Theater Online - New York Theater Reviews

Marc Bovino ©2025  Stephanie Wright Thompson, Joe Curnutte and Marc Bovino.

"Trivia time" on Soviet Free Radio Order may be "brought to you by borscht," but "Samuel & Alasdair: A Personal History of the Robot War" comes courtesy of The Brick Theater, Inc. and The Mad Ones. Directed and co-conceived by Lila Neugebauer and co-created by the Ensemble, the show single handedly proves that conceptual theater doesn't necessitate geek comedy, hipster irony or mind numbing boredom. But it should involve a parallel universe in which the cold war came to an end when genocidal robots annihilated America, a quartet of Russian radio performers with a thing for 50s kitsch, and a terrifically talented team both onstage and behind the scenes. And "now a word from our state sponsors."

Like Robert Altman's "A Prairie Home Companion" meets Orson Welles's "War of the Worlds" turned inside out, the play takes place in an old-time radio studio where a host (co-writer Joe Curnutte) and two players, Mischa Romanav (co-writer Marc Bovino) and Anastasia Volinski (Stephanie Wright Thompson) weave the bittersweet tale of Samuel and Alasdair, two brothers who fall in love with the same girl in the days before the robot invasion. Along with guitarist Alexei "Tumbleweed" Petrovya (Michael Dalto) they also sing hits such as "Back In The Saddle Again" and "You Send Me" with sterling voices and the straightest of faces, capturing those pre-cynical times with their own lack of winking. In fact, a hint of dreamy desperation is in the air as they broadcast, "live from the Victory Theater in downtown Irkutsk" - for the four are themselves awaiting the arrival of the killer robots, their haphazard, flea market-outfitted studio serving as a sort of underground bunker.

And with the barest of means an entire atmosphere is evoked. Evan Prizant's consignment shop costumes and Mike Inwood's low and often flickering lighting fully bring us into this alternate reality. While the actors' deadpan ESL delivery, rife with awkward pauses and off-kilter cadence, and Stowe Nelson's exquisite sound design, which manages to combine the upbeat antics with the oncoming dread, make the show a wondrous aural experience. "Samuel & Alasdair" is a quaint reminder that in a world of nuclear weapons nostalgia is often necessary just to survive.