fashionable lately to praise provincial theatres, and in this case I'll happily join in. It's good that they aren't afraid to speak in their own language; theatre is one of the most democratic of the arts, and this confirmed it again.
But don't expect a clean yes or no: it left me with fairly mixed feelings. Not that it's untalented or bad or crude — the effort is visible everywhere. The volume of props and references and meanings is staggering, and personally I wanted air, and a little room to think. I'm a different kind of viewer, and nobody is obliged to accommodate me.
I'm only after my own thing: whatever produces catharsis, whatever I'll still have in years, whatever prints itself on me as something bright. Everyone finds theirs — I'm nearer Erenburg's theatre, where the physical side is weighed properly.
It's good that there are different theatres and different audiences; without that it would be dull in a world already standardised enough. And we're obliged to stay open to it, to look for a way in, rather than sit there obediently salivating on cue.
Kolyada has a great many followers, incidentally. I don't know how organised they are, but on tour they've been known to bury the stage in flowers and bring wine by the case.
So whether to watch is your call. One thing I'm sure of: you won't have wasted the evening.

Not a recommendation but an attempt to think it through — written straight after the run at the Lensoviet Theatre.

How "Robot Kostya" came about — Russia's first robotic theatre production, where it turned out Chekhovian passions were within a robot's range after all.

Vertinsky in the flesh on the Seventh Tier of the Alexandrinsky — and the question of how defenceless a person is, and how far shut inside their own body.
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