How many dramaturgs does it take to find a dead dictator?

The answer: four. Joe, Laura, Rachel, and me.

Today our only class was cancelled because the teacher was in China. So we decided to take advantage of having a free day until the theatre that night and finally pay a little visit to Comrade Lenin. Lenin’s tomb is only open on certain days from 10am-1pm, which usually overlaps with our class time. For those of you who don’t know, Lenin’s body was embalmed when he died and anyone can go visit his tomb in Red Square. So off we went.

Upon arriving at Red Square, two things became apparent as we approached the tomb.
One, that there was a lot of poor Russian men digging up the stones of the square in front of the tomb and for the length of the square (we’re guessing it was repairs from winter damage? It looked like a kind of inefficient way to fix this, but what do I know, I’m in theatre). And two, people were able to enter the tomb, but just how they found that entrance was not entirely clear.

So after walking the length of Red Square, we got to what we thought would be an entrance to the tomb, only to see a scary police officer hold up his hand and understand that this was in fact not an entrance. Off we trudged past the same square-repair men. I believe it was at this point that Joe made the keen observation that they reminded one of making the pyramids for Pharaoh in Egypt. You get the idea.

Once we got to the other end, guess what? No could do. Metal barrier and more angry police making it clear that we needed to exit the square, go back around the museum at the end, and then we would be able to enter. Having done this (and thankfully beating a group of school kids), Joe checked his camera (NO photos allowed!) and we made our way past the outdoor gravestones of other famous Russians I’ve never heard of toward the tomb itself.

Stepping into the dark entryway, a rigid, expressionless guard sharply pointed to the direction we were supposed to go. Down the stairs, past another immobile guard, down more stairs into the dark (especially after the sunny day outside), and thankfully one guard that was slightly less at attention and therefore making me less terrified. It was one of those situations where you kind of want to laugh because it’s ridiculous, but also because it’s kind of frightening.

When we rounded the corner into the room with Lenin’s body elevated on a bed in the center, the guards were the only other people there. Lenin really does look like wax (I mean, he’s been embalmed repeatedly since 1924. Who wouldn’t?). I don’t know what it was...the stern and intimidating guards, the dark room, or the fact that I was looking at the body of a man who afflicted so many…but about three steps into the room and I wanted to GET OUT.

I made my way from the third in our line of four to the front and was the first one out of the building. It was probably one of the creepiest experiences of my life. We had a great rest of the day, but even now, thinking about my experience in Lenin’s tomb gives me (for lack of a better term) the heebie-jeebies.

You know what the funniest part is? Looking in my guidebook, it says that Lenin’s widow said after his death, “Do not let your sorrow for Ilyich find expression in outward veneration of his personality. Do not raise monuments to him, or palaces to his name, do not organize pompous ceremonies in his memory.”

Well, if an embalmed body in the middle of the capital’s most famous square, with it’s own mausoleum, doesn’t say low-key—then I don’t know what does.