Archive for the ‘Kultur’ Category

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I’ve got your Russian documentary theater right here

March 25, 2011

Moved apartments. Very tired. Very broke. Very glad to not face the kind of harassment I had to face at my old place, though. Living a 20-minute walk away from the Kremlin is so totally not worth constant crazy-making. Don’t let any well-meaning real estate agent tell you otherwise.

Was also recently on Voice of Russia with John Freedman. Reflecting on it later, I realized just how much my life has changed since I walked down the basement steps of Teatr.doc to see a closed performance of “An Hour and Eighteen Minutes” (John refers to this play as “One Hour Eighteen” – most other people just call it “that Magnitsky play”). One of the men in the play has, as per my disclaimer while on Voice of Russia, knocked me up and summarily put a ring on my finger. I’ve been collared into family life, ya’ll. People who don’t read news in the English language (i.e. the majority) known me as “that dude’s wife.” He introduces me as such at parties.

We were at Grzegorz Jarzyna’s “T.E.O.R.E.M.A.T.” last night (I still don’t have anything coherent to say about it besides, “I was terrified! I was amazed!”) when he introduced me to an ex-girlfriend, who’s an actress. She freaked out. This was the first time this has happened (it’s not as if I’ve never met an ex of his before). I wasn’t expecting it, because I’d heard a lot about her, and knew that she’s been married for a while herself, and has a young daughter. So I don’t know what that was about, exactly. It did make me feel oddly powerful, though. Here I am, a little pregnant lady with a big round belly, and I still have the power to make someone uncomfortable.

My husband did his bit as an awful judge in “An Hour and Eighteen Minutes” on our wedding day. We got ready, went to the civil registry office, did the whole officially registering our marriage thing (complete with much improv), had din-dins at an Uzbek art-cafe, then I had dessert with some friends while everyone else went across the street for the show. People said it was one of his best performances yet. I had some feelings about combining a play about a lawyer who was essentially tortured to death via neglect with our wedding day, but we really had no choice. My husband always does what he has to do. It’s one of those things that terrifies me and attracts me in equal measure.

After the performance, we quickly transformed the funereal atmosphere inside Teatr.doc as to something more befitting a wedding reception on a shoestring. People came with gifts and flowers. Playwright and journalist Sasha Denisova came bearing a little baby hoodie, decorated with images of Snoopy. Actor Alexey Yudnikov (who used to grin at me from an advertisement at my local pharmacy, before we moved) climbed a step-ladder and lectured us about the sanctity of marriage in the manner of an aging Soviet bureaucrat. All of this took place on the stage, because there wasn’t any room for it elsewhere.

A little over a month later, on the same stage, we quietly commemorated playwright Anna Yablonskaya, who was killed in the January 24 bombing at Domodedovo airport. Her husband and I shared details of how our respective children were conceived. There was caviar, something we couldn’t afford for the wedding.

Death to life to death. To life.

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One for Japan

March 17, 2011

One of my favourite bands of all time are the Beat Crusaders, and one of my favourite covers of all time is their cover of “Dancing Queen”:

Enjoy – and let’s all keep our fingers crossed.

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Natalia Antonova was immortalized by Zhenia Vasiliev… and the peasants rejoiced

September 16, 2010

(c) Zhenia Vasiliev / The Moscow News

A memorable night at the 2010 Lyubimovka festival is shown here in a cartoon. I almost wish my real boobs were as awesome as the boobs on my cartoon version. Almost – because I already have an injured back.

If you’re going to get all huffy with me and point out that ZOMG! HDU! THIS IS NOT SERIOUS THEATER JOURNALISM!… please do. I’ve been spoiling for a fight that has nothing to do with the best location for a medium-sized washing machine.

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Kids these days need to take their Alexander McQueen heels and get off my lawn: Camille Paglia on Lady Gaga

September 12, 2010

I’m honestly thankful for those moments wherein someone hails me and goes “Natalia! Camille Paglia’s written some bullshit again somewhere!” – because it keeps me blogging. Due to various professional and personal commitments, I don’t blog nearly as much as I used to. Sadpants, etc.

Then, Camille Paglia writes a piece on which some editor cleverly slaps the phrase “the death of sex” (forgetting the standard “ZOMG!!!1!!!ELEVENTY!!!” we of Generation Gaga have been fond of), and it’s game on again. Read the rest of this entry ?

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Lyubimvoka & Gogolfest: plays in Moscow & in Kiev

September 12, 2010

So I had a reading at the Lyubimovka festival in Moscow this past Friday. It was part of a special project called “PGT” – which refers to a denomination dreamed up in Soviet times for small towns that are bigger than villages, but aren’t quite towns in the strictest sense of the word.

Both of the other authors involved in the project are Ukrainian, and live in Ukraine. My situation is wildly different than theirs, nowadays, but we both have that common denominator. After the readings, when they had us up on the stage, I felt myself reacting very strongly, even painfully, to the criticism levelled at the other two authors.

Without patting myself on the back too much, I can say that my play was the most well-received of the three. I think this happened because it fit the format of the festival much better. The other two plays were more “global” – mine was extremely personal (I even went as far as name the heroine “Toosia,” which is a diminutive of “Natalia”). The other two readings were “imported” – the director was a guy from Kharkov, the actors were also from Ukraine; my play’s reading was directed by a Russian, and the actors were Russian.

At the discussion afterward, the moderator said that my play didn’t attempt to answer socio-political questions: In my case, the potential theme was the “is religion needed?” question, because one of the main characters is a widowed Orthodox priest, and the play’s big climax involves something that may or may not be an exorcism (I’m saying “may or may not”, because it was important to me that people make up their own minds – though as the author, I would lean toward the notion that yes, it was an exorcism, or something like it). The moderator said, “this play paints pictures,” referring to the fact that the text had a different context. This made me extremely happy, and it was one of the best things that anyone had ever said about my attempts at playwriting.

When I was a kid, I had this fantasy of painting pictures and handing them out to people on the sidewalk, and seeing what they think. This past Friday, I saw that fantasy fulfilled. Although the context of the project presumes a conflict between rural and urban life, when I wrote it, I had to wage bloody battle against the idea of “simple ol’ country folk vs. corrupt city life,” because I could feel myself slipping into that familiar trap, and it blew. To have someone publicly tell you, “hey Natalia, you avoided that bullshit” was good news.

And, once again, the format of the play appeared to fit the format of Lyubimovka.

All of this brings me to the fact that on Monday, two of my plays, including “Daughter”, which was just read at Lyubimovka, will be read in Kiev, as part of the LSD (Laboratoriya Sovremennoi Dramaturgii – the Laboratory of Modern Drama) project at Gogolfest. I will not be able to be there, and I have no idea how it will go. Will the plays be totally out of context in a Kievan setting? Will there be a disaster and a debacle, or – even worse – a total muted failure, of the sort that one doesn’t even want to gossip about? My cousin is reading the lead part in “Daughter” – so I know for certain that there aren’t likely to be any fuck-ups there. Also, the guy reading the part of the Orthodox priest is Dima Yaroshenko, one of my favourite young actors, so you know that shit just got real. Still, I’m nervous.

It would have been interesting to see the differences between how a play in Moscow is read, vs. how it is read in Kiev with just a few days in between. I think this is one of those instances where a director’s work – what directors do and how they do it – would be exposed and apparent.

On Thursday, at Lyubimovka, there was a scandal involving a young Ukrainian playwright who, five minutes into a completely disastrous reading of his play, walked out. Then he walked back in again, and called everyone “idiot”, and called the lead actress a “whore” (a great example of male Ukrainian playwrights keeping it classy). I think this kind of behaviour sucks and would never do it, even if it is a way for the author to rescue himself in what is an essentially unfair and painful situation. A simple walking out would have been way classier than the trash-tastic screaming and fighting that followed. I only caught the end of it, and I was honestly irritated by what I saw and heard (it was hysterical, though, because I found myself surrounded by Russians who were asking me to translate what the guy was screaming – as he was screaming in Ukrainian).

The debacle was a clear example of how a completely awful reading can kill a good play, though.

The actress who was called a “whore” was telling me outside just a few minutes later: “WE WERE UP UNTIL 5 A.M. TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HIS STUPID, CONVOLUTED TEXT.”

Even laying aside the fact that she was emotional after having been publicly insulted, I still think that what happened is representative of a certain problem. If the text is “stupid” and “convoluted” to begin with – how about you give it to someone else to read?

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The delightful priggitude of the American workplace

August 7, 2010

There’s nothing quite like the righteousness that many Americans express when it comes to office dress-codes – so readily illustrated by the comments to this older Salon advice column I noticed a while back but never commented on, until now.

As the column and the comments illustrated – a woman who works in your average office has two options: be sexy, or be taken seriously. This is actually an oversimplification, when you think about it: a worker can be sexy, as long as she follows certain norms. Cleavage, particularly if the breasts on display are substantial (smaller-chested women can get away with so much more – as one of my mother’s well-endowed friends once said to me, “but I envy Tatiana in the summer. She can wear a tiny tank-top without guys yelling ‘ho’ from cars.”), is a no-no, but heels, on the other hand, tend to go over OK. Dramatic lipstick is more tolerable than dramatic eye-makeup. And so on.

Though then again, there are exceptions, and it all depends on who is looking. In another, recent piece on Salon, Beth Aviv writes of the young woman who replaced her on her teaching job:

…All I have to say to my girlfriends is, “knee-high boots, four-inch heels,” and they scream: “We hate her.”

The truth is, I can’t really say anything bad about Alex, who’s smart, hard-working, and liked and respected by her students and the teachers in our department. Except maybe she’s too pretty or dresses too sexy to be a high school English teacher….

Aviv’s piece is beautifully written and heart-breaking, and what it’s REALLY about, I think, is the crappy job market that teachers all across the country have to deal with, but its hook is the idea that an older woman was pushed out from a job by a younger, prettier woman. Even when we realize that Alex was most likely hired instead of Beth because Alex’s salary would be lower, that aftertaste remains.

Americans tend to view physical beauty – particularly physical beauty in women – as something extraordinary and even suspect. It can’t simply exist, it must have a purpose – usually, a nefarious purpose. Or just a slutty one.

In this situation, beauty also has a tendency to blind. As one of the commenters to Aviv’s piece pointed out – it’s very likely that pretty Alex is a recent graduate with oodles of student debt (a situation I am more than familiar with). But her skinny jeans have the power to obscure her possible life challenges. Aviv is too good and too self-aware a writer to outright trash Alex, and she explores her own tense, disappointing working situation wonderfully, so I don’t have a beef with her (and let’s face it, most Salon commenters are way more sympathetic to men who get “distracted” by pretty women at the office, as opposed to women who get overlooked in favour of them). I do think it’s important to note that Alex is a real person.

When we use words such as “tasteful” and “appropriate” to discuss workplace attire, what we are really doing is pointing out certain class-markers. It’s “trashy” women from the lower classes, or else powerful heiresses and entertainment figures and the like, who are expected or, at the very least, allowed, to put the goods on display. Madonna has spoken about eating popcorn out of her cleavage during business meetings – and there’s a reason she can get away with it. Madonna will do anything to get attention, but that’s because attention is a career strategy. Read the rest of this entry ?

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“Secret lover” avatar

June 24, 2010

I have something to admit. I love the phrase “secret lover.” It’s so high school. It also comes in handy when expressing admiration, as in, “that Iker Casillas. What a career he’s had. He’s my secret lover.”

Keeping that in mind, I realized, recently, that one of my favourite paintings completely and utterly captures this phrase:

Picasso's The Dream... And if you take a close look, you'll see exactly what she's dreaming about. Hah.

Speaking of secrets – it’s pretty obvious that when I said that I am not watching the World Cup, I totally lied, right? Right?

Well, I mean, I did make the crucial choice between “sanity” and “football” last night, and ended up de-camping far outside Moscow, where I walked in a field and picked flowers and was told, obligingly, that I just need a braid and a long summer dress to pass for a Vasnetsov sketch.

Vasnetsov is a bit more wholesome than Picasso – but he’s got soul enough to be my other secret lover, for sure.

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So we should only feature rape as long as everyone is on the same page?

June 7, 2010

I realize that the title of this post is a rhetorical question. Do bear with me, though.

I thought the Gender Across Borders series on ‘The Theater’s Rape Culture‘ was very interesting, but this part on “Spring Awakening” in particular had me scratching my head. I agree with Kyle that rape is too often used in an extremely gratuitous fashion, but I had several points of disagreement.

First of all,

…I found an advert for a Kevin Spacey led play called A Moon for the Misbegotten. I don’t remember the exact text but it was actually along the lines of ‘featuring so and so in a disturbing rape scene’. It’s bad enough when rape is used almost without second thought when attributing characters but to use it as a means to excite the audience?

Well, it depends on how you read it, don’t you? Personally, I want to be warned well in advance if a certain play or movie or whatever is going to feature a disturbing rape scene. That way, I can decide if I’m up to seeing it in the first place. Yes, it can very well be argued that disclosing this has a double effect – some people will wind up going purely to gawk, sure. But why should they set the standard? Obviously, I’m not so naive as to suggest that lurid sexual violence doesn’t draw people in – it’s no different than pausing by the scene of a bloody accident (case in point: the dead body that my co-workers saw this morning at Park Kultury metro station) not to mention the “rape culture is yummy” stuff thrown in, but what exactly should the producers of a play do in that case? Add a little addendum? “This production features a disturbing rape scene – by the way, RAPE IS WRONG.” The people that can be reached by such a statement in the first place will just have their intelligence insulted.

…the entire play is about sex (it is called Spring Awakening after all) so nearly the entire cast, both male and female, have some sort of sexually related background attached to them. But, the females are the only ones that are made to be the victims of their own sex. Again, rape and sexual trauma are being used to provide supposed emotional depth to characters who otherwise would be seen as one-dimensional in comparison with the males who seem to have a much wider variety of issues to deal with.

That is a very interesting point. Do we normalize trauma by talking about it? I think that sometimes the answer is yes, we do. It all depends on how we talk about it, of course, but yes, this is possible.

For a show that prides itself on being contemporary, I just wish it was delivering a different message to audiences than ‘rape is a staple part of growing up for a young woman’.

This is also very difficult for me to address. Because, yes, once again, normalization of rape is not just an abstract concept. It happens daily. It’s even in the goddamn fashion ads. At the same time – yeah, sexual violence is visited upon women in greater numbers than it is on men. Violence, sexual and otherwise, was a part of my growing up. I hope it’s OK for me to talk about how much it sucked – without being prompted to, for example, set the right tone. I choose my own tone when I talk about what happened to me.

Finally, this issue is personal for me because I am not just someone who is familiar with the subject matter – I’m also a playwright, these days. And in my second play, the one that actually received some genuinely positive comments from people whose opinions I care about, there is the following scene:

A husband and wife who are arguing while stuck in their car in the middle of a traffic jam wind up yelling at each other over the miscarriage that the wife had earlier – and who’s to blame for it. In the course of their escalating argument, the husband tells her that he can “make her a baby.” She taunts him – claiming that he cannot. At this point, he drives off the road and lunges at her, trying to take off her clothes and kissing her. She spits in his face and struggles, and right after she stops struggling, their car is hit from behind by another car. The woman jumps out of the car first, and ends up defending her husband from the driver of the other car, who accuses them of parking illegally.

The play, which is in Russian, is about upper-middle-class Kievans, and its climax in particular was discussed after it was read at the latest meeting of the Laboratory of New Drama in Kiev (I took a train down to see it read over the weekend). People said a lot of different things about it. Some viewed what happened as an attempted rape, others took a very different position.

I don’t normally tell people how to interpret my writing, but in this case, I very much believe that what happens in the play is an attempted rape. I don’t think it’s particularly ambiguous. The wife’s defense of her husband, however, is also unambiguous.

I guess anyone can look at this play and decide that it condones rape. After all, if the wife defends the husband right after the incident occurs, then she was cool with it all along, right? Well, actually, I think human beings are more complicated than that. I don’t think there is anything complicated, on the other hand, about rape itself. Can the two viewpoints co-exist within one creation? I think so.

The husband’s character in the play is sympathetic. I sympathize with him myself, on one level. Because I actually know a lot of men like him – men who have been taught, either by family or society or both, that there is something nobly masculine about trying to tear off their wife’s clothes when she’s saying “get your hands away from me” and think that this is exactly what she wants, despite her protestations. Especially if they have just been taunted – they see it as some sort of twisted version of “consent.” From a dramatic point of view, it’s a kind of dead end, I think. It’s not a dead end from the point of view of ethics, though – rape is rape. Even the people who love us can cross that line – and that’s the other thing about this play – I fully believe that the husband loves his wife, and that she loves him right back, but that they wind up with having no actual means of expressing this love, and that’s a tragedy to me.

Did it disturb me when a member of the audience, a playwright and actor himself, described the husband’s actions as “the actions of a real man – the first time he was able to act like a real man, actually”? Yes, it did. It disturbed me especially when I considered how I had attempted to get inside the character of the wife – was she really attempting to provoke her husband? I wanted to leave that question open-ended, without attempting to minimize the husband’s actions. Because I don’t believe that anyone is “asking for it” – not ever. “Asking for it” is a false concept to me. The responsibility is always with the person who decides to go ahead and do what the husband in this instance does.

Still, the wife’s harsh words to her husband were used to justify his behaviour. People took what happened in my play – and some of them wound up rationalizing it very neatly.

Have I contributed to rape culture? I think the answer to that question is probably “yes and no.” I think it depends on the individual audience member. I think it also depends on what we mean by the word “contributed” in this context. With my second play, I wanted to make people think. I wanted them to consider the full ugliness of the situation, and decide for themselves whether or not it’s completely hopeless. Maybe it’s because I believe that some people can change their minds – the husband character, maybe he can change his mind, maybe he can see that what he did was wrong. I certainly suggest the possibility at the very end – among other things, such as the possibility that the wife is actually leaving him for good.

But it’s just that, a suggestion. After all, I can only lead that horse to water – following that, everything is up to the horse.

Am I responsible for my work? I am, absolutely. That’s why I put it out there, to be open to criticism, as opposed to locking it all in a desk somewhere (I don’t even own a desk, ha). And I welcome comments – good, bad and ugly. I just don’t know if there is an explicitly “right” way to mention or portray sexual violence on stage. As always, though, I’m open to other people’s philosophy on the subject. After all, I’m the person who claimed that the way that Tom Wolfe portrayed undergraduate life in “I Am Charlotte Simmons” was wrong wrong wrong – if I can dish it out, I can take it.

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Some of my new theater writing & whining

June 5, 2010

Since I’ve been really struggling with Short Play #3 and Short Play #4, here is me instead on other people’s work:

Teatr.Doc does a play on Sergei Magnitsky – and very nearly pulls it off (and still will, I think, once this production gains some focus)

I write a kind of primer on Russia’s new drama movement – Mikhail Ugarov talks about going to the theater in Russia as a “mere cultural gesture.” I love it when that man gets snarky.

Personally, I am having an impossible time right now. I was genuinely excited about this thing I’ve been chipping away at for a month or so – a play, or else a script for a short film, no more than half an hour in length – and today I was unequivocally told that it does not achieve the goals that it sets out to achieve. If I currently owned a frying pan, I’d beat myself about with it, I really would.

I guess it’s back to square one.

“Write a monologue,” I’m told. “Write about something that concerns you personally, for a change.”

I’m worried that I’ll have to – because it doesn’t feel like I have a choice.

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Nobody is owed happiness

May 19, 2010

So I was on the Daily Mail’s website the other day (I know, I know), reading some bitchy comments to an equally bitchy article – and it struck me, how the promise of happiness is used a battering ram in our culture.

People look at happiness as a sustainable commodity, which in turn allows them to turn around and say things like, “Well! She’s a 43-year-old woman! Who’s divorced! And has a career! She’s bitter! And will wind up bitterer!”

Oh my dear sweet and loving God, most of us wind up bitter. Even most rich guys who ditched their wives for women half their age are bitter as hell. Trust me, it comes through in interviews.

I think that life, public life at the very least, would be so much easier if we could all come to grips with the fact that happiness is temporary and therefore can’t be prescribed like some pill. It wouldn’t be happiness otherwise.

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