REPORTS
FROM
POST-Soviet
Moscow
have
included
images
of
arrogant
oligarchs
tooling
around
town
in
customized
Hummers
with
Gucci-clad
blondes
riding
shotgun,
while
impoverished,
panicky
seniors
sell
off
their
meager
household
goods
simply
to
maintain
a
diet
of
boiled
cabbage
and
carrot
peelings.
Through
the
sad
but
inventive
life
of
a
penniless
pensioner,
young
playwright
Oleg
Bogaev
explores
the
downside
of
the
new
Russia
in
his
“The
Russian
National
Postal
Service.”
Making
its
United
States
premiere
at
Studio
Theatre,
Bogaev’s
terrific
dark
comedy
(translated
by
John
Freedman)
kicks
off
a
full
season
of
Russian
drama,
from
classic
to
contemporary.
Studio’s
cutting
edge
choice
to
produce
a
series
of
Russian
works
is
the
result
of
Artistic
Director
Joy
Zinoman’s
recent
tour
of
Russia
where
she
experienced
vibrant
theater
up
close.
Smartly
staged
by
Paul
Mullins,
“Postal
Service”
is
the
story
of
70-something
Ivan
Sidorovich
Zhukov
(Floyd
King).
Widowed,
without
any
family
or
friends,
Ivan
passes
his
unchanging,
drab
days
by
conducting
an
intense,
ongoing
correspondence.
Not
only
does
he
compose
the
letters,
he
also
writes
the
replies.
It
saves
on
postage.
Nonchalantly,
Ivan
deposits
his
letters
to
himself
under
the
bed,
or
in
a
bottomless
dresser
drawer,
all
places
where
he’s
bound
to
come
across
them
later
to
his
feigned
surprise.
In
writing
to
world
leaders,
historical
icons
and
childhood
friends,
Ivan
livens
an
unyielding
solitude.
His
notes
vary:
complaints,
newsy
missives,
love
letters
and
lamentations.
When
he
resorts
to
writing
extraterrestrials
and
the
bed
bugs
living
in
his
blankets,
Ivan’s
alienation
is
made
brutally
evident.
He’s
making
a
desperate
attempt
to
open
the
strict
boundaries
of
the
ever-shrinking
sphere
in
which
he’s
forced
to
live.
AT
LITTLE
MORE
than
an
hour
without
an
intermission,
the
play
is
short
—
which
is
good,
because
writing
and
reading
mail
can
get
a
little
tedious
after
just
so
long.
Yet,
it’s
when
you
begin
to
think
you
can’t
bear
another
envelope’s
opening,
that
Bogaev’s
unusual
script
and
King’s
expert
performance
reels
you
in
again.
With
padding
beneath
his
tattered
plaid
robe,
a
shock
of
wild
gray
hair,
and
a
straggly
moustache,
King
is
almost
unrecognizable
as
Ivan
shuffling
around
his
dingy
flat.
But
after
a
slight
popping
of
the
eyes
and
a
subtle
flourish
of
the
impeccable
timing,
King
makes
his
presence
known
in
a
performance
that’s
both
funny
and
perfectly
tragic.
During
the
few
moments
when
Ivan
isn’t
putting
pen
to
paper,
he’s
playing
Russian
folk
songs
on
the
accordion
(to
the
distress
of
his
neighbor),
or
napping.
It’s
when
he’s
asleep
that
Queen
Elizabeth
II
(Catherine
Flye)
and
Lenin
(Tobin
Atkinson)
appear
in
his
apartment
to
debate
economics
or
discuss
Ivan’s
plight.
Eventually
all
of
Ivan’s
pen
pals
come
together
in
his
little
room
for
the
old
man’s
birthday
party/
reading
of
his
will.
It’s
an
astonishing
sight
to
see
legendary
figures,
Martians
and
vermin
vie
for
a
spot
in
Ivan’s
heart
and
home,
clamoring
for
his
or
her
share
of
Ivan’s
passel
of
worthless
possessions.
Debra
Booth
has
ingeniously
made
Ivan’s
rented
room
using
almost
a
fun
house
perspective,
sort
of
like
a
colorless
version
of
Van
Gogh’s
“Vincent’s
Bedroom
in
Arles.”
Michael
Gianitti’s
lighting
is
wintry
and
sometimes
shimmers
with
warmth
of
fond
memory.
In
this
funnily
odd
but
searing
play,
Bogaev
beautifully
makes
his
point:
In
a
changing
world,
those
left
behind
are
forced
to
draw
upon
deep
and
unplumbed
resources
if
they’re
going
to
survive.
