An Evening of Imperial Decay and Group orgy Ecstasy
The final years of the Romanov dynasty are full of details that sound like they were invented by a coked-out, over-enthusiastic Netflix writer. I promise, most of it actually happened.
Nicholas II, the last Tsar of Russia, found himself in the position of Tsar under-prepared and in need of good counsel. That vulnerability led him to receive poor counsel from close advisors, including his reactionary uncle, Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich. His German-born wife, Alexandra Feodorovna (formerly Alix of Hesse), was equally misguided, though her desperation was more understandable. Alexandra needed to produce an heir, and after four daughters, it was beginning to feel like an impossibility. All of Russia was watching, and all of Russia was talking. After four daughters, she finally gave birth to a son and heir, Alexei. But, she and Nicholas II were not out of the woods. The boy suffered from hemophilia, a genetic disorder that made any cut, bruise, or scrape potentially fatal. A knee scrape could be a death sentence.
The King and Queens suffered in virtual silence over their son. The citizens of Russia were suffering grueling working conditions, serf-like poverty, war, and of course, Bloody Sunday. Meanwhile, The Romanov court glittered like the inside of a Fabergé egg. We're talking diamond chokers, Parisian gowns of silk and cloth-of-gold, emerald brooches, and strands of pearls. Their parties were opulent affairs: oysters, French champagne, exotic fruits, and chandeliers that cast a golden haze over the ballroom. When they weren’t dancing or gossiping, members of the court were watching the ballet and opera. And when that got boring? Naturally, they turned to the occult.
Enter Grigory Rasputin, first discovered by the so-called Black Sisters a pair of mystically-inclined aristocrats, Milica and Anastasia of Montenegro, who introduced him to the Romanov inner circle. Who was he, exactly? In short: a stinky, unwashed Siberian peasant with intense eyes, alleged healing powers, a mystical streak, enormous sex appeal, and, if rumors are to be believed, a massive schlong.
Rasputin held healing sessions and supposedly seduced everyone from bored society wives to nuns. But what sealed his fate as royal confidant was when he appeared to stop the bleeding of young Alexei, possibly through calming the boy enough to slow his pulse. More likely by stopping the use of his Aspirin regimen. Aspirin was something of a miracle drug at the time, but actually thinned blood and was terrible for Alexei’s condition in particular. Whether he used prayer, hypnosis, or sheer audacity is up for debate. Alexandra became devoted to Rasputin. Too devoted, many whispered.
Courtesy: Maria Baranova
The influence Rasputin held over the royal family sparked all-out fights in court. Aristocrats, politicians, and even members of the Romanov family were horrified by the grubby mystic’s power. Assassination attempts followed. One sort of succeeded. In the most Russian turn of events imaginable, Rasputin was poisoned, shot, beaten, and finally drowned by a cabal led by Prince Felix Yusupov, who would later become something of a camp icon for gay aristocrats with a flair for drama.
I’ve been manifesting the day someone would bring this story to life in immersive theater form. And finally, Artemis is Burning heard my prayers. Because we’re all actually in the same cult. (Kidding.)
Their immersive performance of Death of Rasputin, staged in a rustic corner of Governor’s Island, plunges viewers into the twilight of Imperial Russia. We start in the bar room, the only space where audience members can take photos. What stood out immediately: the soft, warm glow of lights, thick rugs and tapestries hanging from the walls, and posters in Russian. The aesthetic leaned more to traditional Central Asia, but it worked, especially in contrast to the decadent royal world we hadn’t yet met.
The performance begins when two steely-eyed revolutionaries slide in, grumbling about hunger and injustice. “Peace, land, and bread!” They cry. And honestly? I was in. The audience becomes fellow citizens, preparing for the coming firestorm of revolution. The revolutionaries were convincing. But, in fairness, I hadn’t met the royals yet. Sure, the people were starving, but I was curious about the opulence.
We did some walking around, I don’t want to give too much away. I’m not sure legally how that works. So, I’ll skip to the moment we’re all waiting for.
There he was, Rasputin. Not dragging his third leg behind him (mercifully), but surrounded by followers as he conducted a feverish healing ritual. He was ecstatic, nearly pleading in his attempts to show us God’s love. The actor’s charisma was magnetic. I became a groupie on the spot. I wanted to follow him anywhere. And it led exactly where you think: to an orgy.
We circled Rasputin, clutching a rope that seemed to come from nowhere. His disciples instructed us how to breathe, sway, shout. It was hypnotic, sweaty, surreal, all a nod to Rasputin’s rumored involvement with the Khlysty, a heretical sect that believed in sexual and violent ecstatic rituals as a path to God. One must sin to be forgiven. This moment was brilliantly executed. If I’m going to immersive theater, I want to be immersed.
Courtesy: Maria Baranova
Rasputin radiated ecstasy in the midst of it all. His hut behind us looked like it was plucked in his home in Siberia. My fellow Khlysty member and I swayed and exchanged self-conscious, but joyful looks. Wowwwww. I loved every second.
So, is the show historically airtight? No. But also, maybe get a life if you need theater to mirror history exactly?
It’s long been speculated that Rasputin and Alexandra had a sexual relationship, though there's no proof. Still, it doesn’t stop this production from staging some steamy scenes in her candlelit quarters, and it’s fun to watch!
The knockout star of the whole shebang? Adam Griffith as Felix Yusupov. Is delicious an acceptable word to describe a performance you want to sink your teeth into? Because he was delicious. A leering, glamorous scoundrel in heels and a dress, he moved like a Hollywood villain with a martini glass in one hand and a dagger in the other. I’m always more impressed by an actor’s subtleties and his were RICH. Every sneer, every stolen glance, every sip of champagne was perfect. I’m watching his career very closely.
The team behind Artemis is Burning is doing something thrilling here. Each member brings sharp wit, bold vision, and deep weirdness to the table. And I feel lucky to have witnessed it.
