Italian masks, gangsters, angels, classics of German literature and a headless Brezhnev. All this is not a world of phantasmagoria, although, probably, it is that too. This is the Pinocchio diptych, created at the Stanislavsky Electrotheatre. The premiere took place as part of the NET festival. The performance runs over two days, a total of eight hours (three the first, five the second). Parents concerned about children's cultural education are asked to move on down the line. Although...

Pinocchio. Diptych is the precise name of the new work from Boris Yukhananov, which he has been preparing for no less than three (!!!) years. The approach to Carlo Collodi's tale, an age-old literary monument in its own right, is thorough. Not just a fairy tale and not just Collodi, but a whole Pinomythology, for the sake of which playwright Andrei Vishnevsky wrote a five-part play, The Mad Angel Pinocchio. His friend and fellow student at GITIS Boris Yukhananov took on just two segments – Pinocchio. Forest and Pinocchio. Theatre – and embodied them on stage. This Pinocchio looks fantastic.

On a deep stage, although small in size, set designer Yuri Kharikov built a wonderful world. Upstage stands the pediment of a building that is reminiscent in its bizarre decor, no doubt, to a theatre. Of course, this is it: the wall is like the folds of a curtain (uneven, heavy), in the center there is a golden mask in a cap and with a long, curious nose, sharp as a syringe. On the balcony stands a picturesque group: ladies and gentlemen in wigs, and richly embroidered camisoles. Moving on stage later, they will appear as a collective commentator on the events that unfold.

That, namely, is a tree that is pregnant with a living creature and is ready to give birth (poetically, though strangely). Geppetto (attention!), a surgeon and Cherry (attention!), his assistant, oversee the birth from the Tree. The newborn is clearly premature, therefore, it matures into a small human in a thrilling red space, similar to a chemical laboratory with smoke and devices. Geppetto, of course, is nothing like the canonical carpenter - he is more likely a nuclear test engineer in a helmet, glasses, a rubber-leather suit, and up to his elbows in blood. Interesting? You bet it is! And it will be even more interesting as soon as the little guy becomes Pinocchio. And not one, but two at once: he and his vital reflection.

That's how playwright Vishnevsky and director Yukhananov give it to us. Both have been involved in the new-processual theatre for many years. For clarity's sake, so as not to explain the essence of this art at length, I’ll say that, for this kind of theatre, the performance as such is not the ultimate goal. The finale does not necessarily have a limit, time is arbitrary, and in a stage performance, the process is important as a journey to the border of art and reality. The former here has clear advantages over the latter.

Yukhananov conducts his searches in the territory of art, and this is much more interesting. No, that's the wrong word there – it is more mysterious, more attractive, as the world of other people's fantasies always is, even if in some places someone might consider it delirium. But Pinocchio is like beauty inflamed, a sensual labyrinth scattering in different directions when you do not know what to expect at every turn. A game of mind and delusion. Ultimately, it's a game of playing at play that can get lost in search of itself while sometimes forgetting about the viewer.

“Pinocchio, Pinocchio, you are a wooden misfit,” says Geppetto. While the Misfit (in duplicate) is already running through the forest. The world into which he came is for him a dark forest filled with so many people, and so many kinds of people (and not only people) with all their oddities. Later he arrives in a theatre, where he spends as much as five hours. Poor fellow – what price will he pay for the knowledge of the world?

The two Pinocchios move like puppets and speak in a voice that is usually called "Pinocchian." The "wooden misfit" is not yet long-nosed. Two actresses – Maria Belyaeva and Svetlana Naidyonova – along with other actors, spent three years working on voice and movement. Their movements were overseen by Alessio Nardin, who came to the Electrotheatre specially from Italy to teach actors how to work with masks. The masks, of which there are a great many in the performance, were also made in Italy. Pinocchio's voice is distant, as if not from these climes.

“We didn’t achieve this voice right away,” Maria Belyaeva tells me after the performance. “During rehearsals we spoke in our own voices, did warmups with choirmaster Arina Zvereva. The voice appeared when we began working on stage, somehow it came about all on its own.”

According to the actress, they and all the other actors studied masks and movement for a year. Although there is no tradition of a Pinocchio mask in Italian theatre.

“But Alessio Nardin essentially created it from within us,” Maria continues. “Of course, our work with Anatoly Vasilyev helped a lot (Maria Belyaeva and Svetlana Naidyonova trained with him. – MR) – both in this role and in the profession.”

“In the second part of the performance, Theatre, we don't take the mask off. You know how difficult it is for the face to be trapped tightly for five hours?

“In the mask we take the lead from the mask itself: it helps, we became one with it. Even when you take it off after the performance, you feel naked, as if you've been stripped. The space helps, and the Anastasia Nefyodova's costumes, too: the white eyelashes and bald patches that she came up with – all this provided the seed for our image.”

By the way, the Pinocchio mask is donned only at the end of the first theatrical evening. It is the color of sunny straw, with traces of the elements and, therefore, seems to be in confusion. The movements of the two marvelous actresses are not synchronous, but they reverberate like a single violin, regardless of whether they strictly follow the play's text or improvise. True, the text at times seems completely optional, although meaningful, and it rather leaves a feeling of emptiness – alas, not radiant. However, the picture that is revealed with every turn in the path of this inquiring myth allows you to forget any annoyance due to length or repetition in the text. Although I willingly admit: that which seems unnecessary in a philosophical work may simply be something I did not understand.

As a spectator at Pinocchio, you experience a bifurcation: on one hand, you want carefully and thoroughly to examine surface appearances; on the other hand, you want to comprehend the depth of thought and not lose the logic of events that unfold over two evenings. And, in terms of appearances, Pinocchio is extremely rich in fantasy and whimsical sophistication. There are man-made decorations and technologies: space is cut through a trembling tunnel of bright light, projections with the effect of reality, masks, props, fancy costumes and hats... Almost the entire company is on stage. The material aspect of the performance and the quality of all the specialists' work are worthy of the highest admiration. The budget of such a production must be off the scale.

In Pinocchio, Boris Yukhananov continues his research in the nature of theatre, began in The Blue Bird. This study lasts five hours, during which the wooden hero, having passed the test of hunger and cruel encounters, enters the theatre of Mangiafuoco (Yury Duvanov), where he encounters Harlequin, Pierrot, as well as a gangster, dancer, Sun King, Fairy Queen and even Brezhnev in a brilliant parody by Vladimir Korenev. The creators of the production put the Soviet General Secretary on a carriage and cleverly – snip-snip – cut off his head. It falls at Pinocchio's feet, but this causes no horror in the inquisitive little man.

But Brezhnev is not the point (although the scene is witty and not tiring in its detailed analysis) – and theatre is. Being in theatre is like being on a drug, regardless of whether it is traditional, “newly-processual” or something else an artist might be strung out on. It's a place where directors, now losing or regaining hope, seek to find angels. Yes, angelic pagliacci, clowns with and without wings, for which this theatre is searched up and down, performing various, even seemingly strange manipulations with it while creating myths. A place, perhaps, where new discoveries may sprout - or are already sprouting – in the process of understanding, dissection, dismemberment and connection.

Unlike other theatrical artists, Boris Yukhananov was never a turncoat, never served the social or political needs of the authorities or the times, never did topical hackwork. As such, he discovered his own audience. The Pinocchio myth is proof of this.