It takes a special kind of interest, either in theater (most New Yorkers) or in Russian history (me) to get excited about a trio of Tom Stoppard plays detailing the progress of Russian philosophy–from nihilism to the cusp of revolution–in the mid-1800s. And it’s a pretty dedicated audience that goes for the 9-hour marathon version and sits on their bums in New York City’s Lincoln Center from 11am to 11pm, scurrying around in between plays to forage for sustenance. The Coast of Utopia is the production in question, whose three component plays ( Voyage , Shipwreck , and Salvage ) have been running in tandem at the Lincoln Center since last September.
And what, as fellow blogger Sheila might ask, does this have to do with travel? To answer, I’ll just squish my travel philosophy into a few bite-sized pieces. I’ve always felt that true travelers, who wish to understand a place rather than skim over its more well-known sights, have to make an effort to read the literature, find out the name of the current prime minister/president/dictator, and study a little history before barging in and asking what sort of experience a new country can provide them. You, the perceptive traveler, have an obligation to go beyond your Rough Guide and Lonely Planet, no matter how helpful they are in steering you to the wackiest pub.
Of course, I don’t always hold to my precepts (who does?), but Russia happens to be my particular area of pseudo-expertise. It’s a place that Westerners always think we understand while it constantly confuses us. We don’t get it, either the 1917 Revolution or the grip communism had on the country. The Coast of Utopia goes a long way to closing that comprehension gap. After reading Stoppard’s play, I had no idea how any cast could translate reams of Russian philosophy into an interesting, dramatic performance that really meant anything to a modern audience. Now I know.
Utopia follows the progression of Russian thought from activist efforts after the 1825 Decembrist revolt right up to the beginning of Marxist socialism . The play and production were so well done that I literally felt, near the end, like standing up and warning the characters of what they were about to get themselves into. But, of course, they never imagined a Stalin. And they failed to comprehend the average Russian’s faith in authoritarian leaders. This is especially true of aristocratic main character Aleksandr Herzen , who was exiled for advocating freedom of Russian serfs (slaves). The problem of serfdom is the lynchpin of his and his colleagues’ struggles.
The second major character is Mikhail Bakunin , whose enthusiasm knows no bounds as he throws off one once-loved philosophy after another to finally find his calling in violent revolution. Stoppard uses him as a mouthpiece to voice a central question of Russian existence: “Where are we off to? Who’s got the map? We study the different utopias…power to the experts, to the workers, to the philosophers…property is a right, property is theft, the evil of competition, the evil of monopoly…central planning, no planning, free housing, free love…and each of them uniquely harmonious, just and efficient. But there’s one question none of the maps explain: why should anyone obey anyone else?”
In the end, the stage is set for the rising of Lenin and the revolutions of 1905 and then 1917. It starts to make sense. But the “Russia question” is never answered. Herzen, Bakunin, and others–they’re always asking, “What’s wrong with Russia? Why did the Renaissance pass us by? Why do we have to get all our ideas second-hand from France and Germany?” They have a lot of ideas, but no real answers. And I’m still left wondering, even after the development of thought led to the Revolution, how did it stick for so long after it became a disaster?
Producing The Coast of Utopia is a massive undertaking, and it’s questionable whether cities outside of London and New York will commit to it. If they do, and you’re interested, go. If you have the stamina for a marathon, do it.
