Devil (consultant) in a (navy) blue dress (suit)

Didn't we know it all along? The devil is a consultant.

The Drama School's production of The Master and Margarita, an adaptation of the novel by Russian author Mikhail Bulgakov, in some ways feels so right. The devil is Woland, a "German consultant," a fat, fiendish, but frighteningly friendly fellow come to Moscow with the uncomplicated desire to wreak havoc. Because he can. You would, too.

COURTESY YALE SCHOOL OF DRAMA Hey now, you're letting a dude in plaid pants and a guy in a cat suit laugh at you? And you get paid to get in?

The devil arrives on the scene in the midst of a conversation between two writers debating the existence of God. Berlioz (Derek Milman, DRA '02) and Bezdomny (Pun Bandhu, DRA '01) are interrupted by the amiable Woland (Mark Mattek, DRA '01), who plants himself on their park bench, offering to put their ponderings to rest. He knows that Jesus existed; he was there. But the Russians remain skeptical.

"So you are atheists?" Woland asks. "Yes, indeed, we are atheists," Berlioz replies. "Why, that's delightful!"

Losing your religion is rather delightful with this play, especially as compared to the alternative of siding with the smugly serene Jesus (Matthew Lane Schwartz, DRA '02), whom we see in a few flashbacks to his fateful confrontation with Pontius Pilate (Remy Auberjonois, DRA '01). The Roman governor is tortured by a nagging suspicion that the Nazarene he's about to crucify is the real deal; the Nazarene, for his part, refuses to be tortured by anything. Jesus just smiles behind his holy hand while Pilate bellows and kills him. These scenes only serve to make one wish Jesus and Pilate would work things out offstage so that Woland can come back.

The devil brings with him an immensely amusing entourage that includes his flamboyant, mean-as-dirt "translator," a dominatrix, a non-specific creepy crawly, and a massive talking cat named Behemoth (Edward O'Blenis, DRA '01). After sending Berlioz to his death by beheading under the wheels of a tram, Woland and this retinue dispatch his theater-owner roommate to Yalta so they can sleep in his bed and perform on his stage as a black magic troupe. Getting their way is easy for the forces of evil—performing card tricks and making scarves disappear, likewise simple. Keeping themselves amused, however, is an interesting challenge.

Enter the Master (Nicholas Pepper, DRA '01). Along with Bezdomny, who's a bit batty from recent events, we bump into him lounging in the local mental hospital. He used be another writer and once had a beautiful lover who would have been his wife, had he not burned the manuscript of his masterpiece and disappeared out the kitchen window. But sitting in a bathrobe and talking to a minor poet who claims to have met the devil is no consolation. He wants his lover back.

And Woland wants to help, so he sends his creepy minion to get the lady in question—the long-awaited Margarita (Bess Wohl, DRA '02)—to sell her soul. Despite her willingness not only to do that, but also to get naked onstage, Margarita is this play's least interesting character. Gushing with embarassing pathos, she seems to be complicit with the playwright in a plan to make us check our watches. Like the actors portraying Pilate and Jesus, Wohl can be most likeable offstage.

But Margarita is beautiful. The night is beautiful, a velvety black backdrop pierced by tiny, star-like twinklings. The swinging, flying moon is beautiful. This is an amazingly good-looking production. Scenic designer F. Thomas Kinney has created a complex, colorful, and versatile set, a working cross between a jungle gym and a post-modern painting. However, the actual drama that takes place in and around all this good stuff is not quite as good.

The script favors those characters who are easy to get along with: Woland, his underlings, the overworked telegraph girl, the ruthlessly inefficient theater managers. It cheats those who have any emotional content to work with, such as Pilate, Margarita, and the Master. Their lines are mostly trite and wearisome, while even Behemoth gets to say things like, "It is undesirable for cats to bear witness."

In general, Yuri Lyubimov's adaptation fumbles exactly those elements of the story that would make one think this novel should never be turned into a play. Bulgakov's story is detailed and complex, weaving together the narratives of modern-day Moscow and that whole Jesus debacle while housing a Tolstoy-sized cast of characters. How could a play possibly treat all that detail in fewer than three-and-a-half hours? Well, apparently it couldn't. Bring a snack and some homework.

Likewise, the production excels in those areas where excellence is easy and drags exactly where the director, Will Frears, should have warned his cast not to let it drag. Unlike Woland, the team behind this production seems to revel in the simple and shy from a challenge. Despite some wonderful moments with the wittier characters and the unqualified joys of the visual presentation, The Master and Margarita ends up, when it finally ends, a disappointment.

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