Leo Tolstoy’s doorstop novels have been lauded since their publication back in the 19th century. True confession: I’ve plodded through it twice, but always found “War and Peace” a ponderous read.
The cheeky prologue of Dave Malloy’s “War and Peace”-inspired musical “Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812” sums up the book’s challenges with a self-aware scrap of rhyme:
“Gonna have to study up a little bit/If you wanna keep up with the plot/Cause it’s a complicated Russian novel/Everyone’s got nine different names/So look it up in your program/We appreciate it/Thanks a lot.”
That said, no studying (or looking up) is needed to keep pace with the teeming panoply of humanity that fills the stage in Writers Theatre’s magnificent production of Malloy’s Tony-winning musical.
‘Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812’
Directed and choreographed by Katie Spelman with music direction by Matt Deitchman, “Great Comet” is a triumph. Sung through in the style of an opera, the musical feels driven by a radiant, pulsing heartbeat that thrums through the Writers’ space until everyone’s in the audience is beating in sync.
Malloy’s eclectic score contains multitudes, the musical styles varying from the (barely) controlled chaos of Russian drinking songs to passionate ballads that evoke the infinite moral queries conundrums have roiled the human race since its sentience: Why are we here? Who do we really love? What if we’re wasting our lives on things that don’t matter?
In Malloy’s music and lyrics, the people of “War and Peace” are as humorous, idiosyncratic, meaningful and vivid as immediate family. Spelman makes the production enthralling with a cinematic emotional, moral sweep and historical heft that evokes “Les Miserables,” combined with a pervasive, self-aware wit that ricochets from camp to sublimity, sometimes in the same stanza.
“Comet” doesn’t cover all of “War and Peace”; Malloy adapted the musical from 70 pages in Part Eight. The Moscow-set section deals with the disastrous seduction and near ruination of Natasha, a naive, extremely sheltered young aristocrat who believes if a man kisses her, he surely loves her. She’s also besotted with Andrey, a soldier away fighting the Napoleonic wars.
The plot swirls around the predatory, married nobleman Anatole and his rapacious, stomach-turning attempts to abduct Natasha. But while Natasha’s ill-starred relationship with Anatole drives the action, it’s Pierre — an extremely well-read gentleman philosopher haunted by memories of a better past and trapped in a present defined by self-loathing and a loveless marriage — who provides the musical’s axis and moral center. His evolving relationship with Natasha highlights his journey from defeated bitterness and toward a full-throttle embrace of life and provides the narrative with an immensely gratifying arc.
Natasha (Aurora Penepacker) is relentlessly pursued by the villainous Anatole (Joseph Anthony Byrd) in “Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812″ at Writers Theatre.
In the crucial role of Pierre, Evan Tyrone Martin delivers a monumental performance. His soaring soliloquies wrestle with the most vexatious matters — existential to banal — with undeniable command and vocals that glide from a glimmer of pianissimo to thundering triple forte, anguish to exaltation, with equal, gut-punching impact. Writ large, Pierre’s final scene with Natasha offers a spark of compassion and hope for a world where everything has gone bleak.
Aurora Penepack’s Natasha is the rare ingenue of layers and depth. In her luminous performance, Natasha is impossibly innocent and alluring, a young woman equal parts terrified and empowered by the discovery of her sexuality.
Joseph Anthony Byrd’s swaggering, lupine Anatole, meanwhile, eats the stage in the best possible way with the fire-eyed voraciousness of a dragon, creating a villain you’ll love to hate.
The supporting players are indelible. As Natasha’s imperious godmother Mary, Bethany Thomas is the eagle-eyed, wise, formidable and well-connected auntie every young woman needs. As Anatole’s scheming sister Helene, Bri Sudia radiates an omnipresent elitist disdain that just dares anyone to call her “slut” — as she’s branded in that colorful prologue — to her face. The invaluable Matthew C. Yee makes Natasha’s fiance, the war-damaged Andrey, a tragic embodiment of sorrow and disillusionment. And as the troika driver Balaga, Jonah D. Winston turns the stage into a rollicking party that feels fueled by vodka and sheer, irrepressible jubilation.
Throughout, the chamber orchestra perched above the stage keeps the music flowing seamlessly. Raquel Adorno’s airy, thoughtfully detailed set captures the sweeping staircases and grand ballrooms of emperor Alexander I’s Moscow. Raquel Adorno’s costumes, somewhat stylized, detail and strengthen each character, from Natasha’s floaty, white gowns to Pierre’s majestic, royal purple coat.
Nothing is lost in translation among Tolstoy’s denizens at Writers Theatre. They capture Tolstoy’s brilliance, all the shades of human emotion within it. And when the ensemble gazes on the titular comet (which actually sparked in 1811, but was so bright people claimed it was still visible in 1812), the wonder reflected in Pierre’s eyes will take your breath away.
