Kursk, the result of a collaboration between sound-centered theatre company Sound&Fury and playwright Byrony Lavery, has been one of the most eagerly awaited events of the theatrical year - and it does have a long list of positives.

The play starts from the assumption that, at the time and place of the tragedy invoked by the title, a British submarine was also there, engaged in some top-secret spying work. When the Russian submarine Kursk sank after one of its torpedoes exploded, it was left languishing by the Putin government, who, in a highly politically charged situation, refused international help. Because of Putin’s choice, 23 crew-members who had survived the explosion were abandoned to certain death. What would a group of British mariners have felt if they had been right there, able to rescue the Russians, but had not been allowed to do so?

It is a great merit of Lavery’s text and of Mark Espiner and Dan Jones’ co-directing style that, in presenting this picture, Kursk avoids a series of paths that would have tempted a lazier production team. It does not try to be a disaster movie. It does not stage a ‘voyeurism of suffering’ - in the programme notes, we are told that this was one of the dangers they were keen on avoiding. It is not a judgmentally political piece. It does not grab us by the neck and push our faces into the horror or the pain that we are left imagining, and it does not wield the horror and the pain as self-righteous propaganda tools. But what exactly does Kursk do, instead?

First of all, it offers one of the most exciting sets that have been seen at the Young Vic or in other theatres of similar size this year or in the recent past. Jon Bausor’s magnificent design, Hansjörg Schmidt’s light and Dan Jones’ sound effects are all remarkable, and the impression, when you first walk into the Maria space, really is of being suddenly submerged. As the evening develops, we grow accustomed to the peculiar noises and echoes and creaking movements of the submarine, used to its darkness and enclosed spaces, but still aware of the constant humming of claustrophobia and panic that must be repeatedly kept at bay by those who lead this life.

Secondly, Kursk presents a number of excellent actors, in a slightly, but not overly emotional camaraderie atmosphere that is remindful of the recent (and often mentioned also in relation to this production) Black Watch. I was particularly fond of Laurence Mitchell’s Commander, aware of the absolute megalomania and self-assuredness demanded by his role, carrying the weight of all the decisions and unable to share the genuine companionship enjoyed by his men. Mitchell brings to the role a self-coaching courage that would not be out of place in a Conrad novel.

And yet, in spite of all these positives, Kursk impressed me, but it did not blow me over. In its wonderfully designed set, between its very believable mariners, with all this incredibly promising tension mounting, the climax, the blow in the face, the claustrophobia attack or the heartbreaking showdown never quite came. It could be that I was watching from up above, on the platform that surrounds the pit where the submarine actually is - you are free to watch it downstairs, too, negotiating your space with fellow theatre-goers and the actors, which might guarantee a higher level of emotional involvement.

It might be that I had such high expectations, raised even higher when I entered the small Maria space with its minutely reconstructed world. But the moral dilemma facing these men seemed to be leading us somewhere, and the title of the play does not help in distracting us from what we assume is going to be the fulcrum of the text, and then nothing really happens to match these premises. A private loss comes to complement or contrast the foreign one, and it is, quite rightly, not exploited for cheap tears, but neither is it fully integrated within the rest of the play. Unless, perhaps, it is the actual explosion, the Kursk element of Kursk, that cannot find its perfect encasing in the rest of the night.

Kursk gives us a very interesting glimpse at what hyper-realism could do to and with theatre, as well as a very well-crafted, well-researched work - the producer, writer and co-directors visited two hunter-killer nuclear submarines to make sure to get the atmosphere right, and the sounds, the protocol, the fluid exchange of precise professional terms all testify to it. Critics have responded very well to this lavish reconstruction - which is curious given how puritanically harsh many of them were with Romeo Castellucci’s expensive sets for his Divine Comedy trilogy at the Barbican during the SPILL Festival; but regardless of the peculiarities of the response, this set is definitely a great achievement and a very, very enjoyable experience for the audience. However, it could be that in the effort to represent a believable picture of the daily feeling of a submarine, the plot went a bit lost, and the dramatic direction remains out of focus.

Till 27 June 2009