Zone of Silence

In "Zone of Silence," a blonde pops out of a suitcase dressed in a folk costume, dances to a tune played by a smiling trio on accordion, washboard, and castanet, then disrobes down to a stripper's outfit. A sentence in English flashes on the screen behind the actors telling us that 13 modeling agencies in Belarus sold women into slavery. It is one of the many brief and forceful theatrical moments employed by Belarus Free Theatre to offer a picture of its country, Belarus, which in the two decades since its independence from the former Soviet Union has become what is widely considered the most backward and repressive nation in Europe. The inventive, nonverbal theatrical interpretations of a series of mostly grim statistics are the highlight of "Zone of Silence." Unfortunately, they arrive only in the last half hour. English-speaking theatergoers might find the preceding two hours something of a slog.

"Zone of Silence," conceived by Natalia Koliada, Nikolai Khalezin, and Vladimir Shcherban, is one of three plays that Belarus Free Theater is presenting in repertory at La MaMa ETC, returning to New York several months after a successful and much-publicized appearance in the Under the Radar Festival. The work the company does is rightly praised as heroic, because it insists on creating art in the face of authoritarian opposition. Members of the troupe have been arrested; they even had to sneak out of Belarus to perform in the U.S. They continue to perform here because it is not clear that they can return safely to their country. Knowledge of what they have been through informs our reception to their work, which is one reason why the last of the three "chapters" of "Zone of Silence," titled "Numbers," holds our attention.

For better or worse, it also helps explain why the first two chapters—less cohesive, less overtly political—aren't as effective. In "Childhood Legends," the five cast members tell stories from their own childhoods: A woman narrates the story of her first love, at age 13, and how, unrequited, it led her to attempted suicide. A man talks of his last encounter with his mother, who was in the hospital with brain cancer. The second and least successful chapter, "Diverse," presents three real-life characters at the margins of Belorussian society: the son of a union between a Belorussian and an African, a woman obsessed with Lenin, and a homeless man who likes to dance. At the end of each of the three impersonations, the screen shows a brief video of the actual person.

The first two chapters are essentially a series of monologues spoken in Russian and Belarusian. English translations are provided on a screen behind the actors but at a pace that might challenge even the most accomplished graduate of a speed-reading institute. Still, these stories, like the statistics of the last chapter—and like much of the theater company's work—are enlivened by folk singing, dancing, much partial disrobing, and other playful theatrical activity that serve as illustrations in motion.

Presented by La MaMa ETC and the Public Theater at La MaMa ETC, 66 E. Fourth St., NYC. April 18–May 14. Wed. and Sat., 7:30 p.m. (212) 352-3101, (866) 811-4111, (212) 475-7710, www.theatermania.com, or www.lamama.org.