Review: Under the Radar 2024: Pushkin “Eugene Onegin” In Our Own Words

“This is a children’s show, so if you didn’t bring a child, you can grab one on the way in,” the helpful usher at BRIC told me outside the return engagement of Pushkin “Eugene Onegin” In Our Own Words. Grab a child? I momentarily wondered if this show was being produced by Maria Lvova-Belova. And then I saw the nook of brightly colored dolls outside the theater.

I chose Theo, a boy with a pirate shirt and a shock of bright red hair. In place of his left arm is a large paperclip — somewhat eerie for those of us who grew up on American horrors films…but also a little adorable (the dolls, each of them unique, are thoughtfully designed by Leah Ogawa and Luna Gomberg). I sat with my ambivalence (and Theo) as I waited for the play to begin.

I’ve never thought of Alexander Pushkin’s tale of a spoiled aristocrat who spurns the affections of a good woman and murders his best friend in a duel as a children’s story, but I suppose one is never too young to start learning about the superfluous elite. Still, I was skeptical.

Writer and director Dmitry Krymov, whose exile in New York has been the one good thing to come out of the war in Ukraine, convinced me with a production that is inventive, resourceful, and gleefully irreverent in its treatment of this most sacred text of Russian literature. Four actors playing seasoned Russian thespians (Elizabeth Stahlmann, Jeremy Radin, Anya Zicer, and Jackson Scott) give us a crash course in Russian theater tradition before diving into the story. Using mismatched chairs and a collection of props they carry into the theater in shopping bags (simple and effective set by Emona Stoykova), they give us Onegin with plenty of digressions and surprises along the way.

The physical performances (and Russian accents) are outsize and hilarious: Scott has us in stiches with his impersonation of a goose (“the Meryl Streep of geese,” Radin quips). Later, Natalie Battistone climbs atop Radin in a stupidly funny portrayal of a ballerina, his hairy man legs pliéing to Swan Lake. In a later segment, they bring out a pair of baroque and beautiful machines to illustrate what Pushkin has to say about life and reflection — when is the right time to look back and when isn’t. Onegin is played by a Kermit the Frog plushie.

Krymov has an undeniable talent for emphasizing the play in his plays, something many of New York’s most esteemed experimental directors have forgotten how to do. I found myself grinning ear-to-ear through much of Eugene Onegin. It felt like experiencing something new, like when you go to the theater for the first time (a rare sensation for a New York theater critic). I’m certainly grateful to Theo for his company, but we shouldn’t need a child chaperone to enjoy theater this way.