Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Business As Usual
We all live in a day and age when terrorist attacks could occur anywhere at any time. But there are definitely a few cities where they are more likely to occur. Despite my vague knowledge of past attacks in Moscow, I really had no worries at all when I arrived, or for my past month here. But being in a city when it’s been attacked is very different from learning about it elsewhere. In fact, the strangest part of this event has been the difference between the reactions of those here in Moscow and those back home. Business as usual versus fear and anxiety.
I have not noticed a huge difference in the atmosphere here since the attack. Individual encounters are marked with a slight change, each one illuminating a bit more of Russian life in Moscow. When Tolya spoke to us in class that day, he spoke with a grave and regretful tone on how unfortunate and yet somewhat common these events were today. Our professor Igor related similar sentiments: it’s terrible and awful, but we’re used to it. Nastia, who is younger than these two, sat in the office that day looking sad and despondent. Giving her a hug, she told me that it’s not just about how you could have known someone in the attack. This is the first time in six years Moscow has been hit badly (not counting the train to St. Petersburg), and Russians had let go of some of this anxiety. It was sad that the gypsy cab drivers here jacked up their prices in the wake of a crisis. More worrisome, apparently some men had attacked two Muslim girls wearing headscarves.
Of course this and other parallels made me think of 9/11. I remember how the country seemed to grind to a halt that day. I remember coming home from school and sitting glued to the television in horror. But here in Moscow, the only major (and it was actually minor) change in my day was walking instead of riding the metro. I went to class. I read at a café. I watched the beautiful and breathtaking ballet of The Seagull at the Stanislavsky Music Theatre. The only difference was how much emptier the house was because people couldn’t make it. Otherwise, business as usual.
But I suspect that’s only on the surface. I keep thinking about how awful it is that we live in a time where we have come to regard these sorts of events as inevitable. That we’ve accepted that humans can reach so low a point that they not only want to blow themselves up, but they also want to blow up total strangers for a pointless point.
But then again, maybe we haven’t really accepted these events as inevitable. As Igor said when we remarked that so little seemed changed with people on the streets: they may seem fine, but inside they are not.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Rude Awakening
If you know me, you know that I'm not a morning person. So not only would it be highly unlikely for me to be riding the metro before 9 a.m. (which was when the two explosions occurred, at 7:50 and around 8:20), but learning about them was how I woke up just a few moments ago. It's all a bit bizarre since I learned about it because my good friend's ex-girlfriend sent me a facebook message asking if I was okay since she remembered I was in Moscow. Another strange way to wake up. I'm a little stunned at the moment. The Moscow metro is not only amazingly efficient, it's also beautiful. The stations are gorgeous. But it's also insanely crowded during rush hour. I haven't been on during the morning rush, but there have been a couple evening times that made me decide never to ride during rush hour again if I can avoid it. And no worries parentals: I don't intend to ride the metro today.
Playing Play Catch-Up
I think from the moment I sat down in The Best Seat Ever I knew it was going to be a good night. No joke, there were a few tears of joy in my eyes. Smack dab in the center of row 7, with nothing but an aisle splitting the rows in half in front of me. NO TALL PEOPLE BLOCKING MY VIEW?!?! Amazing. Even though we all know I’ve perfected the art of putting up with sub-par seating by now, I still appreciate a good view. Okay, enough about my seat. Clearly this was a bigger deal to me than it would be to anyone else.
This may be the first production I’ve seen here where my mind drifted zero times. Not only did I have no problem following the story, for the majority of the production I also appreciated the moment-to-moment…almost as if I knew exactly what they were saying (and since it was Shakespeare, sometimes I think I came close to figuring it out). There was just so much going on in this production that I loved or found intriguing, so excuse me for a little spewing here.
Overall, I admired this production for how it revealed both the pointlessness and stupidity of the Trojan War. I really hated the character Paris; not because he was evil, but because he was like a spoiled little boy who couldn’t see how selfish, trivial, and horrible his actions were for others. In this production, Cressida became a spoil of war in the sense that war spoiled her. She began as a girl, practically a child. She wore a long and clumsy dress with socks and bounded around the stage exuberantly with a mess of frizzy hair. After a very funny scene between her and Troilus where they showed just how middle school they were in their courtship, they go into a makeshift den to get it on. When Cressida emerges, her hair has calmed down and her dress is still white and long, but sleeveless and flowing. After she’s been told they’re forcing her to the Greek side, she changes into a much more feminine lavender dress, with her hair tied back in a sleek bun. In the scene with the Greek warriors where she kisses all of them, she teetered around on pointe shoes. This interpretation showed a Cressida who did what the men asked of her and in the end, became a kind of martyr. There’s honestly a lot more to discuss…but it’s time for bed.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Power of Low to No: Dorm Life
“You guys…I just got the Arena internship!”
Joe, Rachel, and I spilled out into the hall for hugs and happiness. About three minutes later, Joe shared that he had a second interview for an internship, and we repeated the process. Jane came out and rejoiced with us too.
I must admit, I was a tad concerned about living with my classmates. We have always gotten along well, but when you live together, take classes together, socialize together…it can be a bit much. But I wasn’t really thinking about it too much, which is why I’ve been so happy about how we’re actually getting closer. More importantly, we live really well together. Everyone is respectful, understanding, and generally laid back. The five of us often find ourselves chatting in the hallway or kitchen for long periods of time. In fact, I have such a great time living with these people that it’s part of the reason I’m not getting enough work done! I’ll go into my room, hear a burst of laughter come from the kitchen, and not want to miss out on the action.
We’ve become kind of precious. Joe gave all of us chocolates for International Women’s Day, and we got him a bottle of vodka for his name day. We planned a fake season for the ART that’s hilarious and created a 30 Rock drinking game. We borrow and loan articles of clothing and ask about outfits. We buy communal butter, detergent, and cookies for others to try. They were so wonderful when I fell, and as a thank you I put some chocolate out in the kitchen for all of them.
Yes, the walls are thin. Yes, I can hear Rachel’s alarm go off. Yes, it sometimes smells like smoke. But I can live with all of that. It’s so nice that our floor feels homey and is such fun. Even better, I’m so glad to becoming closer with my classmates. The Fifth Floor Five pretty much rock.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The Power of Low to No: Introduction
Since I arrived in Moscow, I realized one of the reasons I’ve had such an easy, nay, delightful time here is because I had low to no expectations on pretty much every front. Then I thought about how this can be applied to other areas of my life, and it hit me: this could basically be my new life mantra. Growing up, I always got bummed out after my birthday parties because they never measured up to my high expectations…until my mom threw me a surprise party when I turned twelve. I loved it…partly because I had no expectations. The best dates were the ones when I had low to no expectations, the best friendships I had no expectations.
But as soon as you raise those expectations you also raise the potential for disappointment. Think back on all the moments in your life when you had high expectations. Always a let down, right? Reality rarely measures up. But now think about all the times you had low to no expectations. Probably some of the best moments and relationships came out of those.
I’m not saying you should lower your standards or not get excited. It’s difficult, but there is a difference. While we often set our expectation levels personally, others also influence them. The raving review of a play/restaurant/book that you don’t find so hot; the big sell of a blind date; the “cute and cozy” apartment that is actually the size of a cardboard box. It works both ways too, and often when people under-sell something, it works in your favor. Our imaginations are so much better or worse than reality.
I’m incredibly lucky—I was well prepared coming to Moscow. With low to no expectations, every day seems to bring a pleasant surprise. I hope you’ll give the power of low to no a shot and see what it brings you. More to come soon. In the meantime, I’m going to get ready for bed in the room that I don’t mind the size of, play some music despite the paper-thin walls because Rachel says she can’t hear it, and smell my smoke-free-scented pajamas.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Gossip MXAT-Style
So you can imagine my excitement when we saw him by the company cloakroom before the open dress rehearsal of MXAT’s new show, Gorky’s Vassa Zheleznova (zh is a soft J sound). Laura can attest that I fully turned into a thirteen-year-old girl, elbowing her and squealing every time he came into view. I swear he even looked RIGHT at me. But my face is deformed right now, so that’s probably why. Sigh.
I have mixed feelings about the production. But today’s class with Tolya shed a lot of light on how it was made. We all agree that the main actress, Marina Golub, was a force as the title character…and it turns out she was a replacement! The second act felt hysterically melodramatic, but it was interesting to learn that a lot of the staging came out of etudes the director created with the ensemble. This means they weren’t scripted, but brought life to the inner world of the play. An example of this is the bathhouse scene. In the synopsis Tanya gave us, she said, “and then while Vassa’s off doing business the entire household basically has an orgy in the bathhouse.” But keep in mind there is no dialogue…in this production they bring to life the offstage action to uncover the raw, sexual elements that are much more relevant to modern Russia.
So we’re talking about Marina in class and then Tolya brings up what I had adoringly noticed: at the end of the show when she bowed, my boyfriend—um, I mean Anatoly Beliy—gave her a bouquet of white roses. Aw, isn’t he sweet? (It should be noted that it’s customary here to just walk right up to the stage during the curtain call and give flowers to whichever actors you like.)
What I hadn’t noticed from my seat towards the back of the house was that Marina had started crying when he did that…BECAUSE THEY USED TO BE MARRIED!!! Whoaaaaa there. Marina’s a cougar?? Apparently they divorced a few years ago. But Marina is um…old. And Anatoly is…not. There must be at least a ten to fifteen year age gap between them. According to Tolya, she helped bring him into the company and was kind of a mentor to him (I want him to “mentor” me). Then he got famous, became one of the star actors in the company (rightfully so! He’s freaking amazing) and also does commercial work.
But as Tolya said, “But he gave her white roses, as a kind of a gesture…so it means he is good guy.” I couldn’t have said it better myself. Plus now there’s still hope for me and Mr. Beliy.
Inside Sara’s Mind at the Theater (in Russia)
What do I need to read for class?
Uhhh that Life of Avvakum story is so boring
I should build in time to read for fun
I should make a list of everything I should read this summer
Maybe I should read all of Shakespeare this summer
I hope I hear from Cornerstone soon
Oh hey I know that word! What does ludi mean…
I should stop at the grocery store on my way home
Ooh! I’ll stop at Bakhetle
I hope they have that amazing Georgian cheesy bread
What else do I need?
Hydrogen peroxide so I can clean my face
Or alcohol
Or if that doesn’t work, vodka
I should stop at the apteka
I love that word
Apteka
Azbuka is also great
And poochimoo
People! Ludi means people
WHY MUST IT ALWAYS SNOW ONSTAGE IN MOSCOW???
Seriously. Four shows in a row.
Don’t we have enough outside?
I know what that means!
Wait…no, I do.
My nose and lip hurt
I wonder when they’ll stop hurting
I can’t wait to not be deformed
I can’t wait to not be scared of walking anymore
I can’t wait for it to get warm outside
That’s kind of a cool effect
Oh thank god this monologue is over
Ughhh just kidding
I want to make pelemeni when I get home
Yummm
I can’t wait until my parents come
I hope they’re okay with all the walking they’ll have to do
Who is this person? I don’t remember her in the synopsis
I should book my hostels for Italy
Gah, I can’t wait for Italy!
I should really do more reading in our guidebook for India
But when?
Crap, I have all that Gogol to read
I really want to go to Gorky’s house!
Oh no, daylight savings time is this weekend
Back to 8 hour time difference with the East coast
I miss people
Why is no one answering my emails?
And by no one I mean three people
Ya means I in Russian
But it sounds like agreement to me
I have so many blog entries I should write!
I wonder if anyone reads them besides my parents
And the people it gets emailed to daily
Zeyda, Kay, Deb, Corina
I should make a list of everyone I need to get gifts for
I should give them to my parents when they come in case they don’t all fit in my bag
Where should I eat lunch tomorrow?
What should I wear tomorrow?
Whoa!! What just happened?
And then I pay attention.
Monday, March 22, 2010
A Good Day
Sunday is our day off here, so I got to sleep in, which bring us to our first good thing: my room no longer gets freakishly hot!! I’ve had three blissful nights of sleep in a row. At 1pm I met my friend Erica’s friends for brunch. Erica spent last year here in Moscow on a Fulbright, and introduced me via email to her amazing friends. Even through email I felt wonderfully welcomed by them, and was excited to finally meet them. We met at an ex-pat place not too far from where I live called Correa’s. It was kind of surreal because it felt a lot like a NYC brunch joint, complete with English menus. I met Abbey, Laura, and Sophie (who didn’t know Erica because she only arrived six months ago) and I really liked all of them. I think/hope we’ll have brunch again next weekend at another place nearby they know about.
Laura (my classmate, not Erica’s friend) met me there and we set off to the Pushkin Fine Art Museum. There’s a huge Picasso exhibit there at the moment, which we’ll get to, but today we had hoped to visit their Impressionist wing. The Pushkin has four different buildings, and we thought we had figured out which one housed the Impressionists, but it had a long line that wasn’t moving. Given our limited Russian language skills, we weren’t really able to ask anyone what was going on or where to go. It was very clear what the line was for the Picasso exhibit (longest line I’ve ever seen, so not going there on a weekend!), but we couldn’t imagine that the main part of the museum just houses that exhibit. We were about to give up and wander to find something else to do (correction: we had just given up and were wandering) when we found another part of the Pushkin, their Private Collections museum. We happily went in from the wet drizzle, and got a 60 rouble ($2) ticket with our student IDs. There we saw a wide variety of art (as they put it, from icons to avant-garde), glass works, and an interesting photography exhibit on Moscow in 1957.
We walked back to Kamergersky (the street where MXAT is) to have dinner at a sushi place I’ve been meaning to check out, and it was pretty good. We then parted ways as I was going to see the show that the other three dramaturgs saw last night: Lermontov’s Masquerade at the Vakhtangov Theatre. I was very glad they were willing to go on Saturday night because I loved having another night at home to tend to my wounds, and today was the first day I was able to wear make-up. This is actually another happy thing: unless you’re like 2 feet from my face, I’m told you can’t really tell anymore!
So I met an angel who took me to the theater. Who is an angel, you might ask? The angels are the producing students at MXAT who take us poor non-Russian speaking dramaturgs to the theater, since we can’t find either the location or our seats on our own. Tonight it was just me with Marina, a first year student who spoke wonderful English. That’s because she’s also in her 5th year at Moscow State University, studying foreign languages. I had a great time talking with her, and really hope that we’ll hang out sometime or I’ll see her again. The show itself wasn’t fantastic. I don’t know the play very well, but Marina said she didn’t like it because it’s supposed to be a tragedy and they played it more as a farce. I didn’t like it because while they had some wonderful moments, these were basically the same moments over and over again. A swelling of music and the falling of snow. Over and over.
When I got back to the dorm, the babushka downstairs was the same one who had called the ambulance for me. I had a huge change of heart for her actions when I heard how concerned she was—she even called Adam to tell him what had happened. She gave me some chocolate when came in tonight. I feel loved.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Pillowman in Russia and The Barber of Seville in…Italy?
The following night was a bit of a let down though. The music and singing were good, but the design and staging were…not. Even though I stereotype operas as being grandiose and spectacular, I’m aware that they do not have to be. But I do think it’s important to have a reason for changing the setting/time period. It’s also helpful to include a sense of movement in the design elements if the staging is going to be static. Opera is difficult to stage (so I am told) because the performers need to be able to sing in a comfortable position. This impedes more dynamic staging or incorporating more movement. However, I think that interesting set, costume, and lighting designs can remedy this problem.
The production began outside…in the snow. Snowing in Italy? There are two things wrong with this. First, last I checked it rarely snows in Italy. Second, shouldn’t The Barber of Seville be set in Spain? I’m pretty sure that’s where Seville is. Since I’ve been there and all. And while I realize that the opera is in Italian, that’s not really the justification I was looking for.
How, you might ask, did I know it was supposed to be in Italy? Why, the stereotypes and clichés, of course. This included random performers eating bowls of spaghetti. The set and costumes themselves didn’t really clue me into the new place, but they did confuse me about the period. I was never really sure if it was supposed to be in the 1940s or 1960s, but the colors were drab enough that it didn’t really matter. The set itself was drab too: a large clunky piece of stucco wall that kept extending as the show progressed. However, it somehow never really managed to indicate whether we were in or outdoors. I say this because there were living room sofas in what looked to be a courtyard patio. And did I mention that the snow from the first scene kept slipping off the railings from the balconies?
There were also extraneous people who literally just sat around onstage and did nothing. I could go into more detail, but just writing about this production is making me cranky. So instead I think I’ll go ice my face. We all know that will cheer me up.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Ode to My Icepack
There’s nothing that you lack.
You force swelling down,
Turn upwards my frown.
Bad hair gets a hat,
Not so for lips this fat.
With icepack in tow,
I’m ready for any show.
Put some ice on my lips,
And I’ll start making quips.
But if you take my ice away,
You should find elsewhere to stay.
So here’s to you, ice:
Thanks for being so nice.
Until this swelling dies down,
You temporarily fix my frown.
Had a Nice Trip: Inspiration from the Pillowman Goes a Bit Too Far
I fell on my face. (For real, she did. By the way, Sara's icing her face with frozen vegetables, so her fellow dramaturgs are honorary guest stars for this entry.) I am a St. Patrick's Day casualty, EVEN THOUGH I WASN'T DRUNK. Tonight, we we went out for a beer after the blood-filled Pillowman at MXAT, and on the way home I tripped and fell slow-mo.
This is how it went:
Joe: "Oh good, she caught herself! Oh wait, there goes her face..."
Sara: "That's what it was for me too! I thought I caught myself...and then I didn't."
Laura: "I didn't see it, but Jenny said, 'Oh...Sara fell.' I was ready to laugh at you...and then I couldn't."
Rachel: "Um....I just felt bad?"
Thank goodness we can laugh about this. I have cuts and scrapes on the bridge of my nose and a fat lip that I am icing. I was pretty bloody when I got home, and the babushka downstairs called an ambulance. (I hope someone took care of that. She really doesn't need it. Our house mother says, "That woman is crazy.") Mariana, our house mother, took good care of me. She says she's a nurse. But she also says I won't look pretty for another 2 or 3 days. (Seriously, its fine. She'll look gorgeous for the opera tomorrow. Yes, Sara, you will.) I'm just glad I didn't lose a tooth.
(Ok, so this is a real-time blog entry. In a new and exciting development, the babushka downstairs called the ambulance and we can't cancel it. Sara is going to get a doctors visit.)
Unhappy from tromping up a hundred stairs (not an exaggeration-we counted), two surly and sturdy Russian ambulance female doctors invaded my room, while I was in the bathroom avoiding them. Thankfully, I had a team of translators. Jenny and Adam - in case you forgot, they are both American and fluent in Russian and live on our floor - as well as Mariana, were all there to help. In my very small room.
After trying to tell them many times that I was fine, they ended up wiping off the Neosporin that Mariana so dutifully applied in order to examine me. (We also had some onlookers. Random Russian students none of us knew. On our way up, they asked Sara, "Shto delayet?! (What did you do!?)" Clearly we couldn't answer them. We're in the process of making up an awesome story.)
They examined me quite brusquely, poking and prodding, asking each time if it hurt. I kept saying "nyet". They also asked to see my documents. Finally got to show that super-cool letter in Russian that says "Please don't arrest me. Please?" After saying that I would be beautiful soon but hurt tomorrow, they made me sign a document saying I didn't want medical treatment. I'm scared that I'm now in the Russian system. (I'M scared she just signed up for the KGB.) Ok, over and out. (Ice will be her Pillowman tonight.) (Actually Sara made up that last line.)
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Impromptu Ballet: The Bolshoi’s Don Quixote at the Kremlin
Normally it’s really difficult to get tickets to see the Bolshoi ballet and you need to book months in advance. However, over the weekend Jenny told me about two shows of Don Quixote playing at the Kremlin Palace (which is actually more like a Soviet marble convention center). Sadly, we were supposed to see shows on both nights. Jenny kept saying that one of them, the MXAT student show The Black Square, plays pretty frequently and we should go see the ballet instead. Luckily, at 2:50pm while Laura and I were grocery shopping at Perestroika (actually Perekrestok, but this is what the dramaturgs have renamed it) she got a call from Joe. Apparently the higher ups (aka Nastia and Tanya) wanted to try to get the actors into see the show tonight and wondered if were okay with having a night off. Laura and I jumped at the chance. We called Jenny, who just so happened to be finishing lunch and rushed over with us to get tickets at the Bolshoi. Right after we picked up our tickets the box office closed for lunch. Phew!
For around $17 we had amazing seats. The ballet was just what I needed tonight. Jenny had described it as “eye candy,” and it was kind of nice to sit back and not have to worry about following the story. It made me think about the value in spectacle. Being able to turn off your brain a little while simultaneously being blown away by amazing talent is pretty special. It got me excited to see even more ballet, and towards the end I was starting to try to pick out what I could remember of technique.
During the intermissions, Laura and I talked about how unbelievably lucky we are to be in our program. The opportunity to live in Moscow for three months, a city full of art and culture, is pretty incredible in and of itself. But we also have endless opportunities to see theatre, opera, and dance for free (if we had planned tonight a bit more in advance I’m sure we could have had free tickets). I can’t even fathom how much all the shows we’re seeing would cost if we actually paid for them.
Earlier today we had our first class at the Stanislavsky Music Theatre, an opera and ballet company with around 1,200 employees in an enormous complex. As part of the class we got a backstage tour and went on the stage, seeing the beautiful house and learning more about the company. How fantastic is this? Not just anyone gets these opportunities. Between the spectacle and reflection, I left the Kremlin Palace rejuvenated.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Life and Theatre are both best when viewed from 13th row center: Kije at MXAT
I have been a little grumpy lately. Why? Two main reasons: first, I have yet to get an uninterrupted solid 8 hours of sleep (and rarely more than 7) because my room gets insanely hot in the night. So unlike College Sara who could pull all-nighters like it was nobody’s business and still bring her almost-A-game, I’m feeling tired and not at my prime. Second, because I did something to painfully mess up my Achilles heels and only the unfashionable-in-Moscow-sneakers feel comfortable. Sneakers are also not appropriate theatre-footwear.
So I was not happy about both of these things tonight when we went to see Kije (soft J sound) at MXAT’s small stage, and upon finding out that we were sitting in the front row, my inner diva threw an inner temper tantrum. I hate sitting in the front row. There’s always the chance that the actors will awkwardly interact with you (and in Russian that could be a problem since I would have no clue what they want), but more importantly, these are NOT the best seats in the house. I really enjoy being able to take in the whole stage picture—it’s like it’s own work of art, especially when you don’t know what the words the actors are saying mean. You need to be able to take it all in visually. My mom likes to say how life is best viewed from thirteenth row center, and it’s true in theatre too.
Watching Serebrennikov’s production of Kije from the first row eventually became an exercise for me in not being a baby. The same director who did Threepenny Opera, its ambient and classically mixed soundscapes, white costumes and set covered in talcum powder were all stunning. About 2/3rds of the way through (and unfortunately, 2/3rds too late), I finally realized: this show is amazing and I am wasting my time complaining to myself about how I’m tired and sitting in the front row. I kept blaming the brief synopsis we had read for my lack of narrative comprehension, but really I only had myself to blame. I’m not going to understand the Russian language in these plays, but if I don’t stress out about that it often won’t matter. Tonight I learned something important. Even if you’re physically sitting front row center, you can always mentally move back a few rows.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Let’s Go Clubbing at 6 p.m.
Marianna’s friend Polina, who is more like a surrogate daughter and just graduated from MXAT, was singing in a benefit concert for some random childhood illness I didn’t quite catch. After a long night of celebrating in the dorm following the opening of our class production Alice vs. Wonderland, a long day of touring the city, we all got home at 4 p.m. totally exhausted. Marianna informed us that the concert was at 6 p.m. and we’d leave at 5 p.m. Luckily, she had made us borscht, which was amazing and totally revived our spirits. So we set off into the unknown…following Marianna blindly. We didn’t know where we were going or what metro lines to take…but that is the Russian way. Follow the leader. Walk with “jet legs,” as my friend Anya put it.
We got off at the Botanical Gardens stop, which was pretty far out of the city center (called the Garden Ring). From there Marianna called Polina and we found a cab to take all five of us. This of course meant Rachel had to sit on Jane’s lap in one of the smallest cars I’ve ever sat in. When we finally reached our destination it turned out to be a multi-storied combination restaurant/theater/club designed and decorated by the Armenian Dali. Clearly we were about to have a cultural experience.
Polina welcomed us, we paid our cover and she told us to go in and get a drink before the show began. We entered the next room and found ourselves in a full blown club: music thumping, spinning colored and strobe lights, bar, dance floor…and about ten other people total. It was so bizarre—the atmosphere of a dance club felt rather ghostly and inappropriate at that hour. And the décor was quite a sight, resembling a cross between a burlesque club and a surrealist trip.
By the time the show actually began there were more like 30 people there, and in the end there were maybe 50. While Polina’s singing was pretty good, unfortunately her sets were short and spaced out between some pretty terrible rap. Jane would translate what she could understand, but both the music and the lyrics were about as cliché as they could get. Let’s just say I now know the word for “my heart” in Russian. Hand gestures helped indicate the state of that heart. Although I must say, setting a rap to elevator jazz music was a strong choice.
Watching the crowd (a mixture of teeny boppers and glamazons with normal looking boyfriends, also bizarre), I didn’t really feel like it was only 7 p.m. Granted, I was still getting over jet lag at that point, but I began to think about how much we tend to associate activities’ appropriateness with time of day. You can drink but only after 5 p.m.; you can’t walk the same streets after dark alone that you would in daylight; you can eat a hamburger with fries at lunch but it would be weird for breakfast.
I might be totally off base here, but I began to wonder if this time/activity correlation works differently in Russia. After all, with so many alcoholics in this country it’s not uncommon to walk by a restaurant and see someone drinking a beer at 10:30 a.m. In fact, I found myself questioning whether I would find the same experience as weird if I were in the States at a friend’s concert. So maybe what I perceived as a semi-bizarre adventure was somewhat normal. Here’s hoping I have some more chances to find out.
Villie!!! (Happy Days at the Pushkin Theatre)
So despite the language barrier, I thought perhaps there could still be some laughter. After all, Beckett is about the rhythm and music in his language, which can often transcend language barriers (or so I had heard from a former college professor who said that the funniest play he ever saw was Waiting for Godot in German, which he doesn’t speak). Unfortunately this was not quite the case at the Pushkin’s production.
Waiting in the lobby, it was clear we were the youngest people there by about 30 years at the least. Once they opened the doors to the small theatre, we had to push by a crowd of old lady pensioners waiting for an unclaimed seat. Laura and I happened to be seated by a few who whispered through the opening, and upon finally realizing that a woman buried in a mound of dirt was probably not for them, left. The majority of these pensioners rudely walked out. My favorite time was when Winnie screamed suddenly, scaring a few who promptly scurried out.
Not that I would have left myself, but I was also a bit put off by the production. The frequent musical underscoring irked me. First, I think the anal Beckett estate would probably sue since I’m about 99% sure it’s not in the script. But the reason it’s not there is because the music ruins the rhythm that Beckett so delicately constructs within his language. Which is probably why much of the humor was ruined. Of course I don’t know what was lost in translation, but I do think this was a large part of the reason that none of the Russians were laughing.
At least some pensioners were exposed to some Absurdism, right?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
First Week (and then some)
My first week in Moscow feels both incredibly long and short simultaneously. Probably because I was in a combination of class and rehearsals for around 10-12 hours a day, leaving little time to explore beyond the grocery stores. I felt like I spent my first week in Russia going up and down Tverskaya Street, Moscow’s main street two times a day: dorm to school, school to dorm, approx. a 30 minute walk. Maybe a detour to the bank or store for food, just to mix it up a little. Tverskaya Street is not what I pictured Moscow to be like at all. There are flashing signs and billboards everywhere you turn, and it wasn’t until I started exploring side streets and venturing beyond Tverskaya that I was finally able to admire the architecture and get more of a feel for the city.
Despite my exhausting first week, it was interesting. Getting oriented at MXAT meant getting to go on the stage where Stanislavsky performed (pictures will go up soon, but I have limited band width internet in the dorm!). The Red Square is about a five-minute walk from school, and so I finally gazed in awe at St. Basil’s in person. It wasn’t until after Alice vs. Wonderland opened last Sunday night that things finally began to calm down. But I still don’t really feel settled. We had a bus tour of the city (pictures to come soon, I promise!) and so far I really like my classes. I feel so well taken care of here. I realized I also forgot to mention Tanya in my first post, who is amazing and maybe inspired that line about dead-pan faces in my Ode. She should have her own comedy show. But will have to share more on this later as it is almost 1am and I need to leave for school around 10am!
I’m going to try really hard to comment a bit on each show I see here. But I have a lot of other things I’m dying to write about…yet have so little time! However, I just discovered this wonderful feature on blogspot, and can have my blog emailed to up to 10 people whenever I post. I already put my parents on there (since I know they are probably the only ones who read this thing religiously), but if you’re interested there are 8 spots left!
Paka!
Over The Top Alienation: Threepenny Opera at MXAT
The director, Kiril Cereibrenikov (don’t know if I transliterated that from the Cyrillic correctly…this is probably going to be a common problem) is apparently known for his unique style and take, but I’m not sure that begins to describe what I just saw. The show was four hours long with two intermissions, but it really didn’t feel that bad to me. By the time the first intermission rolled around I was still on the fence: although I was enjoying the staging and his aesthetic, not knowing the play as well or the language kind of made Brecht’s whole alienation effect concept pointless. But I reminded myself that this was my first time seeing a show all in Russian that I was less familiar with, something that I will be doing a lot of in the next 3 months and need to get used to.
By the time the last act started I had come around. This is probably due in large part to how they ended the intermission and began the final act. In the play, Mr. Peachum is the boss of the city’s beggars, so practically every member of the 23-person cast appeared onstage or in the audience as beggars—and each with their own unique shtick. All of them were based on Russian beggars and I’ve seen many of them myself: the Orthodox Christian man, the old woman sitting with a hat in front of her, the musicians, etc. It was hilarious, and went on for a long time.
But this time the alienation was not lost on me. Even through my own laughter, I was unsettled that around 1,000 audience members were laughing at the mocking of a very real problem. When an actor playing a drunk threw something at one of the actors playing an old beggar woman, there was a moment of pause—everyone else felt the way I did.
It’s a common misconception of Brecht that he doesn’t want to be entertaining. Really, spectacle can be the best way to catch the masses’ attention and then do something to make them think about the message. Threepenny Opera’s director didn’t really know how to edit himself throughout the spectacle, but it somehow worked.
On the metro home after the show, two guitar players entered our car, singing. A man preceded them as they walked down the car…holding out his cap.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Richard III at the Satiricon
Seeing Shakespeare in Russian and not having to worry about the language was both liberating and kind of awesome. It totally took the pressure off of trying to decode the Elizabethan way of speaking and his wordplay. I think I may have gotten more out of Richard III in Russian than I have from any other Shakespearean production I’ve ever seen.
After spending all day every day working on theatre, on Tuesday night I was amped to finally go watch theatre. While my classmates had already seen three productions, Richard III was my first show in Moscow (other than Alice, of course). Because of the repertory system, productions will often run for years at a time, with as much as a month between performances. However, this all means that certain shows were seen by friends in the program three years ago, and Richard III came with universal high praise. I was a bit nervous about going to see a show with such high expectations, but I was not disappointed.
The most intriguing aspect of the production for me was how they interpreted the different killings. It was a visually stunning and creative piece, never literal. For instance, instead of drowning Clarence in a vat of wine, the two murderers take turns pouring wine into their respective glasses and then violently tossing it on him. This was set to an intense, swelling score, and interesting music choices enhanced many sections of the play. Later, the two princes have a pillow fight and when their killers come in, the pillow fight turns into them being killed via the pillows thrown repeatedly.
There was a recurring physical motif after each murder. The killer would somehow wrap up the body and then drag it offstage. At one point Richard himself took the sheet-like material covering the entirety of the large stage, and rolling it up dragged it himself offstage. It was as if this action symbolized how he was the one really killing all of those people, even though it wasn’t by his own hand.
The actor playing Richard, Konstantin Rhaikin, is truly amazing. It may be cliché to say he was completely transformed, but he was. He managed to bring humor and illustrate the comedic, if horrific, elements of his character’s actions.
I think we’re going to see at least two or three more shows directed by Richard III’s director, Yuri Butusov, and I’m really excited. Yesterday in the cafeteria at MXAT Joe and I ran into Tolya (Anatoly Smeliansky, dean of the MXAT school and associate artistic director of MXAT) and wound up sitting with him for lunch. He pointed at a man sitting by himself nearby. “That’s Yuri Butusov, the director of Richard III,” he said. A little in awe, we sat there as Tolya called out to him and chatted with him a bit. We figured out that he was telling him who we were and that we just saw his show. It was one of those times I really regretted not knowing the Russian language better so I could do more than smile and nod.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Ode to the Middle-Aged Russian Woman
Oh Babushka-to-be,
How I admire thee.
With your face so dead-pan,
No one makes me laugh like you can.
Sees the Americans in fright,
Makes kasha late at night.
Cries “who wants jet-lag kasha?”
And it’s every student in the casa.
She can prove that she’s hip,
Not just by the vodka she sips.
A hip hop clubbing gem,
But only at 6 p.m.
Knows the Russian winters are “brrr!”
And so she wears her fine fur.
Feels bad for animals killed and sold,
But worse for herself when she’s cold.
Hails gypsy cabs for commutin’
From Khrushchev to Putin.
But if it were up to me,
I’d become a Babushka-to-be.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Made it to the Motherland!
I feel very well taken care of here so far. Mariana is sort of like the house mother on our floor (dramaturgs and voice student Jane, plus a couple of other American students who have been here for a long time), and I already like her a lot. We bonded over how much we love Heidi, and she was nice enough to take the 5 of us out to get cell phones on our first night at like 10:30pm (the place is 24 hours), and to the grocery store. We also have a couple of Russians around our age, Nastia and Polina, who look after us and are really nice. It's wonderful to have Jane around, since she did an undergrad program here 9 years ago and also spent a year in St. Petersburg...her Russian is pretty good and I've been sticking close by!
Weather isn't too cold, but the slush is plentiful and disgusting. I'm incredibly jet lagged and gonna go pass out now...better/more coherent/more interesting post in the future, I promise!