Reading Russians in the middle of the night
I find myself at least one night a week for the last 3 months reading Russians in the middle of the night. This is, of course, for a class. The class is fantastic. The reading is long and Russian. This means that in addition to being long, it is sad and people die in every play. I don't think we've read one yet that this is not true of.
All of that being said, I have come to admire Russian tenacity in a way that I never have before. These are people without money or food, doing theatre with guns firing outside on the street. In fact, some of the most notable theatre design work of the early 20th century (in my humble opinion) was done under these circumstances.
I am left to wonder whether I'd have it in me. Dying for your art rarely is a decision we have to make any more. It's easy to forget how lucky we are. We are also lucky to have shorter winters and fewer deaths at the end of our plays. I shall close this by saying that the Russians may never have stumbled on musical comedy but we will never produce a Chekhov.
All of that being said, I have come to admire Russian tenacity in a way that I never have before. These are people without money or food, doing theatre with guns firing outside on the street. In fact, some of the most notable theatre design work of the early 20th century (in my humble opinion) was done under these circumstances.
I am left to wonder whether I'd have it in me. Dying for your art rarely is a decision we have to make any more. It's easy to forget how lucky we are. We are also lucky to have shorter winters and fewer deaths at the end of our plays. I shall close this by saying that the Russians may never have stumbled on musical comedy but we will never produce a Chekhov.