I’ve seen a lot of museums in Russia: the Pushkin, Tretyakov, and Bakhrushin, the Glinka, Gorky, and Gogol, and everything else with a famous Russian name attached. So after a really tough week, it was hard to get myself excited about spending my night off participating in something called “Night of Museums.” (Note: This tough week included 5 plays, exploring a historic cemetery and convent, brunch and mimosas at a professor’s flat, Georgian food with Anatoly at Patriarch’s Ponds, an afternoon in the shade in the Kremlin Gardens, and a boat cruise. I’ve decided not to leave Moscow.) Anyway, even if I was mentally relaxed and rested, my feet were another story. When my floormate Jenny proposed that we go check out the festivities of Museum Night, I grumbled. But, I’m in Moscow, right, and I only have ten days left. Traveler’s etiquette dictated that I had to at least make an appearance.
What I didn’t know is that Night of Museums didn’t just mean that all the museums (that I had already seen) would be free and open late (with absurdly long lines). The more interesting things were happening outside and around the museums themselves: tons of cultural institutions, from schools to galleries to the artists themselves, planned smaller events, spread throughout the evening. There were open-air concerts and open-mic poetry, film screenings in barber shops and performance groups in courtyards. It’s impossible to take in everything – Jenny said that last year she just wandered around and stumbled on different happenings all over the city.
This time, however, she had a specific idea. The second year class of Russian actors at the MXAT School was performing their final exam as part of the Night of Museums. Their master teacher, Kirill Serebrennikov, is relatively notorious in the Moscow theater community. A famous director who’s staged many shows at MXAT, he’s known for the edgy, the strange, and the fairly outrageous. We’ve seen six of his shows at MXAT, discussed him extensively, and been waiting for Anatoly to set up an interview with him. As a result, he’s become the enigma of our time here, the invisible yet omnipresent man. As Jenny said to convince us to see the exam, “I mean, it’s Serebrennikov. You know it will be something crazy.”
Serebrennikov stages most of his class’s exams outside the school, in an old converted factory in an industrial area of Moscow. The complex is ultra-trendy, filled with galleries, quirky and outrageously expensive shops, and hordes of young, rich Muscovites. It feels even more exclusive since it’s very difficult to find, requiring a meandering path through a train station, behind derelict tram tracks and back around through a long underpass. Last night, all the galleries were open and free, and artists were staging performances of varying strangeness around a large concrete courtyard while music and poetry blared from a stage. After the show, we would wander around the complex, discovering paintings on notebook paper, a Sin
ging in the Rain screening in a hair salon, large scale photographs of baby dolls, and a Russian folk/house/jazz fusion band, all the while surrounded by brick, concrete, and bright
graffiti.
We were a little worried about getting into the exam, since this was one of those ostensibly-free-and-open-but-actually-not things. But, as we wait, who should arrive but Anatoly, looking slightly out of place among the mass of 20-somethings. As the dean of the school, of course he has to be present at the exams – but this hadn’t occurred to us before. We talked a little, and then he said, “Ah! We will set the time for the interview. Kirill…” and he waved his hand a bit.
Serebrennikov is some sort of cross between ninja and rock star. And possibly Morpheus from the Matrix. Very tall, jagged goatee, shaved head, gold earring, dark sunglasses. And somehow, that’s exactly how I pictured him. We set a time for an interview, and then walked toward the door. When you’re with the director and the dean, getting in is no longer a problem. As we climbed down the stairs, Serebrennikov explained that the piece was composed of contemporary Russian poetry. “Sorry,” he said, “no subtitles. You won’t understand.” We said we were used to it. Anatoly offered his usual sage assessment. “It’s ok. When you don’t understand, that is artistic. When you do understand, it’s commercial.”
As I said, we were going DOWN the stairs into the factory basement. Soon, we stood among low brick arches and iron gates, in a dark, dungeon-like space. We entered the performance space and instead of sitting, wandered around in semi-darkness, the actors walking among us. Suddenly, one gently grabbed my hand and started talking to me. I panicked. “Ya ne gavaroo pa-ruski!” He stopped for a moment, unsure, then decided to continue anyway. I was afraid he was going to ask me to do something that I wouldn’t understand, but as it turns out, he was just reciting me a love poem.
It continued like that – the audience walked around, and actors approached and whispered in their ear. At certain points, lights came up in different parts of the basement, and the actors did some recitation together. At another moment, all the girls were herded into one room and the guys to another. We sat in a circle while the female actors performed more poetry, now like a confession to a group of girlfriends. Then, one girl opened the door and the men and women yelled at each from different sides of the place – apparently expressing how awful they thought the opposite gender was. The whole thing was fascinating, particularly in how interactive it was. I usually hate that kind of audience participation – but I had love poems murmured in my ear and almost believed the actor was in love with me personally. Their exam not only exercised their own ability to perform and engage, it dragged the audience into directly contact. They were acting for individuals, not a black void beyond a stage - far more interesting than a monologue performed in a classroom. And in the back was Serebrennikov, standing in the dark with his sunglasses still on.
What I didn’t know is that Night of Museums didn’t just mean that all the museums (that I had already seen) would be free and open late (with absurdly long lines). The more interesting things were happening outside and around the museums themselves: tons of cultural institutions, from schools to galleries to the artists themselves, planned smaller events, spread throughout the evening. There were open-air concerts and open-mic poetry, film screenings in barber shops and performance groups in courtyards. It’s impossible to take in everything – Jenny said that last year she just wandered around and stumbled on different happenings all over the city.
This time, however, she had a specific idea. The second year class of Russian actors at the MXAT School was performing their final exam as part of the Night of Museums. Their master teacher, Kirill Serebrennikov, is relatively notorious in the Moscow theater community. A famous director who’s staged many shows at MXAT, he’s known for the edgy, the strange, and the fairly outrageous. We’ve seen six of his shows at MXAT, discussed him extensively, and been waiting for Anatoly to set up an interview with him. As a result, he’s become the enigma of our time here, the invisible yet omnipresent man. As Jenny said to convince us to see the exam, “I mean, it’s Serebrennikov. You know it will be something crazy.”
Serebrennikov stages most of his class’s exams outside the school, in an old converted factory in an industrial area of Moscow. The complex is ultra-trendy, filled with galleries, quirky and outrageously expensive shops, and hordes of young, rich Muscovites. It feels even more exclusive since it’s very difficult to find, requiring a meandering path through a train station, behind derelict tram tracks and back around through a long underpass. Last night, all the galleries were open and free, and artists were staging performances of varying strangeness around a large concrete courtyard while music and poetry blared from a stage. After the show, we would wander around the complex, discovering paintings on notebook paper, a Sin
ging in the Rain screening in a hair salon, large scale photographs of baby dolls, and a Russian folk/house/jazz fusion band, all the while surrounded by brick, concrete, and bright
graffiti.We were a little worried about getting into the exam, since this was one of those ostensibly-free-and-open-but-actually-not things. But, as we wait, who should arrive but Anatoly, looking slightly out of place among the mass of 20-somethings. As the dean of the school, of course he has to be present at the exams – but this hadn’t occurred to us before. We talked a little, and then he said, “Ah! We will set the time for the interview. Kirill…” and he waved his hand a bit.
Serebrennikov is some sort of cross between ninja and rock star. And possibly Morpheus from the Matrix. Very tall, jagged goatee, shaved head, gold earring, dark sunglasses. And somehow, that’s exactly how I pictured him. We set a time for an interview, and then walked toward the door. When you’re with the director and the dean, getting in is no longer a problem. As we climbed down the stairs, Serebrennikov explained that the piece was composed of contemporary Russian poetry. “Sorry,” he said, “no subtitles. You won’t understand.” We said we were used to it. Anatoly offered his usual sage assessment. “It’s ok. When you don’t understand, that is artistic. When you do understand, it’s commercial.”
As I said, we were going DOWN the stairs into the factory basement. Soon, we stood among low brick arches and iron gates, in a dark, dungeon-like space. We entered the performance space and instead of sitting, wandered around in semi-darkness, the actors walking among us. Suddenly, one gently grabbed my hand and started talking to me. I panicked. “Ya ne gavaroo pa-ruski!” He stopped for a moment, unsure, then decided to continue anyway. I was afraid he was going to ask me to do something that I wouldn’t understand, but as it turns out, he was just reciting me a love poem.
It continued like that – the audience walked around, and actors approached and whispered in their ear. At certain points, lights came up in different parts of the basement, and the actors did some recitation together. At another moment, all the girls were herded into one room and the guys to another. We sat in a circle while the female actors performed more poetry, now like a confession to a group of girlfriends. Then, one girl opened the door and the men and women yelled at each from different sides of the place – apparently expressing how awful they thought the opposite gender was. The whole thing was fascinating, particularly in how interactive it was. I usually hate that kind of audience participation – but I had love poems murmured in my ear and almost believed the actor was in love with me personally. Their exam not only exercised their own ability to perform and engage, it dragged the audience into directly contact. They were acting for individuals, not a black void beyond a stage - far more interesting than a monologue performed in a classroom. And in the back was Serebrennikov, standing in the dark with his sunglasses still on.
