Zelda’s Fire Dance
Premiere of the play “Miss NOBODY from Alabama” at the Vakhtangov Theatre
Natalia Kosyakova April 15, 2014
The First Studio of the Eugene Vakhtangov Theatre, as part of the project “Young Artists for the Young!”, presents the play “Miss NOBODY from Alabama”, based on the work of American playwright William Luce and directed by Svetlana Medvedeva. Our author attended the March premiere. Those who wish to see the production still have the chance: until the end of the season, the play will be shown several more times in April, May, and June.
How wonderful it is when life on stage is in full swing! When eyes are blazing, emotions are taut, and feelings overflow. Seeing the moist, languid eyes of Adelina Gizatullina, I thought: this is what Scheherazade must have been like—mystery here, untamed passion here!
A one-woman show is always a trial for an actor: all or nothing. Alone with the audience, just inches away—can every seasoned master withstand that? The young actress deserves the highest praise: she draws you into the action so completely that it takes your breath away. Her solo is anything but monotonous.
Her Zelda Fitzgerald, the wife of the famous writer, is tireless in her story of love and hatred for the star Scott, of her relationship with her father, of her life in a psychiatric clinic. Dancing, dancing, dancing—what she always longed for, what she sought refuge in—her only salvation. But she is never allowed to dance it through: not by her parents, not by her husband, not by doctors. She must behave properly. The inner rupture between “I want” and “I must,” between the call of the heart and so-called propriety, destroys Zelda’s very nature. It is impossible to express oneself, impossible to be oneself. Diagnosis: schizophrenia. Is it really an illness? Or is such an inner fracture inevitable under these conditions? An artificial, hypocritical life is clearly not meant for this woman, perfect in every way.
There is no way out anywhere. Her husband sought salvation in a bottle; her father shackled the girl’s freedom until his teeth ground with tension… “People won’t even let me go mad,” the heroine complains. Doing everything in secret, never being oneself—unbearable, terrifying chains.
She calls herself a third-rate dancer and writer; faith in her own strength has long been lost. “I fell in love with an artist and became his wife, when I should have loved the artist within myself,” Zelda reflects. She was given an unusual name—the name of a gypsy woman from a novel—and grew up an unusual girl. A child of nature, with a genuine heart and a longing for beauty—but who needs people like that? Never and nowhere. Better, quicker—send her to the madhouse!
Black stockings and gloves, red shoes to waltz and jazz—Schubert, Armstrong, Ellington. How long has it been since you rejoiced in life, since you danced to your heart’s content? Well then, ladies and gentlemen? To hell with it all—let’s dance!