A Demon of the Mind,
An Escape into the Dark.

By Montserrat Mendez

In The Wilderness Of Demons
By Don Nigro
Directed by Eduard Tolokonnikov
MOVA Theater Company
AT American Theatre Of Actors
No Intermission
TICKETS: HERE. 

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about death. There’s a constant ringing in my ears; a tinnitus that feels like a presence, insistent and unyielding, a reminder that the body can betray you at any moment. I’ve told my friends I’d rather face one decisive exit than endure a slow unraveling, and sometimes the noise in my head makes that possibility feel close.

​I couldn’t help but think of it while watching Don Nigro’s In The Wilderness Of Demons. The character of Nina hears voices, and I recognized, for a moment, that what we often dismiss as mere noise might also be a demon demanding acknowledgment, something that must be faced, rather than explained away.

The night in the play opens in a storm, and Nina walks through it to the door of Oksana, a woman the village has branded a witch. Oksana doesn’t wear that label like a costume; she carries it like a scar. What begins as a scholarly inquiry into local demons; the rusalkas, the drowned girls the water has remade, shifts into something much deeper: a duel between two souls, testing each other’s truths.

Much of the production’s power is channeled through the steady direction of Eduard Tolokonnikov, who understands that true horror and tension reside in suggestion and psychology. He creates a simple, spare space, but within it, light itself becomes a character; shifting, pooling, and guiding the eye in ways that heighten the play’s moments of revelation.

Tolokonnikov’s does his best work, in his work with the actors’ bodies. He stages the encounter between Oksana and Nina as a precise, almost ritualized dance. The two women circle, close in, retreat, and push away again in a rhythm that is at once truthful and electric, mirroring the tension in their words. Every movement underscores the psychological battle at the heart of the play, making it visceral without ever becoming theatrical for its own sake.

And he draws the audience into that tension. We are not merely watching; we are complicit, constantly asked to judge these women, to weigh what we think we know against what is revealed. And just when we feel certain, the play shifts, revealing layers of pain, memory, and shared trauma that make any verdict impossible. Within this carefully constructed physical and emotional choreography, the dancers who animate the circle of rag dolls are extraordinary: precise, eerie, and heartbreakingly human, giving life to myth without ever losing connection to the human core of the story.

At the center of it all, Iryna Malygina’s Oksana is a living paradox of strength and fragility. She carries a mind like a fortress, constantly under siege, yet her endurance is breathtaking, almost unbearable in its insistence. Every gesture, every tilt of the head, every shift of posture speaks of a life forged in fear, suspicion, and the merciless scrutiny of one’s own conscience.  A convincing, powerful performance. 

Once, when Oksana was young, she was confronted by a demon, or perhaps it was her imagination that conjured it from the events of that night, the shadows of memory and guilt taking flesh. In Oksana, it is impossible not to see something greater: a figure whose personal haunting mirrors a nation’s, Ukraine itself, overshadowed by a darkness that wants to take it over, relentless and impossible to ignore.

Tatyana Kot’s Nina is a striking counterpoint. It is a terrific performance.  She initially plays the part with a delicate, almost brittle frailty, the innocent scholar we instinctively fear for upon entering this dark creature's lair. Yet, Kot’s true power lies in her listening and her glacial transformation. With unnerving grace, she subtly shifts from a shivering, knowledge-seeking girl into something far more formidable; an invader, a judge, a manifestation of the past itself. This duality serves as another sharp metaphor for the current reality, where threats can arrive cloaked in innocence. The dynamic between them is a masterclass in escalating tension.

Their interactions feel less like dialogue and more like excavation. Together, Malygina and Kot dig into the terrain of guilt, memory, and shared trauma, revealing how two very different lives can mirror and illuminate one another. The exchanges are charged, precise, and often unsettling, holding the audience in a delicate, relentless tension.

At the center of the play is Don Nigro’s taut script, which asks monumental questions about God, demons, and imagination: “God has gone mad from creating too much and watching it suffer and die. People who obsessively create are suffering from the madness of God.” Oksana is not merely a sinner; she is a god of her own making, generating the demons of her guilt. Nina is not merely a researcher; she is a deity of judgment. Each occupies a self-contained universe, and their struggle transforms the story from local folklore into a universal allegory. It asks us to consider the power of imagination: if our minds can conjure the darkness that haunts us, why can they not summon an equal and opposing good? Culture itself is a compilation of our art, our music, our stories and yes, our superstitions and demons. It makes you wonder: what demons are we creating in the world today that will haunt us tomorrow?

The play’s final, chilling invitation is more than an ending; it is a question left in the audience’s mind. In the Wilderness of Demons is not about the supernatural; it is about how what haunts us; our choices, our regrets gradually become demons, shaping the reality we inhabit. It asks whether we have the courage, individually and collectively, to confront them, and perhaps even to leap toward redemption together.

The design of this production is uniformly impressive. Ms. Kot’s choreography adds a remarkable energy, turning movement into meaning and giving the play a rhythm that feels both natural and emotionally precise. The costumes are carefully considered, culturally accurate, and unobtrusive, allowing the characters to feel real while subtly conveying their histories. Lesya Verba’s set is simple but effective, eerie without being overworked, and fully enhanced by Gennadiy Feldman’s scene painting—the clocks in particular beautiful. The lighting, uncredited in the program, is exceptional. Fluid and immersive, it gives the impression of being underwater, an effect that perfectly echoes the play’s themes and its final, chilling moments. Each of these design elements works in harmony, creating a world that is fully realized, precise, and quietly extraordinary.

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​​​This is MOVA Theater Company’s first production, and yet it carries the promise of a vision I long to see in theater: the chance to be shown something genuinely new. I go to the theater to travel; to inhabit unfamiliar worlds, to meet people whose lives and stories I could never otherwise encounter, to feel the particular weight and resonance of experiences not my own. I hope MOVA continues to bring the stories of Ukraine, and of that part of the world, to New York stages. It is essential, now more than ever, for our theater community to reflect the breadth of talent, perspective, and cultural memory that exists across all our communities, and to allow those voices to shape, challenge, and enrich the collective imagination of our city.