Review: Mestariluokka

NO UNNECESSARY SMILING AT A DICTATOR’S MASTERCLASS

The big stage of the Helsinki City Theatre offers something that no theatre fan should pass by.
There are four brilliant actors, Lasse Pöysti (Joseph Stalin), Esko Roine (Sergei Prokofiev), Asko Sarkola (Dmitri Shostakovich) and Martti Suosalo (Andrei Zhdanov).
The play is The Master Class, written by the Englishman David Pownall, in which Stalin trains and bothers composers who have already gained international fame.
Stalin would like to have Soviet art in his hands melodic melodies born from the deep ranks of the people – preferably from the ranks of Georgians. It violates the artist’s freedom, but composers must keep their mouths shut, because Siberia is not far away.

Directed by Kurt Nuotio, the performance breathes tightly captivating from the very first moment. Suosalo’s Zhdanov arrives in a room squeezed by the huge Kremlin walls and checks the places before the scheduled meeting. He puts the plate on a plate and tastes a little of the forbidden Western fruit.
The very next moment, he has a seizure that he manages with the help of a nitro button. A couple of rough punches to the chest, and the warrior is ready for battle.
This first breath is just a prelude to a concerto of terror in which art and power are struggling.

Vodka and violence

The performance is full of black humour, the horror of which lies in its truthfulness.
In 1948, Stalin is already an old man, and he is taking advantage of the fragility of his habitus. The tyrant behind the gentle demeanor is still the same, and the blows hit like whips.
Pöysti’s Stalin is a gambler who runs composers as well as Colonel General Zhdanov. He lets the Colonel General take his time, but ties the bridle at appropriate intervals to the corners of his mouth and plays a sensitive father who understands artists.
Pöysti is a greedy mood capturer. With tiny gestures, he marks his territory, and if the other party doesn’t happen to notice it, woe to it.
Not even the stupidity of the vodka-smelling Stalin is allowed to smile. It can be the last smile.
Roine Prokofiev has had to come to the meeting as a convalescent, but that does not stop Stalin’s rude behavior.
Roine is an extremely accurate interpreter. He finds the means of expression by which he is able to be beaten without being too defiant, resists when the opportunity arises, and gets genuinely excited when demanded.
Sarkola’s Shostakovich is faint of heart. Your hands won’t stay still and your speech gets stuck in your throat. The exciting bond that is formed between Roine and Sarkola will last until the end.
One of the highlights of the performance is the joint composition of a Georgian poem. Stalin does not immediately understand the ridicule.
The real jumper is Zhdanov, who is also known from Finnish history. Suosalo rattles the wings and charges the stakes in his breathless role.
In the end, the god of Pöysti sits alone in the light – extinguished, but already preparing for tomorrow. Scary.