Click-smack-click.
That’s the sound of chess pieces being pushed across a wooden board, and it’s also reminiscent of the punctuated, snappy dialogue in Robert Rusli ’10’s original musical, “The Kotov Syndrome,” which premiered this weekend in the WestCo Café and the Butt C lounge. Part “Memento,” part “Rent” and part “Searching for Bobby Fisher,” “The Kotov Syndrome” mixes music, love, discrimination and sadness into a near-perfect blend of entertainment and style—in only 45 minutes. Punctuated by an absolutely spectacular cast and a wonderful live band (with Mr. Rusli himself on drums), the performance painted a grim picture of a world full of misunderstandings, bias and missed opportunities, but allowed the audience some hope with a prophetic ending number that stressed that every “move”—or every moment—can change the course of history.
The most striking element of “The Kotov Syndrome” was its narrative structure. Set in reverse chronological order, the production opens with a scene of a corpse lying next to a table, who we later learn is Annie (Elizabeth Simon ’12), roommate and love interest of chess-master protagonist Union (Christopher Ceccolini ’11). Progressing backwards, we come to learn that Union was previously seeing a woman named Jessica (Asako Yamauchi ’10), but, in a well-sung duet, they both realized that they weren’t “the one” for each other.
We see Union and Annie’s courtship slowly unfold before our eyes, as we come to understand the root of Union’s tortured psyche: he is wracked with guilt (an emotion artfully portrayed by Ceccolini), because he disowned his mother, who has just died, after his brother Billy’s suicide. That the suicide is never quite explained adds an element of mystery; in a brilliant duet between Ceccolini and Mike Green ’09, who plays “Diamond Billy” with a striking mixture of humor and sadness, we learn that Billy had slit his wrists after appearing in a production dressed as a woman. Whether Billy was actually transgender, or merely performing, remains unclear—and rightly so.
The play hinges on a chess tournament in which master player Union and beginner Annie both compete. Annie wants to chase her dreams, but Union appears to fear for her. They fight dramatically, and the scene ends. This fight becomes the catalyst of all the previous action that led to Annie’s murder. In the very last scene, we see a happy Union, comfortable with Annie, singing about how a single moment can change the course of history: a reference to the titular Kotov Syndrome, a psychological phenomenon where a player loses a game of chess because he or she makes a terrible move due to time constraints and thus changes the course of the game. Given what we’ve already seen, this seemingly-uplifting number takes on deeply morbid undertones.
Artfully directed by Ankur Verma ’10, “The Kotov Syndrome” was a wonderful example of the depth and breadth of Wesleyan’s talent. Rusli’s book and score were impeccable, and Ceccolini’s singing would’ve been worth listening to regardless. The amazing versatility of the cast and crew to change performance spaces (after extenuating circumstances forced a venue switch from the WestCo Café to the Butt C lounge halfway through their weekend run) only added to the impressiveness of the production. The show retained its energy and panache with only minor setbacks—there was a slight issue with Simon’s microphone that made her sound as if she had been pre-recorded, though she clearly had not been.
Perhaps even more impressive than Rusli’s book and Ceccolini’s performance (and I do mean perhaps) was the perfectly synchronized union between the musical numbers and the dialogue; there wasn’t a single missed cue or a flubbed entrance. Clearly extremely well rehearsed and put together, this element of “The Kotov Syndrome” proved an absolute joy to behold.
Not only did the production fit a gripping narrative, perfectly-toned musical numbers and convincing acting into 45 minutes, it also managed to inspire discussion and contemplation, as great theater should. It asked the audience to stop and consider that each action has a reaction, that one inconsequential moment can make all the difference later. The progression of the action on stage reminded the audience how different Union and Annie’s lives—and also our own—could be, because of one moment. And that, my friends, is very a frightening concept.
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