Matinee idol Yevgeny Mironov stars in a production of the 18th-century comic classic The Marriage of Figaro

Kirill Serebrennikov and Yevgeny Mironov first worked together last season at the Moscow Art Theater on an ambitious production of the lacerating 19th-century Russian satire The Golovlyovs. Their labors didn't go unnoticed. At the Golden Mask Festival ceremony on Saturday, Serebrennikov will be among the nominees for best director of the 2005-06 season. Mironov will be competing for best actor.

What better idea, then, than to get together and do it all again? That surely was one of the motivating factors that convinced the duo to team up on another show this season. This time they took on Beaumarchais' enduring comedy, The Marriage of Figaro.

But Figaro, as Serebrennikov called the show, brings along a lot more baggage than that. It is the first piece to be produced by Mironov's new production company, the Yevgeny Mironov Theater Company. And, by coincidence or not, it was in the final stages of rehearsals when Mironov found himself embroiled in a highly controversial changing of the guard at the Theater of Nations. With no warning, no public discussion and no explanation, Mikhail Chigir, the man who had been at the helm of the Theater of Nations for some 20 years, was summarily fired and replaced by Mironov. Put in plain terms, it was a coup, although it still is not certain who stood behind the intrigue. What does seem evident is that Mironov had no idea he would find himself in the middle of a public firestorm. He took a pretty nasty drubbing as a result.

Along with Oleg Menshikov and Vladimir Mashkov, Mironov is one of the bona fide matinee idols of Russian cinema. His work in theater for such luminaries as Valery Fokin, Oleg Tabakov, Peter Stein, Declan Donnellan and Mashkov has made him a leading stage actor as well. There isn't a soul who would challenge his claims to having his own production company or his own troupe and venue. On the other hand, his visibility and his importance amplify every step he takes. Figaro, in other words, is not just the second outing from a talented actor and his director of choice. Whether Mironov intended it or not – and I would assume he did not – it has become the sign of a major shift in his career. It could be the sign of a major shift in Moscow theater at large.

It would make a nice fairy tale to say that Figaro was a resounding success that got Mironov off to a great new start. But it would not be true.

Figaro is no failure by any stretch of the imagination. It is filling houses with mostly enthusiastic, one might even say reverential, crowds. True, at the show I attended, approximately 10 percent of the house left at intermission. But even as bad a mathematician as I can tell you that that leaves 90 percent of the house in their seats. And the majority of them were more than satisfied with what they saw.

What they saw depends on one's point of view, of course. Several young women around me saw their idol come out on stage, and that was plenty for them. They applauded and squirmed in their seats almost every time he moved. What I saw was a slick, superficial comedy that aimed unwaveringly at the lowest common denominator. As actors might in a routine television sitcom, the cast made faces and waved their arms around a lot. A soft, titillating touch was built into the show by costume designer Dmitry Loginov: most of the women wore short, flouncy skirts that invariably revealed a, um, generous view of their panties every time they spun around to run offstage. Mironov's Figaro frequently ran up behind Iuliya Peresild's Suzanne and, to demonstrate his affection for her, grabbed her buttocks with his open palms.

If this all seems much too petty for a newspaper review, I must admit I agree. But what, then, am I to think of a show built around such elements?

Beaumarchais' Figaro was a sensation in its time for the way it held social injustice up to ridicule. The lowly Figaro goes to great lengths to outwit his master, Count Almaviva, as the latter does everything in his power to make Figaro's fiancee Suzanne his lover. In the 18th century, the image of the servant meting out justice to his unscrupulous master was explosive. That is no longer true, of course, but the play remains popular for its subtle insights into sexual politics and human behavior.

Serebrennikov seems hardly to have been interested in subtleties when staging this version. In a scene where Figaro wants to prove he speaks English, he blurts out the phrase, "Fuck you!" Funny enough the first time, but by the fifth time the novelty has long worn off. That seems to be a leitmotif for the entire production. Everything is run into the ground by flat-out repetition.

Few of the characters change or develop in any way in the course of the entire performance. Mironov's Figaro is understated and charming in a boyish way. Peresild's Suzanne is perky and willing to take a risk. Vitaly Khayev's Count Almaviva has made sleaziness a way of life by sugarcoating it with arrogance. As Marceline, the woman who wants to marry Figaro until she realizes she is his mother, the marvelous actress Lia Akhedzhakova is trapped in a revolving door of eccentric outbursts. Yelena Morozova brings an ironic approach to the count's wife, Rosine, that allows her to achieve a more varied portrait of her character than the rest.

Designer Nikolai Simonov did no one any favors with what, quite simply, is an ugly set. The cheap paneled walls of what appears to be a Soviet-era office or hotel room are replaced with dirty white walls in the second act. But this does little to change the oppressive, monotonous atmosphere hanging over the performance.

Serebrennikov's efforts to inject live music into the production provide dubious diversion. With Mironov at the piano and other actors taking up electric guitars, we hear a couple of weakly warbled tunes. They, like the unaesthetic set, leave us wondering: Do the makers of this show really not recognize the difference between portraying gracelessness and being graceless?

In Figaro, Serebrennikov has shown once again that he can be a wildly uneven director. At his best in productions like Plasticine or The Golovlyovs, his take on Beaumarchais leaves him looking solidly mediocre.

As for Mironov and the new start in his career, one can only congratulate him on the boisterous affection his fans shower on him. But will that be enough to build a new production company on and to provide new direction to the Theater of Nations? Fans can be as fickle as critics are cranky. If you serve them too much pabulum, they just may lose their taste for you.