The Broadway Theatre Review: Patriots

By Ross

They sing a Russian song, sitting around a table drenched in red. “This country has been in a coma for 50 years,” we are told, as Broadway’s latest British transplant, Patriots, gets underway, and we lean in, wondering where this production and play, written by Peter Morgan (“The Crown“), is planning on taking us. The central force is a mathematician turned oligarch, Boris Berezovsky, played to the max by Michael Stuhlbarg (“A Serious Man“; Public’s Socrates). He basically becomes a pseudo-king-maker, in the form of Vladimir Putin, played strongly by Will Keen (Almeida’s Tom and Viv), and eventually, demolished by his own creation. It’s a detailed prestige production, filled out and fostered in the same unique style by Morgan who blurs fantasized history and creates generally compelling drama. But somewhere in Patriots we get bogged down, unsure where to place our heart, and when we find no one, we hold back, not wanting to fully engage or give up anything without a fight.

Directed with a fluid force by Rupert Goold (Broadway’s King Charles III), the delivery, deepened to a blood red by the visually stunning work of set and co-costume designer Miriam Buether (Broadway’s Prima Facie) alongside co-costume designer Deborah Andrews (Bridge’s Guys and Dolls), with lighting by Jack Knowles (Broadway’s Caroline, or Change) and sound by Adam Cork (RTC’s Travesties), is reined in and delivered with a Russian crispness that feels as right as a cold shot of vodka, yet it doesn’t warm the insides as it should. Even with the occasional flashbacks to Berezovsky’s childhood as a mathematical genius studying decision-making theory, the play strides forward in near-chronological order, without a warm heart in the room to connect to.

Stuhlbarg’s Berezovsky is a magnificent creation, filled to overflowing with radiating power and self-satisfaction, while Keen’s Putin grows up before our very eyes. We watch as he studies himself in a mirror to alter his position in his own physical body and the country he soon will control. Together they are captivating to watch, shifting and snapping at those around them, as they dance with wit and power-hungry madness just underneath their calm, cool, collected surfaces. The interactions cut through the air in sharp strokes, as each finds their moment to revel in their authoritarian stance, until it boils over into sparked, surprising rage and brutal dismissals.

“Don’t take bribes? C’mon are you even Russian?” Rarely hinting at what is coming around the corner, the story fleshes itself out with a few additional characters that sometimes fail to find their use, other than to deliver some historical details on our way to the ultimate showdown. First is the very principled officer, Alexander Litvinenko, played with emotional depth and clarity by Alex Hurt (RTC’s Love, Love, Love), who shows loyalty to structures that aren’t so clear, and eventually pays the price. There is also the rich young Roman Abramovic, played with a casual elegance by Luke Thallon (Young Vic’s The Inheritance), who plays a fascinating historical role in Berezovsky’s obscene wealth and ultimate destruction, ending with a. sordid death by hanging. It isn’t Abramovic’s, and we are all pretty clear who is responsible for the untimely death.

Ultimately this is the story of Berezovsky’s King-making maneuvering that created and launched Putin into the position he holds tight to today. But not only. Morgan also wants to unpack post-Communist Russia, and examine its cultural shifting of power from the state to the individual. It’s captivating in its play on words and phrases, making us see vital ingredients that have helped that awful Orange Monster take over and control the insipid GOP, and in turn, helped feed America’s demented fascination with that sick con man. Which I must say, didn’t help me engage with Patriots. There is no one to get behind or find value in, as everyone basically feels as greedy and obscene as Putin and the Orange Monster (I don’t like to even say or write his name). And although the production and all of its cast deliver the goods solidly and dynamically, I left the Ethel Barrymore Theatre unmoved. And a bit worn out by the disengagement that I experienced from being overwhelmed by the energy of the men depicted here. “Leave or Save?” he asks. I’d go with ‘leave’. Regardless of how prestigious this production is.