Theater Review: The Black Monk

by Ed Townley of John Garcia's The Column

The Black Monk, the play by David Rabe (adapted from an Anton Chekhov story) currently being offered by Undermain Theatre in Dallas, really deserves two separate reviews: one for a truly magnificent first act in which everything comes together and works beautifully, and another for a second act that goes sadly off-track. At the intermission I was amazed that this script, which premiered at the Yale Repertory Theatre in 2003, is not better known and widely produced. By the end of the second act, I understood.

Despite the script's ultimate disappointment, I would not for anything have missed this wonderful production. Under the gifted and deeply committed direction of Katherine Owens, every aspect radiates joy, commitment and enormous talent. From the minute you walk into the performance space the amazing scenic design of the estimable John Arnone embraces you in mystery and magic. Evocative apple trees are interspersed with perfectly chosen pieces of furniture, draperies and rugs to create a setting that allows interiors and exteriors of the Pesotsky estate to flow into one another freely, in a way that invites us to suspend logic – just as we are later asked to suspend the logic of time as hours pass in minutes and day turns quickly to night and back again.

Clearly we're in a fairytale here – a kind of enchanted kingdom in which people are so basically happy that they manage to find amusement even in their sorrows and frustrations. Yegor Petrovsky frets about the state of his precious orchard, rushing about in a fury of concern and determination, and yet manages to laugh at his own volatility. His daughter Tanya speaks longingly of being free to live in Moscow, but throws herself into the challenges of supporting her father in running the estate with apparent love and enthusiasm. And Andrei Vasilich Kovrin, an orphan who was raised as Petrovsky's ward and Tanya's foster brother, returns from Moscow and a life of lonely intellectual accomplishment to relax in the estate's gentle energies, yet can't seem to release his obsession with books and ideas.

Of course, fairytales don't exist solely in a realm of light and happiness, no matter how Disney-fied our images of them may have become. They are primal, dangerous stories that exist to help children and adults alike deal with darkness, fears and things that go bump in the night. And if we insist that everything is bright and sunny, refusing to acknowledge our shadows and secrets, the denial just allows them to grow and fester below the surface of our consciousness.

The personification of spiritual intervention here – the Obi Wan Kenobe, the Gandalf, the Fairy Godmother – is the Black Monk. He is a character in a folk tale that Kovrin is sure he read somewhere – although he can't find the story in any of his books, so perhaps he created it himself. The Black Monk is no sooner mentioned than he appears, invisible to everyone but Kovrin, and seems at first to be supportive in his energy and intent. With his encouragement, all three central characters achieve what they believe to be their dreams: security for the estate, escape to Moscow and an element of joy and love in an otherwise dreary academic life.

But are those really their dreams? Or are they proclaiming dreams in order to avoid recognizing deeper, darker truths? These are the concerns of the much darker second act. The problem with the script is not the darkness; it is entirely appropriate that the characters learn that achieving surface success will not dissolve the fears and doubts that haunt them. No, the problem with the script is a nearly complete loss of depth as characters we've come to care about devolve into one-dimensional stereotypes and the lively, intricate, beautifully paced dialogue of Act One devolves into a lot of incomprehensible posing and shouting. Worse, two of the characters sort of fall by the wayside; we long to know more about them, but we have to settle for rushed reports of distant events through a brief letter, quickly read. And in the final scene a new character appears out of the blue, confusing and intrusive.

But oh, that first act! It's really impossible to imagine a better production – more magical, more intriguing, with a better sense of purpose and pace as the three central characters and their trusted friends and family servants fully inhabit the evocative setting and invite us into their emotional and entertaining company.

This is a dense, wordy script, with the kind of long, intricate, emotional speeches with which Russian authors are so enamored. Director Owens has her cast whipping through the text at a dizzying pace, without sacrificing anything in clarity, intention and confidence. The central performances, in particular, are exciting and masterful. Bruce DuBose as Yegor Pesotsky and Shannon Kearns-Simmons as his daughter are both pitch-perfect, able to launch into verbal diatribes – often against each other – that manage to be extremely funny without sacrificing their underlying panic. Newton Pittman as the title character is both mysterious and surprisingly droll, treading a fine line between 'real' and 'illusion' and leaving it to the audience to make a choice.

And Jonathan Brooks, as the self-doubting intellectual Kovrin, manages an enormous role with the kind of apparent ease that comes from skill and deep commitment. He is especially charming – seductive, really – in his many casual conversations with the audience, asking our opinions, seeking our support for his particular views, and generally luring us into becoming increasingly involved in the story. He also allows us to see a trace of madness glinting through tiny cracks in the charm, keeping us edgy and alert as shadows repressed grow into very dark experiences. The entire company works together beautifully; and when Brooks, DuBose and Kearns-Simmons take the stage – all together, or in various combinations – the electricity is unforgettable. They can't quite conquer the second-act script, but they nonetheless create three vivid characters I'll long remember.

The costumes designed by Bryan Wofford and the lighting design by Steve Woods contribute mightily to the evening's powerful effect. The seductive power of music is an underlying theme; Stefanie Tovar as Tanya's friend Nadia contributes an evocative aria, and musicians Ariana Cook and Reynaldo Patino perform a number of beautifully chosen pieces that support – or sound a contrast to – the mood of the script.

So The Black Monk is not a perfect script; the second act left me frustrated and annoyed. But the production is as close to perfect as I could imagine. It's brave and funny and challenging and surprising. The performances, scenic design and direction are amazing and delightful. This is one you need to see for yourself.

The Black Monk runs through May 2. Purchase tickets online or by calling 214-747-5515.