Cold War, Almeida Theatre review ★★★★★

Paweł Pawlikowski’s black-and-white movie about an intoxicating Cold War romance, doomed from the start, is adapted for the stage by Conor McPherson, with its Polish folk-preserving raison d'etre dialled up, and additional songs from Elvis Costello capturing the focal characters' bitter longing. Under the direction of Rupert Goold, this sprawling, troubled love story develops slowly and soulfully, earning our investment with each new twist and turn.

It’s post-World War Two Poland, and composer Wiktor (Luke Thallon), his choreographer partner Irena (Alex Young) and buffoonish manager Kaczmarek (Elliot Levey) are harvesting the country’s old folk songs through auditioning ‘local folk people’ to be part of a state-approved ensemble. When village girl Zula (Anya Chalotra) steps up to the mic, a lusty spark is kindled between her and Wiktor. Over the next two-and-a-half hours, we see it transcend matrimonial and geographical boundaries, travelling from Berlin to Paris and back to Poland – fizzling, exploding and reigniting multiple times – as the pair struggle to live with or without each other.

Cold War, Almeida Theatre. Ali Goldsmith and Sophie Maria Wojna. Photo: Marc Brenner

It opens with Sophie Maria Wojna singing a guttural, passionate and initially a capella rendition of Warsaw Village Band’s At My Mother’s. This sets the tone for a production that frequently sees its cast break into fervid performances of traditional Polish folk songs, sometimes to lively, whirling choreography from Ellen Kane. It’s arguably the defining feature of McPherson’s adaptation and the thing that sets it apart from its cinematic predecessor.

It’s not all foot-stomping folk music, though: Jon Bausor’s set captures all the smoky, sultry mystique of a late-night club, its peeling, dilapidated walls blending aptly with the Almeida’s exposed brick back wall. On the bare wooden stage, a piano is often the solitary ‘prop’, and the vehicle for Wiktor and Zula’s music-fuelled romance.

Costello’s songs, with their themes of pining for lost lovers and raging jealousy, are a natural fit for the story. While they seem to belong to a different creative vision, they help make the production relatable to an overwhelmingly British audience in the same way that having the whole thing read in English does. (Though this reviewer would have gladly watched a Polish version with subtitles for authenticity's sake.)

Cold War, Almeida Theatre. Alex Young and Luke Thallon. Photo: Marc Brenner

Under Goold’s direction, Thallon’s Wiktor is awkward, shy and self-deprecating, so it makes sense that his character’s violent streak is virtually removed. It’s Cold War meets Brief Encounter, if you like, and it certainly makes for easier viewing. Chalotra’s Zula is his opposite: brash and fiery, her hunger for success etched into every stare, stamp and song. Supporting them is a cast of fine singers, including Young, who is almost criminally underused here, given what we know she’s capable of from Standing at the Sky’s Edge. Buzzing around them all is Levey’s appropriately gooney Kaczmarek, whose control of the purse strings prevents the couple, especially Zula, from straying too far.

Unlike Kaczmarek, who ‘never really believed in all this folky stuff’, Wiktor and Zula remain as committed to the music of their native Poland as to each other. While a star-crossed love story, first and foremost, McPherson’s tender adaptation acts as a musing on the concept of home and our loyalties to threatened traditions.