Le Mote Juste give a virtuoso physical performance of Gogol’s short story, with a minimalist stage set and furious swapping of characters and postures drawing the audience through the narrative. There are some great comic moments: the hunting of the cats needed for a fur collar is extremely funny, and the demeanour of Akaky Akakievich is convincingly that of the pathetic and lowly clerk who pins all his hopes on a new overcoat to replace the tattered article he currently wears.
The scene changes are represented by the deft movement of a couple of frames, so you move fairly easily between the office, with the clerks and excellencies gossiping, and Akakievich’s lodgings. The look-down-your-nose snobbery of the massive Russian bureaucracy comes across well, as does the excruciating flattery of Akaky Akakievich when he achieves the loan to buy his much coveted overcoat. Other characters, such as the alcoholic tailor and his wife are more woodenly portrayed – the assumed cockney accents jar on the ear, and the portrayals are more caricatured than comic.
Overall though the narrative is a little bitty – and it is rather confusing if you know the original story, as it departs from it in some significant ways. For all the exactness and cleverness of the physical comedy, the performance is strangely soulless. It seems obvious that Akaky Akakievich will lose his cloak and his status will revert back to what it was before. While the transitions and different scenes – the mocking employees, the pompous boss, the landlady who hankers for Akaky Akakievich – are admirably portrayed in themselves, the physical dance and movement seem just to distinguish one scene from another, rather than add any great meaning or beauty to the production. This is obviously a talented company, and there is much display of their abilities, but there is something very significant missing from the heart of The Overcoat.