Which battle should this band of actors take on first: the fight to prevent another Chekhov revival, or the creeping march of fascism? It’s a tricky decision, obviously, and one that has serious consequences in Samuel Gallet’s adaptation of Klaus Mann’s 1936 novel.
This bold play, which interrogates the ambitions and anxieties of a small-town theatre company, is much more than a polemic about the value of art during politically volatile times. Given a vibrant translation from the French by Chris Campbell, it spins into a thrilling kaleidoscope of provocations: an urgent, self-lacerating invitation for the theatre world to wonder at the damage caused by its own echo chamber.
It's a high-octane production from Kirsty Housley, who is already a must-see director. A scene of coked-up madness conveys how fame-hungry Aymeric (Leo Bill) gets overwhelmed by critical adulation. A shooting by far-right fanatic Michael (Rhys Rusbatch) becomes pure Brecht. And the second act begins with Anna-Maria Nabirye declaring that as the only black woman in the cast she’s being made to sing a song, forcing us to interrogate our own reaction to the artistic choices we're watching.
The generous energy of this game cast of eight is infectious, while Basia Bińkowska's clever set, which turns a mirror back to the audience itself, easily switches between sprawling and intimate.
It does occasionally feel like the play veers off into a hundred different directions. But then again, that reinforces a familiar feeling: “We’re in the first half of the 21st century, and no one knows where they stand anymore.”
Until October 26; gatetheatre.co.uk
