Geoffrey Rush as Poprishchin. Photo: Heidrun Lohr

The chief pleasures of The Diary of a Madman, now playing at BAM’s Harvey Theater as part of their spring season, lie in witnessing the meticulous physicality of  Geoffrey Rush’s performance in the titular role of the madman, Poprishchin, a low-level clerk in the civil service in St. Petersburg. Rush, outfitted with a satisfyingly disheveled patchy red wig (styling is by Kylie Clarke), utilizes elements of clowning in this flawed dramatization of Nikolai Gogol’s classic short story.

Straddling the line between sanity and madness, Poprishchin keeps a diary of his daily mishaps, particularly those concerning his sniveling departmental supervisor Mikhailov and the director of his department, whose daughter Sophia holds his attention. His ramblings begin innocently enough but descend rapidly into hysterics as Poprishchin partakes upon a dog espionage escapade and presumes himself king of Spain, ultimately landing himself in a mental institution.

Just two years ago, Rush, under the direction of Neil Armfield (who also directs this performance), was taking Broadway by storm as King Berenger in a revival of Ionesco’s Exit the King opposite Susan Sarandon. Taking home a Tony for his performance in that role, Rush proved that his clown-like ways could be undercut with a dark human edge, reaping maximum rewards. In Madman, a transfer from Australian theatre company Belvoir, however, the showiness of Rush’s antics occasionally outshine the overall effectiveness of his performance.

Some of the blame lies with playwright Holman, who’s adapted Gogol’s short story of the same name alongside Armfield and Rush himself. The play is mostly a showcase for Rush’s talents, with actress Yael Stone contributing to the proceedings in three supporting roles, most notably that of the Finnish housemaid whose perceived incompetence drives her ethnocentric employer off the wall. In adapting a short story for the stage a playwright must be careful to make sure that each moment is driven by a strong sense of dramatic action, of characters pursuing their desires. Here, unfortunately, this sense is lacking and even Rush’s riveting performance can’t quite bring an audience past this crucial barrier.

Rush, whose dextrous maneuvers span from aping a peacock to enacting mock-suicide, makes sure that his performance and, consequently, the play are never boring. Accompanied by musicians Paul Cutlan and Erkki Veltheim, whose performance of Alan John’s Mussorgsky-inspired score provides subtle foley-style reinforcement for his performance, Rush uses each gesture, each movement of a finger, to explore his character. The play itself, however, is a difficult one to comprehend for those more accustomed to linear narratives, accented left and right by absurdist flourishes that occasionally distract from what little plot is conveyed through our unlikely protagonist’s musings.

Much of the rest of the production is impressive. Catherine Martin’s set, evocative of a rainy garret, is maddeningly colored in deep reds, with Mark Shelton’s lighting providing shadows appropriately. As directed by Armfield, the evening passes quickly and flashily, but the shadows created by the production’s lighting design can’t quite imbue this production with the emotional shades required to make the proceedings spring fully to life.

Despite an unforgettably nimble performance from Rush, who previously took on the same role in Australia over twenty years ago, one can’t help but feel that Gogol’s story is an innately flawed choice for theatrical adaptation. As compelling as the source material may be on paper, the piece ultimately sacrifices story for style and suffers as a result. The clown may dominate the center ring, but, unsupported by a stronger sense of character and motivation, his diversions fizzle.