Theatrical Productions

11/26

I saw a play of some kind today. I don’t know what it was called. Or who wrote it. Or who the actors were. I was not a very informed viewer. I also arrived 40 minutes or so late. It was what is known in some circles as ‘OOC.’
Valentina Petrovna wanted to go to this play with me last weekend. The plan was for her to go from work, and Katya and I to go from home. But then Katya decided not to go or something and thought I was with her mother... I don’t know, but I didn’t know where it was and didn’t know what was going on, so I didn’t go. V.P. and her granddaughter saw it, and it was much enjoyed apparently, and I was informed that I must see it the next weekend. So then yesterday I was supposed to go, with V.P.’s sister. But then about half an hour before it was supposed to start the sister called and said she couldn’t go, but she gave me directions to go myself. I did not particularly feel like attending a theatrical performance but assumed, correctly, that not going was not an option, but I didn’t really try that hard to find it, so I didn’t, but rather rode a marshrutka into town and then another one back. I mean, I did make some effort to find it, but it was a stop at which I had never gotten off, and the stops aren’t really labeled, and I can’t say the very long name of the stop so I couldn’t ask where it was, and it was dark outside and the windows of the marshrutka were very dirty. But I could have made more of an effort than I did, probably- but I was having an annoyed-with-Irkutsk-for-demanding-so-much-effort evening. As I returned home, not feeling very good and embarrassed at my incompetence, I much dreaded the explanation to anyone who might be in the apartment of my failure, but luckily only Nastya was home, and she prefers not to acknowledge my existence, so no explanation was necessary. Eventually V.P. did call the house and ask, but by then I was not so bothered by the whole thing, and on the phone I could just pretend not to understand anything she said. I was told I would have to go next Tuesday. But then this afternoon she came in at 5:15 or so, granddaughter Sasha in tow, and told me to get my coat on, as I was being taken to this play. When we got out to the street what should I discover but that V.P. was driving her new, tiny, red car, which I had forgotten she had bought. All I can say about the subsequent drive in this car is that I wish she had forgotten about its purchase too. And that I’m glad that Sasha was in the car- Sasha is a very practical, competent 10-year-old, and is good at convincing her grandmother that headlights should be used in the dark and that cars should be put in park before one exits them and so on. Apparently these two had spent the past few hours driving around in the new car, Sasha pretty much teaching V.P. to drive. Why on earth did the girl’s mother allow this?
After much adventure on snowy roads, we got to the “Electrical College,” where the play was being performed, and I was dragged in, and various people who requested things such as tickets were shouted down, and it was discovered that the play started at 5 rather than at 6, as was thought. Then I was yelled at to take off my coat faster, and had it dragged away, and was myself thrust upon some poor actress who I think sings in V.P.’s choir. V.P. and the granddaughter rushed out to further automotive adventure, and I was led to the door of the theater, repeatedly hissed at for making floorboards squeak, and told to watch hiding behind this curtain thing until there was a scene change. I did so, and then had to be the only person sitting in the front row, where I felt sort of silly. In any case, I saw much of this play.
I’m not entirely sure of what happened, not having seen the first 40 minutes, but the basic idea is that this sailor is married to this domineering, sophisticated, prima-donna-esque ballerina. And then I guess he has an affair with this other woman, Masha? When I came in the were drowning in, maybe Lake Baikal, maybe some other body of water entirely, and Masha told the guy that she was pregnant, and made him promise to leave his wife and marry her if they were rescued, and made him say he loved her, and he very reluctantly obliged. Then they are saved by dolphins, so I guess it wasn’t Baikal, though when I entered this play I was under the impression that it was about Baikal... not important. In the next scene they have 7 daughters, and the sailor dude is signing about the joys of family life to his fellow sailors. And then the 1st wife shows up and sinks the ship, and everyone is drowning, and then the first wife makes the sailor dude say that Masha is totally uncultured and low-class, and he was only really happy with her, and promise to go back to her in case they are rescued, and he reluctantly agrees, and even more reluctantly says he loves her. Then they are saved by a helicopter that just happens to be flying over. In the next scene the guy is back with the ballerina but receiving messages from his other family on the bottoms of the fish that are delivered to the house... then the wives start to have a duel... it was all completely ridiculous, and eventually the sailor leaves everyone and goes to sea, with both wives embracing him at his departure. And then the wives are each going for a midnight swim in the freezing sea when they ironically meet and somehow bond and cease to hate each other, and they swim about wearing fur coats over their bathing suits and singing “oy moroz moroz,” and wife 1 teaches all wife 2’s children ballet, and they are all one big happy family. Agh.
My favorite part of the play was how all the problems were solved by bathing in freezing water. This is a very Russian idea. I still can’t figure out how V.P. yells at me for not wearing tapochki in the heated apartment, but considers it very healthful to stand in the snow in the early morning and pour cold water all over herself. I also like it that Irkutsk has an Electrical College. It had lots of pictures of hydroelectric dams on the walls, and on the class schedules. I wish I had looked at the schedules, but I was engaged in a mad rush at the coat check ladies, along with the rest of the crowd.
I feel that my ride home was fairly emblematic of the Russian experience. I found the bus/marshrutka stop; that is, I found a shelter with a bench under it with large lighted letters over it that said the name of the stop (before you wonder why I had not seen this the day before, it was on the other side of the street from only side I could see out the marshrutka window). And there were a few other people standing there. So I stood there waiting for an appropriate (I really want to say подходящий) marshrutka or bus, and indeed such vehicles were travelling this route. But did they stop, despite being almost empty, and despite my attempts to flag them down? No, no they did not, they went barrelling right on by. After sort of a long time of getting really mad at public transportation drivers and of getting tired of standing around in the snow, I realized: I was going about this in entirely the wrong way. I was putting trust in my own reading of official designations, in the external system, in my individual ability to navigate the system. The fact that some government agency had put a bus stop here did not matter. The huge lighted sign and waiting area were irrelevent. What mattered was what everyone else was doing. I looked around. Half a block away, a large group of people were standing by the curb. I went and joined them. A bus stopped, I got on it, and I went home.
Nov. 26
Still out of tea, somehow. Got the instant coffee blues. «I said it's all done with mirrors, of which they had none, to blend the instant coffee blues into the morning sun.» Guy Clark. My vow to stop listening to English music is not going well. I did, however, very studiously read in Russian, about the Decembrists (not the pretentious American rock band but the pretentious Russian revolutionaries) and actually look up the words I didn't know and write them down, but I think this is just because I bought new notebooks. New notebooks demand concientiousness and the illusion that you will keep it up.