When an actor takes on such a genre as a "solo performance", based on the work of Dostoevsky ... all the action turns into a kind of ritual.
Cleansing, confessional, full of subtle soul harmonies, which can not be ignored or denied.
Is it possible to save a person? Someone will say unambiguous "yes", someone will notice "everything depends on the situation". But for the hero of this confession - she herself is an instrument for the salvation of another person, close and dear to him. He seems to sacrifice himself, trying to save the one that, it would seem, can not be saved.
And now confession right in front of the dead hall turns into a real song of love. Love is doomed and at the same time filled with almost insane hope. And it is from her that prayer is born. The only one able to save the hero, whose soul is wounded by inconsolable grief and despair. Does he believe in words that he whispers in desperate silence?
And the space around him - meager and meager according to circumstances, only emphasizes this doomed hopelessness. His despair and insane tenderness, his hope, the last turning into a mysterious song. Which is sure to find a response in any soul that will hear it.
And after hearing it, it is worth stopping and thinking about the fact that life is still finite and often it happens that it breaks off suddenly. So should we lose important and precious moments of life?
“ Were in November. I must say, I did not expect that Yevgeny Stychkin alone would draw this very difficult performance. For an hour and a half watched in one breath. At least the women squealed to tears. He agreed a couple of times in monologues, but this did not spoil a strong good impression. In general, I recommend.
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