Lost Land
In Lost Land as in The Libertine, Malkovich stars as a moody, conflicted aristocrat. Count Kristof is a middle-aged Hungarian–a former hussar and politician–who’s retreated to his isolated castle in the mountains. Famed for having brought his nation’s antiquated railway system into the 20th century, he’s now obsessed with the family business: growing grapes and making Tokay–“the king of wines, the wine of kings,” in the words of Louis XIV. But when a mysterious cavalry officer named Miklos (Yasen Peyankov) invites the count to help form a new, liberal government, Kristof can’t resist. It’s 1918, in the waning months of a world war Hungary and its allies are losing. Hungary needs visionary leaders to defend its autonomy against both the Western democracies and communist Russia. Budapest beckons.
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Though Jeffreys doesn’t press it, there’s an odd contemporary resonance in Lost Land. Substitute oil for wine and religious sectarianism for ethnic factionalism, and the play can be read as a cautionary tale about America’s Middle East adventures: this is the story of two rivals in a distant, insular society trying to manipulate U.S. attempts to instill Western-style democracy. “There has never been a time when the lessons of history taught us less,” Miklos arrogantly declares. That attitude–espoused by all too many self-styled men of destiny–guarantees that history will repeat itself again and again.
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