The Master and Margarita, Complicite Theatre
The Master and Margarita is many things simultaneously; absurd, funny, touching, twisted and down right bonkers. This makes reading Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel of 1930s Moscow and biblical Jerusalem a unique experience. It is also one which still plays an important role in the conscious of modern Russians today, perhaps even more than the works of Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. Bulgakov himself would have seen a lot to interest him in the present day Moscow mindsets and motivations.
It might be that the fantastic, complicated and ingenious satire of the devil’s visit to Soviet Moscow resonates with the cities residents even today because the novel’s themes of greed and elitism are still painfully obvious to ordinary Russians. Pontius Pilate’s trial and judgement of Jesus of Nazareth and his personal torture at what he can not explain might seem familiar to the Russians who might look for their own path through the chaos of modern Russia from their own dwindling orthodoxy.
The black magic and humiliation of the greedy elite at the variety theatre and Massolit’s indulgent headquarters are something ordinary Russians would like to see now. Satan has come to make the empty headed Muscovites look stupid. No doubt Woland would make fine work of today’s super rich. A vain, foul mouthed, gun toting, vodka swilling, giant cat called Behemoth is still funny. The myth of the classless society and the power of the elite is modern Moscow’s headline news. Of course it is also obvious to the Russians, if Satan himself chose to visit the earth his first stop would be Moscow and he may well never leave.
Bulgakov never even finished his masterwork. The famous quote, ‘Manuscripts don’t burn’ probably came from his own tortured mind, as he visualised burning his own work, during the 12 years he took to write it. His second wife, possibly Margarita’s inspiration, rescued it and probably added the finishing chapters herself after his death 1940.
A heavily censored version was first published in 1967 in the Soviet Union and was an instant success. Journalist and Balkan expert Mish Glenny’s father produced the first English translation and the West were introduced to Woland and his retinue.
Today it lives on. The 2003, Russian TV series adaptation is magnificent, it brings the characters to life and was filmed faithfully in Moscow. It deserves to be recognised as the definitive version, I used to think otherwise, but I hope that Baz Lurman or Hollywood never tries to take it on. It is an entirely Russian experience, please leave it to them.
There is no point trying to go through the story here, there is no simple way of characterising what goes on in the Master and Margarita, it would take rather a long time. Better to read it for yourself and let the story come to life, like all good books. In summary, religion has no place in Soviet Utopia but, even so, the devil arrives in Moscow with his gang of freakish assistants. At the same time Jesus of Nazareth is on trial in Jerusalem. In Moscow, in no particular order, we see magic, public humiliations, flying sows, decapitations, a talking cat the size of a hog, magically disappearing tenners and fancy French couture dresses, foreign currency dodging and shuffling, teleportation to Yalta, the dead rising from the grave, perpetual unstoppable singing and a variety of other chaos. I won’t spoil the ending.
Simon McBurney is a brave man, already a successful theatre director, actor and graduate of the famous Jacques Leqoc Theatre in Paris, he chose to try to put The Master and Margarita on stage. His Theatre Company Complicite toured the world last year with their production. I was disappointed I never got to see it, but this January it happily reappeared for a limited run at London’s Barbican Arts Centre. The physical setting is oddly appropriate, being London’s most prominent nod to the Brutalist style of architecture that grew from the Russian school of Constructivism. I can appreciate its oppressive concrete towers and right angled harshness, plus it is not too far from my new office. I will like sitting by the fountains in summer, watching the world go by. Despite the outward appearance, the theatre in the Barbican centre itself is actually a warm, comfortable place where you can easily feel enclosed enough to suspend disbelief. The art deco touches make the 1930s appear really as you watch the lights dim and the Devil himself appears.
The real strength of Complicite’s production is the simplicity. If Hollywood does ever tackle the Master and Margarita it will be a garish festival of flying pigs, special effects and CGIs, all of the darkness of Russia will be lost in flashy gimmicks. Complicite manage to never over complicate things with technology, but the few touches they do use are spectacularly effective. The scenes in Jerusalem and Moscow sometimes share a stage, but the light cone picks one out over the other, the tram is a simple moving column of people with a bell and Behemoth is a puppet, all be it one the size of an adult human. The real class comes from the use of an on stage camera and a projector. This is amazing, Margarita’s flights over the Russian cityscapes are filmed with the actress lying on the stage and then her image is projected onto a backdrop of a moving image of the city. I literally gasped out loud. It is ingenious.
The same actor, Thomas Arnold, plays both the Devil and the Master which is a most demanding stage role. At just over three hours long it still has to lose some of Bulgakovs key concepts. The scramble and hysteria that arises over the mysteriously empty apartment is a critic of the Soviet waiting list system based on reality and the underhand struggle that would often ensure over a free apartment. The foreign currency stitch ups don’t make it in either. Both these ideas reflect Bulgakov’s own distrust and disgust at the so-called classless society created by the Bolsheviks and Stalin which only barely concealed the power and privilege of the Elite.
Doctor Faust, Goethe’s inspiration for his epic work, is also perhaps Bulgakov’s inspiration for Woland. The real Doctor Faust was a magician and doctor, rumoured to practise black magic. He had a young girlfriend called Margarita who was eventually accused of murdering her own child. Bulgakov most likely used this for his own character Margarita and Frieda she unselfishly chooses to free from eternal damnation for the murder of her child after she endures Woland’s Midnight Ball.
The Master and Margarita never disappears from the radar of popular culture. I see its images and cultural references in the oddest of places; from Brick Lane junk shops to the Russian version of Strictly Come Dancing; from the US Embassy ball bravely modelled on the novels slightly gruesome ball to a battered Volvo bumper sticker featuring Woland and friends in a sleepy town in Surrey. It is almost as if once you know it is there, it never goes away, as Woland says,
‘I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good’
I wonder what Bulgakov would have made of the modern Moscow melting pot.
It might be that the fantastic, complicated and ingenious satire of the devil’s visit to Soviet Moscow resonates with the cities residents even today because the novel’s themes of greed and elitism are still painfully obvious to ordinary Russians. Pontius Pilate’s trial and judgement of Jesus of Nazareth and his personal torture at what he can not explain might seem familiar to the Russians who might look for their own path through the chaos of modern Russia from their own dwindling orthodoxy.
The black magic and humiliation of the greedy elite at the variety theatre and Massolit’s indulgent headquarters are something ordinary Russians would like to see now. Satan has come to make the empty headed Muscovites look stupid. No doubt Woland would make fine work of today’s super rich. A vain, foul mouthed, gun toting, vodka swilling, giant cat called Behemoth is still funny. The myth of the classless society and the power of the elite is modern Moscow’s headline news. Of course it is also obvious to the Russians, if Satan himself chose to visit the earth his first stop would be Moscow and he may well never leave.
Bulgakov never even finished his masterwork. The famous quote, ‘Manuscripts don’t burn’ probably came from his own tortured mind, as he visualised burning his own work, during the 12 years he took to write it. His second wife, possibly Margarita’s inspiration, rescued it and probably added the finishing chapters herself after his death 1940.
A heavily censored version was first published in 1967 in the Soviet Union and was an instant success. Journalist and Balkan expert Mish Glenny’s father produced the first English translation and the West were introduced to Woland and his retinue.
Today it lives on. The 2003, Russian TV series adaptation is magnificent, it brings the characters to life and was filmed faithfully in Moscow. It deserves to be recognised as the definitive version, I used to think otherwise, but I hope that Baz Lurman or Hollywood never tries to take it on. It is an entirely Russian experience, please leave it to them.
There is no point trying to go through the story here, there is no simple way of characterising what goes on in the Master and Margarita, it would take rather a long time. Better to read it for yourself and let the story come to life, like all good books. In summary, religion has no place in Soviet Utopia but, even so, the devil arrives in Moscow with his gang of freakish assistants. At the same time Jesus of Nazareth is on trial in Jerusalem. In Moscow, in no particular order, we see magic, public humiliations, flying sows, decapitations, a talking cat the size of a hog, magically disappearing tenners and fancy French couture dresses, foreign currency dodging and shuffling, teleportation to Yalta, the dead rising from the grave, perpetual unstoppable singing and a variety of other chaos. I won’t spoil the ending.
Simon McBurney is a brave man, already a successful theatre director, actor and graduate of the famous Jacques Leqoc Theatre in Paris, he chose to try to put The Master and Margarita on stage. His Theatre Company Complicite toured the world last year with their production. I was disappointed I never got to see it, but this January it happily reappeared for a limited run at London’s Barbican Arts Centre. The physical setting is oddly appropriate, being London’s most prominent nod to the Brutalist style of architecture that grew from the Russian school of Constructivism. I can appreciate its oppressive concrete towers and right angled harshness, plus it is not too far from my new office. I will like sitting by the fountains in summer, watching the world go by. Despite the outward appearance, the theatre in the Barbican centre itself is actually a warm, comfortable place where you can easily feel enclosed enough to suspend disbelief. The art deco touches make the 1930s appear really as you watch the lights dim and the Devil himself appears.
The real strength of Complicite’s production is the simplicity. If Hollywood does ever tackle the Master and Margarita it will be a garish festival of flying pigs, special effects and CGIs, all of the darkness of Russia will be lost in flashy gimmicks. Complicite manage to never over complicate things with technology, but the few touches they do use are spectacularly effective. The scenes in Jerusalem and Moscow sometimes share a stage, but the light cone picks one out over the other, the tram is a simple moving column of people with a bell and Behemoth is a puppet, all be it one the size of an adult human. The real class comes from the use of an on stage camera and a projector. This is amazing, Margarita’s flights over the Russian cityscapes are filmed with the actress lying on the stage and then her image is projected onto a backdrop of a moving image of the city. I literally gasped out loud. It is ingenious.
The same actor, Thomas Arnold, plays both the Devil and the Master which is a most demanding stage role. At just over three hours long it still has to lose some of Bulgakovs key concepts. The scramble and hysteria that arises over the mysteriously empty apartment is a critic of the Soviet waiting list system based on reality and the underhand struggle that would often ensure over a free apartment. The foreign currency stitch ups don’t make it in either. Both these ideas reflect Bulgakov’s own distrust and disgust at the so-called classless society created by the Bolsheviks and Stalin which only barely concealed the power and privilege of the Elite.
Doctor Faust, Goethe’s inspiration for his epic work, is also perhaps Bulgakov’s inspiration for Woland. The real Doctor Faust was a magician and doctor, rumoured to practise black magic. He had a young girlfriend called Margarita who was eventually accused of murdering her own child. Bulgakov most likely used this for his own character Margarita and Frieda she unselfishly chooses to free from eternal damnation for the murder of her child after she endures Woland’s Midnight Ball.
The Master and Margarita never disappears from the radar of popular culture. I see its images and cultural references in the oddest of places; from Brick Lane junk shops to the Russian version of Strictly Come Dancing; from the US Embassy ball bravely modelled on the novels slightly gruesome ball to a battered Volvo bumper sticker featuring Woland and friends in a sleepy town in Surrey. It is almost as if once you know it is there, it never goes away, as Woland says,
‘I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good’
I wonder what Bulgakov would have made of the modern Moscow melting pot.