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POSTED: 20 JULY 2009

The Promise, by Alexei Arbuzov

(Company B | Belvoir Street Theatre, Surry Hills, Sydney | Until 23 August)

The sole survivor of an aircraft crash. The single house left on a street after a bushfire. The only soldier left standing after a mortar attack. Those who outlast famine, severe deprivation and trauma.

Survivor guilt is a very real and complex psychological condition. The remaining person(s) from any random or deliberate tragedy frequently experience conflicting feelings of profound relief and crippling remorse, left to ask themselves — why was I chosen to carry on?

Alexei Arbuzov’s stunning tale of the lives of three survivors of the Siege of Leningrad, The Promise, is an intense exploration of this guilt wrapped in further complexity. To what extent are such survivors obligated to remain grateful or strive to make their lives extraordinary to justify their existence above those who died? And if one’s dreams and promises are derailed, is it possible to get back on track?

The Promise spans 17 years in the lives of Lika (Alison Bell), Marat (Ewen Leslie) and Leonidik (Chris Ryan). Beginning in 1942 as Leningrad battles to withstand invasion by Hitler, the three then-teenagers struggle to exist in a city entirely cut off from the rest of the country.

The Siege of Leningrad lasted more than two years, and while the exact number of casualties remains unknown, estimates range between 800,000 and 1.5 million lives lost. In the winter of 1942 alone, around 200,000 died of cold and starvation as temperatures plunged to minus 40 Celcius.

This is the setting for the first Act — frozen, starving but clinging to hope, both Marat and Leonidik fall in love with Lika. Over the next 17 years, this love triangle turns and shifts like the very clever staging design by Adam Gardnir.

A raised parquetry square represents the room in which the action takes place for all three Acts (yes, three — with two intervals, this production goes for two hours and 40 minutes). With minimal costume and prop changes, the passing of time is conveyed effectively. The slow rotation of the square at appropriate times is striking.

The trio meet again as young adults, and Lika must choose between the two young men. Finally, at 35, they reunite for the third time and Lika will be forced to confront the wisdom of her decision. All three reflect on their lives and the choices made thus far. Has the promise they made to each other as teenagers — for a better future — been realised?

The Promise was penned in 1964 at the very end of Khrushchev’s Thaw. The hopes the characters voice for the future were written in this era of recovery, artistic abundance and technological advancement. Ironically, by the time Soviet audiences were seeing it, the Thaw was over and an atmosphere of oppression and censorship under Brezhnev had commenced.

Originally translated by Ariadne Nicolaeff, this new version by Nick Dear faithfully conveys the angst, passion and yearning of not only these characters, but also the Russian psyche.

Director Simon Stone’s vision for this production was to invite the audience to witness the passing of time through the eyes of Lika, Marat and Leonidik. He has selected three wonderfully talented actors to bring these characters to life and elicited performances of remarkable intensity and memorability.

By the end of this marathon, the actors looked drained and spent. It seemed nearly too much for them to pull themselves out of their stage world and acknowledge the enthusiastic applause of the audience — indeed, they looked almost surprised that they had been watched.

Looks like this promise was kept.