Vladimir Vysotsky was a Russian actor whose Hamlet was revered, and whose appearances with the Taganka Theatre were highly acclaimed. He made 26 films in the USSR. That was his day job, and one of which the Soviet authorities approved.
It was Vysotsky's after-hours activities as a singer, songwriter and poet that got him arrested and banged up in a mental asylum. His songs, which gave voice to the frustrations and despair of the Soviet people, were banned. He didn't care. He gave hundreds of unofficial concerts, his tapes were secretly copied and distributed, and although his poetry was never published during his lifetime, it was passed from hand to hand.
Vysotsky was the people's hero, their conscience and their broken heart. It broke him. He died in 1980 aged just 41. News of his funeral was suppressed by the government but thousands turned up. This new musical tells some of Vysotsky's story, concentrating in particular on his love affair with the French actress Marina Vlady, through his own songs. It is a highly romanticised account of the life of a man who, when the state declared war on him, declared war on himself with the bottle. Vysotsky's divided self is cleverly represented by three actors.
In some ways this evening feels a bit at war with itself. Its attempt to apply the conventions of the West End musical rather dilutes the impact of Vysotsky's lyrics, which have the brutal anger of real despair. It is lush when it should be spiky, too often orchestrated to sound like Les Mis rather than Jacques Brel with politics. It is strong on Russian angst and tortured soul and rather short on real analysis or depiction of the harsh realities of life in Soviet Russia. The best scenes take place in a metal hospital, and in a government office where Vysotsky applies fruitlessly for an exit visa.
None the less, it is done with real panache and is beautifully performed by its cast of four, headed by Dave Willetts as the older, more cynical and less sober Vysotsky. As your head protests at the show's sensibility, your heart thaws. In the end, against all the odds, it takes flight, just as, against the odds and the might of the Soviet state, Vysotsky's poems did too.
· Until October 13. Box office: 020-7226 1916.
