John Malkovich hasn’t performed on a stage, Steppenwolf or otherwise, since taking on the titular 17th Century debauchee of “The Libertine” here in 1996. Now, the actor who fashioned a memorably droll screen version of his slithery persona in “Being John Malkovich,” has returned to Steppenwolf with a new play by Stephen Jeffreys, the British author of “The Libertine.”
It is “Lost Land,” a markedly less exuberant affair set in an isolated Northern Hungarian castle near the end, and then after the end, of World War I.
Those expecting Malkovich to trash and then dine out on the scenery will be disarmed by the muted, controlled ensemble effort at hand. Steppenwolf’s A-No. 1 alum plays an idealistic liberal manor lord based, loosely, on Count Mihaly Karolyi, one-time president of the disintegrating postwar Hungarian Republic. Malkovich takes the assignment very seriously, though he’s never dull. He wouldn’t be John Malkovich if he were.
Yet the play is ponderous, a long way from “The Libertine” not simply in subject and style but in dramatic interest. Under Terry Johnson’s direction, the cast seems more interested in delivering every static discussion of grape-growing and wine-making and land redistribution on a separate silver platter. There’s an odd sort of suspense in seeing how Malkovich handles an expository load such as the following: “For your information I expanded the nation’s railway system to twenty-two thousand kilometres and decreased substantially both the fares and the average journey times.” It is, however, the sort of suspense of which no one ever says: The suspense is killing me.
“Lost Land” begins in October 1918, a month before Armistice Day. Count Kristof, played by Malkovich, is on his castle terrace, studying a scale model of the surrounding vineyards. He dreams of building three railroad bridges to better serve the region’s chief export, Tokaj wine. “When the war is over and the men come back,” the count tells his weary, skeptical workman, Tamas (Ian Barford), “we will have the labour.”
Benevolent as well as naive the count has other ideas, including turning a handsome chunk of the vineyards over to Tamas, whose family once owned the land. This dovetails with another of the count’s notions, that of gifting land to any Hungarian marrying a Slovak. Tamas wishes to marry the Slovakian servant, Anna (Katrina Lenk), who is the widower count’s mistress. The count’s ideals run smack into his lust.
That’s a fair bit of intrigue right there. The count’s sister Ilona (Steppenwolf artistic director Martha Lavey) is in charge of the wine-tasting, though she never drinks the stuff. Her rigorous and ritualized world is upended by the appearance of a mysterious Hussar lieutenant-colonel, Miklos (Yasen Peyankov, to the moustache born). He has come to tempt the count back into politics in the waning days of old Hungary. The count agrees, travels to Budapest, and hands control of the castle over to Miklos. Miklos then becomes Ilona’s lover.
Once the count returns, “Lost Land” begins saying its long good-byes to a country, a way of life, and old, often brutal codes of Hungarian honor. The medieval castle setting of “Lost Land” recalls Michael Ondaatje’s Tuscan monastery in “The English Patient,” where lost souls searched for themselves in the shadow of war but somehow apart from it. There’s also a hint of Chekhov and Shaw in Jeffreys’ evocation of ruling classes about to be overrun by history.
So why doesn’t the play catch fire? Partly for simple reasons of narrative clarity and propulsion. Miklos’ mission remains a murky one, and even with all the sexual jealousies informing “Lost Land,” the writing keeps tripping over its own historical footnotes and high-flown disquisitions. The most vivid passage has Lavey’s Ilona at long last savoring what she has denied herself: A taste, then a full glass, then another, of an ancient prized bottle of the estate’s very best. Jeffreys’ stage directions call for her to be “utterly ravished” by the wine, and Lavey and Peyankov handle this witty transference of sensual energy with panache.
Malkovich also has his moments, including a comical gasp when he realizes the castle’s finest bottle has been opened in his absence. As the count, he brings a sense of hauteur and foolish high-mindedness to some disappointingly drab exchanges. Still, the performance lacks technical rigor. It would benefit Malkovich to make a firm decision or two regarding a dialect. The actor also helped to design the costumes for “Lost Land,” and the costumes are lovely and subtly colored contributions to the muted overall design palette. Yet one wonders if he was more concerned with getting the fabrics right than with figuring out how to pronounce his “a’s” in “castle”: Like “castle,” or “cahstle,” a “cuhstle,” or a round-robin combination of the three.
The surest performance comes from Barford, whose Tamas transcends sentimental salt-of-the-peasant-earth cliches to create a simple, moving characterization. Ideally this portrayal would serve as sharp rhetorical and rhythmic contrast to the rest of the ensemble playing. But herein lies director Johnson’s chief misstep: He allows Malkovich, Lavey and Peyankov, smart and interesting performers all, to roll out the speeches at a glacial pace. Clarity of meaning is important, but often times rattling through an exchange and daring the audience to keep up is the better option.
By the time Malkovich sallies forth with yet another defense of the Hungarian code of honor, and the cynical Miklos (whom Malkovich considered playing at one point) responds with a terse “Spare me the cant,” it’s too late. The cant’s out of the bag.
“Lost Land”
When: Through June 5
Where: Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted St.
Running time: 2 hours, 10 minutes
Tickets: $20-$60 at 312-335-1650
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mjphillips@tribune.com
