Yuri Butusov’s daring new interpretation of ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead’ by Tom Stoppard staged in Vilnius last year is now touring France in a four-hour production in the Russian language.

Last year prominent Russian theatre director in exile Yuri Butusov (b. 1961) created a new production of Tom Stoppard's absurdist tragicomedy ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead’ at The Old Theatre in Vilnius, a work which feels acutely relevant today. Stoppard’s play has always been popular, staged around the world for over half a century since it was first written raising fundamental existential questions about the times in which we live, and the role human beings play in contributing to what happens in our world. Butusov’s production was the first novel interpretation of the original play to have been staged in Lithuania and now in 2024, it is on tour in France, following other interpretations produced in the 1960s and 1970s by Claude Régy (1923-2019) and Jean-François Prévand (b. 1944).

Uncharacteristically, Butusov does not make many radical changes to Stoppard’s original script, although are two monologues in particular which stand out as having evolved through sketches by actors during preparations for the production. Guildenstern reflects on human obedience towards algorithms, and the power of thought, remarking suddenly, “When are you gonna croak eventually?!”, expressing Butusov's anti-war position, one which forced him into exile from Russia, there is no doubt to whom this exclamation is addressed. Rosencrantz recalls cleaning the boots of soldiers during military service. With the smell of shoe polish reminding us of death, the war momentarily bursts into the fabric of the performance. Although not mentioned directly it is ever present.

The two friends – Rosencrantz, performed by Dmitrij Denisiuk, (b. 1977) and Guildenstern, played by Igoris Abramovičius, (b. 1986) – find themselves in a time loop, where a coin keeps landing heads up. Feeling disoriented in time, space and confused by their own identities, they reflect deeply on their own actions and their existence. Following Stoppard's original lines they recall ‘The Butterfly Dream’, a story from a Taoist masterpiece ‘The Zhuangzi’ about dreams and reality. Then there is the Player – Valentin Novopolskij, (b. 1981) – whose powerful performance carries the whole show and for whom Butusov's edgy signature style is a perfect fit. Finally, the character of the ghost played by Maksim Tuchvatulin, (b. 1988) communicates the play’s absurdity through gestures and choreographic scenes which eventually conclude with a collective and freaky Danse Macabre that seeps into the auditorium.

The play shows us how easy it is for humans to send others to their death with thoughts like ‘he’s just one among many … And what is so terrible about death?’. There is a decreasing sense of reality throughout the play and a level of depersonalisation, culminating in the third act where Butusov has applied face powder to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They now barely recall their orders, so are not capable of analysing them, although they are filled with the constant fear of having done something wrong: “there must have been a moment, at the beginning, where we could have said no. But somehow, we missed it”.

The stage design by Marius Nekrošius (b. 1976) is restrained, in traditional Shakespearian mode with a dark palette and hard textures like metal, stone and ropes and he captures something of the aesthetics of death with the actors surrounded by metal mortuary tables, black plastic bags used for dead bodies, rocks and buckets. A table which is initially a theatrical ramp for actors strolling onto the stage, later becomes a memorial votive church candle rack. In the centre of the stage there are ropes and canopy sandbags that function as a system of barriers, as a threat and a metaphor for the challenges in reaching a balance. The omnipresence of death follows the characters: Gertrude wears a black plastic mantle from a corpse bag; Rosencrantz and Guildenstern drink ashes instead of wine and eat stones; a fly turns into a huge bluebottle. And rows of white shirts hanging, reminiscent of populous death.

Throughout the play Butusov uses loud musical intermissions played in slow motion which feel excessive and detract from what is otherwise a delicate balance of sounds such as rolling stones, thundering metal, drops of water and jangling coins all of which serve to enhance the general mood.

Butusov’s novel and timely production leaves us on a floating ship feeling a bit like his two protagonists or else nomadic theatre comedians: distracted and lost but with much food for thought.