You’ll never hear Beethoven’s erotically charged piece of music the same way after seeing “The Kreutzer Sonata.”
Adapted by Nancy Harris from Leo Tolstoy’s 1889 novella — so provocative that the Russian authorities initially banned it — this piece is as chilling as it is mesmerizing.
Originally produced at London’s Gate Theatre, where it won rapturous reviews, it opened last night at La MaMa’s First Floor Theatre. The intimacy of the small space only adds to the evening’s intensity.
The setting is simple: a small train compartment outfitted with wooden benches, the constant clacking of the wheels providing a hypnotic effect. Inside that compartment is Pozdnyshev (Hilton McRae), a bureaucrat who confides to us in soft, measured tones that increasingly belie the ugliness of his tale.
At first, calmly sipping his tea and smoking a cigarette, he talks about his beautiful younger bride with tenderness.
“I could have put her in a glass box and gazed at her all day,” he tells us. But things changed, he warns, after they’ve had five children. Or, as he puts it: “Never be tempted to procreate.”
She turns to music for comfort, renewing her love for the piano. But when she starts concertizing with an old friend — a talented male violinist — the narrator’s jealousy begins to flare.
“Had they been beasts in the forest, there’s no doubt they would have been rutting right there,” he fumes.
Through a scrim, we periodically catch glimpses of the wife (Sophie Scott) and her partner (Tobias Beer) as they perform the fiery Beethoven sonata. The effect is haunting, as if we were literally seeing inside the tortured psyche of the storyteller.
By the time the tale reaches its horrific conclusion, we’re eager to escape the company of this creature, who for 80 minutes has kept us both spellbound and, finally, horrified.
Natalie Abrahami’s claustrophobic staging features subtle projections that add to the ominous atmosphere. And you won’t soon forget McRae’s compelling performance. This superb English actor makes his character’s madness all the more unnerving for appearing so utterly ordinary.