“There are two kinds of people who write about the past: those who seek to free us from it, and those who wish we were still living there,” declares a “progressive” hack masquerading as a literary critic in “The Master and Margarita,” currently one of D.C.’s biggest theatrical hits.
The play is an adaptation of the classic Soviet-era novel by Mikhail Bulgakov. While the action takes place in Moscow some 85 years ago, the parallels to modern-day debates about art and political correctness can be striking. For example, when a gaggle of Communist Party loyalists agrees that quality of art matters less than commitment to “social justice” and then literally snarls at a brilliant writer condemned as “reactionary,” they might as well be a Twitter mob made flesh.
But fear not, “The Master and Margarita” is not a political parable. It is above all a love story, both romantic and sexual. It’s also a supernatural comedy-thriller in which the Devil and his familiars rampage through a city; a meditation on evil, mercy, and artistic freedom; and, in a subplot that runs through the play, an offbeat retelling of the story of Jesus and Pontius Pilate.
The Bulgakov novel, written in the 1930s but unpublished for nearly 30 years, has achieved cult status in Russia and, to some extent, the West as well, as attested by hundreds of theatrical productions.
This adaptation, written by British dramatist Edward Kemp in 2004 and ably directed by Allison Arkell Stockman at Washington’s Constellation Theatre, opens with a world-weary Pilate, played by Jesse Terrill, interrogating a prisoner, the wandering preacher Yeshua, who believes that all people are good and seems to be able to read minds and heal suffering. An abrupt shift reveals this is a play in rehearsal at a Moscow theater, and Yeshua is its perfectionist author, portrayed by Alexander Strain, subbing for an ailing actor.
On a break, the author has a chance encounter with a lonely married woman named Margarita, portrayed by Amanda Forstrom, which soon ends in a nearly R-rated fade-out on the bed of his book-filled apartment. There is plenty of passion, but also a lifesaving meeting of kindred souls. Smitten by the play as well as the playwright, whom she dubs “the Master,” an ecstatic Margarita predicts a huge hit.
Instead, a pack of ideological watchdogs led by state-honored critic Mischa Berlioz, played by Emily Whitworth, descends on the play, which is trashed as a subversive attempt to smuggle Christian propaganda onto the Soviet stage and given to Berlioz’s young protege, Ivan, portrayed by Omar Cruz, to rewrite as an atheistic satire. In a fit of terror, the Master burns his manuscript moments before the proverbial knock on the door heralds his arrest.
Months later, Berlioz is lecturing Ivan on the nonexistence of Jesus when a mysterious foreigner, who later introduces himself as professor Woland, played by Scott Ward Abernethy, shows up to argue. The conversation keeps turning weirder until Woland predicts Berlioz will die by beheading that very evening. The gruesome prediction is fulfilled when Berlioz, hurrying to report the professor to the police, falls under a streetcar. Ivan’s attempt to apprehend the professor and his confederates, among them a human-sized black cat, played by Louis E. Davis, leads him to a mental hospital. There, he meets the Master again, learns that the sinister foreigner was the Devil himself, and starts to realize he’s been serving false idols.
While Woland and gang continue to wreak merry havoc, Margarita is still mourning her lost lover. When she declares she’d sell her soul to the Devil just to learn if the Master is alive, it’s a cue for one of Woland’s demons to shows up. Soon, Margarita, transformed into a golden-haired witch, is playing hostess at the Devil’s grand annual ball for the damned. As her reward, she is reunited with the Master, and his play is restored. “Manuscripts don’t burn,” declares Woland in the novel’s most famous line, affirming art’s victory over power.
Fans of Bulgakov’s novel will find that the Kemp version takes many liberties, such as turning the Master’s novel into a play, which this production takes further by gender-flipping some secondary characters. Not all the changes work well, but Whitworth’s feminized Berlioz, a dour woman making grim attempts at coquettishness, is a gem. Abernathy brings suave menace to Woland, and Davis, doubling as a pompous critic, makes a fine demonic cat. McClean Fletcher is sensuous and scary as Azazello, a mashup of two characters in the original, a male demon and a female vampire. And Forstrom’s Margarita truly shines, by turns brittle, sexually aggressive, intimidating, and tender. One of the evening’s best scenes is one in which, as queen of Satan’s ball, she risks her chance at saving the Master in order to grant forgiveness to Frieda, a soul in hell portrayed by Anna Lynch who is suffering terrible punishment for killing an infant born from rape.
The no-frills production is elevated by A.J. Guban’s masterful scenery and lighting design and Erik Teague’s costumes — the women’s antler headdresses at the ball are especially inspired.
The Constellation Theatre’s “Master and Margarita” may not come close to capturing the richness and strangeness of Bulgakov’s novel. But it is dynamic, funny, and poignant, and if some of its observations about art and politics still ring true, it’s confirmation of Bulgakov’s faith in the triumph of art.
Cathy Young is the author of Growing Up in Moscow: Memories of a Soviet Girlhood.
