Vladimir – 18 October 2024

Vladimir is a deeply humanizing play following a Russian journalist, Raya (Francesca Faridany), on her journey through war reporting in Chechnya. Learned on some topics and vulnerable on others, Raya navigated her personal and professional life fearlessly—informed and yet blind, understanding and yet ignorant, beautiful and yet hideous. Her commitment to seeing individuals as people simultaneously kept her grounded and screwed her over when earth-shattering doubt overcame her towards the end. Vladimir approached the audience with a resolute humanity in which we recognized ourselves in the good and the bad. For we are all selfish, exhausted, complicated, interconnected, and fundamentally good, are we not?

One of the most marvelous elements of the play was the costuming (Jess Goldstein), which completely distanced the actors from their roles. Jess Goldstein and the highly competent cast members really shone in how easy they made it to focus on the show without thinking about who is playing each role. I genuinely saw characters, and not actors, which is a rare and beautiful thing in a time where New York City theatre is so riddled with stunt casting.

The convention of showing language barriers and cultural differences with an accent was a really interesting way of creating space between those who could and could not philosophically understand each other. This technique is mostly used between characters, but at the very end of the play, when Raya goes on her American book tour, she uses it on the audience. This seminal moment brings back the perspective. The audience just spent over two hours taking a deep dive into Raya’s story—and we still can’t actually fathom what it would have been like to spend a single minute in her shoes. The emotional journey had us relating to her and seeing ourselves in philosophical viewpoints, but it wasn’t dangerous for us. It wasn’t about our home. We’re in a theater. There is nothing at stake for us. How could we possibly understand?

Because playwright Erika Sheffer and director Daniel Sullivan craft so many moments of genuine empathy. In particular, at Galina’s (Olivia Deren Nikkanen) wedding, Galina has an intimate moment with Raya (her mother), in which she talks about how the dangers of Raya’s job might prevent Galina or Galina’s daughter from seeing Raya grow old, with paper thin skin (a clever double entendre about the thin sheets of a newspaper). The audience, young and old, deeply felt this moment and others like it that were profoundly universal, reinforcing the show’s thematic message that we are all human beings facing highly unique situations with and without choices.

Much of the show focused on highlighting the difference between choices and perceived choices, and the inability of those with actual choices to understand those who live without a heart because of limited choices, very few of which involve safety. It is mentioned that many of Raya’s interviewees end up murdered for speaking to her. Yet Raya, who feels she has no choice but to repeatedly go to war torn Chechnya to report on the people there, expects the people she contacts to speak with her, and engages them whether or not they truly desire to talk. By the time that she identifies someone, she has sealed their fate whether they talk to her or not, so they might as well talk. Raya becomes haunted by this mid-show, as she is, in a sense, marking people for death so that she can tell their stories to try to move others into action to save people in similar situations. Like all of Vladimir, it is a minefield of catch 22s.

There is a final thought hanging in the air after the show that leaves the audience haunted. What can we do? Not just for far off geopolitical conflicts, but with all of the feelings that resonated with us throughout the show because of the relevance to the shifting world under our own feet here in the United States. What can we do? Our options are wide open, and yet they feel, painfully, paper thin.

I attended this performance on a press pass from The Press Room.