Pictured John Malkovich and Yasen Peyankov in Lost Land.Playwright: Stephen Jeffreys
At: Steppenwolf Theatre
Phone: ( 312 ) 335-1650; $20-$60
Runs through: June 5
The chief reason to see Lost Land is the acting of John Malkovich, Martha Lavey and Yasen Peyankov. All three provide engaging and pointed performances as forceful, arrogant, highly individual characters set within the history of post-World War I Hungary. The play itself, a world premiere by Stephen Jeffreys, is intelligent and crisply constructed but bland; a pleasantly pale echo of the works of Anton Chekhov and Bernard Shaw.
Malkovich is the big draw, but those lured by his dynamic, sometimes malevolent stage and screen portrayals may be disappointed. He's not the menacing, edgy, eccentric of True West, Burn This, In the Line of Fire, Dangerous Liaisons, Empire of the Sun, etc. As Count Kristof, the hero of Lost Land, Malkovich slips gracefully into middle age, no longer trim and youthful, his remaining hair close cropped and gray. The instinctive feline nature of his acting—the intense eyes, the watchfulness bordering on stealth, the occasional playfulness—has not changed, but it now serves a more contemplative character.
Kristof, a former government minister, sits out World War I supervising his vast estate—with 600 peasants—in Northern Hungary, while his unmarried sister, Ilona ( Lavey ) , impressively supervises the making of Tokaj wine. Kristof rules as a benevolent despot, yet promotes a new Hungarian national identity through land reform. With the Austro-Hungarian Empire on the brink of defeat, a Hussar officer, Miklos ( Peyankov ) , arrives from Budapest to offer the respected Count a position in the post-war government, with promises to initiate land redistribution. Kristof departs for Budapest, putting Miklos in charge of his fiefdom.
Within nine months, the post-war government has collapsed and the victorious Allies have stripped Hungary of half its land. Returning home, Kristof finds Miklos has benignly neglected land redistribution, undermined his ideal of Hungarian nationality, and bedded both Kristof's peasant mistress and Ilona. The confrontation between the men ends in death and exile ( I won't say who suffers which fate ) .
The Chekhovian Kristof is the romantic dreamer motivated by ideals but restrained by inertia. His antagonist, Miklos, is the Shavian Man of Action, the pragmatist. Miklos' cynical realpolitik and Kristof's outdated honor make both less than heroic, although Kristof embraces loss and change as Jeffreys' shaded telling melds Chekhov's spirit and Shaw's politics.
The measured direction by Terry Johnson is understanding but too solemn. Moments of comedy are underplayed, and the physical confrontation between Kristof and Miklos isn't sufficiently explosive. The audience should be on the edges of their seats, but isn't. The show never flags or bores, but the highs aren't quite high enough. The issue is modulation, not interpretation.
James Schuette's expansive, handsome set represents the castle courtyard, its stone surfaces and earth tones warmly lit by Scott Zielinski. John Malkovich and Ana Kuzmanic designed the period-accurate and nicely detailed costumes. Culottes for Ilona are particularly imaginative, the hems soiled from her vineyard walks.
