Dream of a Ridiculous Man opens

The Dreamer, the Prince holding Madwoman,
singing in 3-part acapella Russian harmony


The Dreamer fights the Prince


Prince, Dreamer, and Madwoman singing

PHOTO CREDIT: All photos by Mariana Markova.

I saw Akropolis's Dream of a Ridiculous Man Saturday. Their productions are like dream sex -- hot, vivid, transformative, and difficult to convey. Their kinesthetic poetry leaves a trail of images which echo and transfix, without explaining.

Entwined, desperate, thoughtful, erotic -- this show has the iron and pale moons of Dostoevski's Russia. The performers have that strange allure of virtuosos. They are so intent on their difficulty that it is left for us to interpret what we've been given.

I walked away from this show as if from a thunderstorm. Something raw and elemental had coalesced in the room and shaken us. I felt lost, hungry, fed on blue light and faery food. There was something horselike, something wicked, something dull. A witch, a father, and an aescetic braiding and unbraiding a story. I kept thinking of the horses who had lived in the forest when I was young, and how we would go to them by moonlight, sometimes sliding onto their backs, sometimes sharing their chuffing warmth. A horse by moonlight is half unicorn.

This is a breakthrough for Akropolis artistically, a new emergence. Their hallmark has always been a shocking truth somewhere in the show -- a birth, a kiss, a murder that goes all the way to the truth, and further. For the first time, these truths are appearing consistently enough to form an undercurrent of surging force. It is a reverberation that has nothing to do with the play itself, but which, like a feedback cycle, takes hold and grows. These performers have trained together for 3 years. That ensemble-connection is prerequisite for this reverberation to appear. Like the legendary bands, Akropolis has developed an unconscious language. These are mature artists, and they are connecting with new depth, intimacy, and truthfulness. They go mad together, with utter precision, singing.

Song blows through the production like wind. Like the rose light on the fortune-teller's table, it arises and fades. You almost don't notice, except you're suddenly close to trembling, to tears.

I miss longtime company member Brynna Jourdan; her surrender and search, her strength. But oddly, in this most Russian of pieces, the dark light of the current ensemble is perhaps more true without her. There is no goodness sometimes; the horse gets beaten by the drunken peasant; the lonely man stays lonely.

Dostoevski does not have Chekhov's heart; but he sees equally clearly the daily squalor and pointlessness.

Artistic director Joseph Lavy is as physically stunning as always, and shows a new piercing focus and awareness of his partners; there is a vulnerability, steady directness, and predatoriness in his connection. His work, while still grounded in interiority, now blazes toward his partners, who feed upon it. Music director & co-artistic director Jennifer Lavy moves easily between maiden, mother, murderer, hag. She is deepening into a new softness, sensuality, sadism, and laughter; a riveting performance and arcing soprano that forms the spine of the play. If Joseph's Dreamer is the mystic head of the piece, and Jennifer's Madwoman its primal spirit, then Eric Mayer's Prince is its steady heart. Deep-voiced, gentler and physically bigger than his partners, and yet unswervingly truthful, he anchors the play emotionally and relationally. The Dreamer and Madwoman are on hyper-personal journeys which only the Prince can enter and share.

I stood for the ovation, and then sat back down and didn't move for ten minutes. Most of the audience, in fact, didn't move. We were still absorbed, processing.

It is frightening how good this work is, and how few people are seeing it. It took 13 months to grow this show, and they are performing -- like their forefather, Grotowski -- for 8 people a night. It is like pouring 200-year-old champagne upon the earth.

All shows are at 8:00, Nov 4-7 (Th-Sun) & 11-13 (Th-Sat), $15. Call 206-934-7905 for reservations, or email here. Bring friends.