The Dumb Cuckoo
Riverside Studios, London

Tom Charge Burke
posted 6 October 2006

Zarif, the aged hero of Zulfat Khakim's theatrical novel Dumb Cuckoo, lives as a hermit in the woods outside of his native village in 1990s Tatarstan. He inherited the nickname of 'Cuckoo' from his father who, as a boy, followed the call of a cuckoo deep into the woods and could not find his way back. Recently his peaceful existence has been shattered as his woodland home has been repeatedly robbed.

The trauma of these events cause Zarif to suffer attacks of dumbness and his memory darts back to the late 1930s when he was a Red Army soldier fighting on the Soviet-Finnish border. Here Zarif encounters a Tatar-Finn, Ziatdin, also nicknamed 'Cuckoo,' and the pair find that their shared nationality supercedes their allegiance to their respective state armies and they refuse to regard each other as enemies. They are arrested and suspicions of treason haunt Zarif into his old age.

Plenty of water has passed under the bridge since the Tatar National Theatre (now the Galiaskar Kamal State Academic Theatre) was founded in 1906. It has survived revolution, war, the suppression of the Tatar language and the repression of Islam under Stalin. No surprise then that the assertion of a Tatar identity, within and distinct from a Soviet identity, is the central focus of the play. Zafir and Ziatdin repeatedly revert to their indigenous folk music in order to remember their motherland and to prove their authenticity to each other. The music is impressively technical and beautifully performed, dredging depths of memory and emotion from the pair that reveal the sincerity of their patriotism. Both men repeatedly risk their own security both during and after the war in order to ensure the other's safety. The impression that emerges is one of a fiercely proud, brave and independent national identity.

It is a shame that Dumb Cuckoo does not offer its female characters a chance to assert themselves. Zarif repeatedly leaves his home in order to pursue his glorious duties to his country and countrymen. Sadly there are few opportunities for such heroism for his devoted wife and granddaughter.

Whilst the action could do with more pace as it draws towards its conclusion, and too many moments are spoilt by incidental music that unnecessarily highlights the fact that something important is about to happen, this is a very enjoyable piece of theatre. The play is performed in Tatar with a translation broadcast to headphones. Whilst this makes it difficult to engage with the details of the text there is a certain enjoyment to be found in this dislocation.

There are plenty of examples of captivating character acting, notably Iskander Khairoullin's seductively deceitful Officer Zimin, and the company command their language with such an acute sense of dynamics and musicality that it is a pleasure to indulge in the performance on a purely sensational level.

Any work of art proclaiming a fiercely nationalistic pride in British history and culture would hardly be warmly received at on the London stage in 2006. Yet Britain and Tatarstan have experienced rather different histories over the past hundred years. This is rich, affectionate and timely theatre.

Till 7 October 2006.