Editorial by Hana Gubenko

Not rarely one hears Those above; the government, the media, the educated, the rich, the refugees, the powerful and powerless, the doctors, teachers, bankers, the unvaccinated, criminals, transgender and transphobes, gays, homophobes, godly, atheists… 

That list might be infinite. 

 It is a certain Them who threatens a certain Us, isn’t it? 

Just a short flashback to 2020, when Us, young, active, full of prospects, transgressed to  

Them, with preconditions. 

And at the next junction some ended up with them with self-announced critical positions about vaccination trying to decipher news (although the established or the mainstream media  are well-trained people , these Them have done their job and haven’t asked for volunteers), while some became another Us in bewilderment about sudden loss of friends not to death-but to insanity. 

 Scientists and physicians have spent a lifetime working in their fields , prepared the vaccination for all of us as fast as possible and even faster, but some of Us  or Them were not entirely convinced by Their amazing efforts. 

History has got no Them no Us, it gives us facts, and in this case it is the mortality of kids and adults before the vaccination and penicillin have been developed and the rapid lifetime extension after. For those who prefer watching instead of reading, Victorian Post-mortem Photography is very useful. Most frequently, one sees on those Them - parents in despair and pain holding children - dead of viruses and inflammations  and tuberculosis ,these diseases  have been cureless then and now just ghosts of the past. 

A vaccination or antibiotics  would save so many lives if They had a chance ... 

Just for a sec, let’s think about what They would give to have had that chance. 

And for another sec, what would They say to Us while watching our debates about whether to vaccinate our kids or not? 

We have this chance, but we dare to question the sweat and tears of all of them who hadn’t and Those who has devoted life to work on giving chance to us. 

Who knows, maybe it’s hype, fake news by mainstream media to enrich Them up above and share wins and benefits while bringing harm to Us? 

While facing countless disorders by our kids which blossom day to day, life-saving vaccination, and life-quality uplifting tools like smartphones and Tik Tok  are blamed to be the  bogey  – that’s undeserved! 

Instead to cherish the accessibility of information, open interaction on easy functioning devices, which make  the education easier than ever, we blame those tools not willing to confess ,that it’s Us - parents and grandparents malfunctioning, not Them – the tools and platforms.  

The Mainstream Media - another Them who gets the blame instead of gratitude. 

These dare to report bad news, spread negativity, and spoil our  fun of  gloomy state of mind. 

There was a time when one ‘s got the death penalty for reporting bad news. 

Instead of taking action on the situation, the messenger was made responsible, and had to stand straight and die to flatter wooden Goddesses and make them change their mood from wrath to mercy… 

Have we regressed that much? 

The executions of the messengers seems to be in renaissance this time with use of slivering bullets shout in Their back while wooden Idols are replaced by Golden calf. 

Them – the refugees .. Well, it takes  just a wildfire or an attack by a neighbour who’s lost the last part of sanity and dignity and suddenly the walk of fame is worthless; the corridor of hope escaping march of death is the only one that counts.  

And …. It’s Us instead of Them, who scream for a chance to stay alive. 

Maybe we should stop to  hyperventilate over anxieties, hyperactivities, and hypersensitivities and think again. Perhaps it’s the disfunction in our relationships which makes US deaf to Them and Vice averse. 

Perhaps we need to understand that life is far too short for being outrageous, leery, angry and overprotective and a  spoon full of love helps the Information, Vaccination, Education go down. 

And ... Snap! 

Every task We undertake becomes a souvenir for THEM (children & grandchildren in the darkest hour  to cheer them up a little  ) 

 In fact, there is no need to re-discover the wheel and get unnecessarily suspicious it’s far more fun to be  supercalifragialisticexpialidocious. 

Mary Poppins would probably have known what to do with Us and Them  and help our misery before the wind had change  direction, but instead of the fairy nanny flying the umbrella we seem to be stuck with the horror clown flying Boeing 757. 

Perhaps the spell to call the fairy Nanny this time is not an advertisement, but just; It’s Us not Them! 

 Hana Gubenko 

Editor 

Democracy in Russia? A sci-fi, probably

When the homeland becomes estranged, I turn my back to it and walk away without looking back. Some will understand and some will not. I might be called a traitor, but I’m willing to accept that title. It’s better to be traitor of the homeland’s unhuman policy, than of one’s own self-esteem. Parts of the homeland’s spirit captured in its culture will stay with me, though, because those parts contain my spirit and as long as I stay myself—those will be safe.

I grew up  in quite a special family where everybody was writing, reading, and projecting this to the outside world. My father as an artistic director of the national state Jewish theatre in Moscow was constantly involved in arguments and scandals. Therefore, a fight with the society was our “normal state of being.” My Mom was writing plays and verses in a quite insurgent style which had to bring the mysticism back on the theater stage. Well sadly it didn’t work at all, instead they were both frustrated and declined by post-Soviet society. And so unwillingly they made up a ¨regime¨ of spoken and the written word at home. The reading selection was quite limited for classics only and my things as well essays or just my thoughts were in between of ¨Scylla and Charybdis¨ before it was declared to be of worth. But none the less, I made my writing though, it had been letters to myself, I used to write inside my notebooks in school but upside down, to make it sure, no one would have the access to my inner world and judge it.

At the Millennials to my astonishment, quite suddenly, Russian people made a change from the usual newspaper reading to the black and white detective novels cycles by Boris Akunin.  The unbreakable wall between those who did read the ¨Moskovskij komsomolets” And the ¨Independent News” was replaced by the common interest and anticipation to follow up what’s going to happen with dapper, smart Erast Fandorin or clever Nun Pelagia. I do remember that people talked about the plot on the phone instead to talk about their sorrows. Those books were sort of a magic tool to escape the misery in our country between two centuries just after everything did fall apart. Akunin wrote intriguing, historically grounded with spark of humor, and gave another breath to antiquated ¨Esprit Russe.”  I couldn’t resist to try those soft black and white prints, which were clearly forbidden in our house - as forbidden as using make-up or wearing short skirts. I did all of this in the underground, and my reading time with Akunin’s stories was either on the tube or in the wardrobe in the darkness with a small torch. I loved this book so much; I even liked it more than Shakespeare. I must admit that one of those novels took up my entire imagination when it talked of sensuality and has awakened a strong interest about Japanese literature. The prose from the 1960s, gave me an alternate view on the post-war world which strongly differed from the historical and cultural narrative which was taught us in school. I think that certain history approach made the ground of the sad evolution in our country, with these horrible consequences we all bear now. 2014 after the embarrassing campaign against Imagined LGBT promotion on milk products, when the company ¨a happy milk man¨ was accused to spread the western spirit of decay, I felt the urge to get another passport. A part of family has called me traitor, but I can cope with that.  I couldn’t defend my national identity In front of any mirror no longer. In synch   Boris Akunin – Grigori Chkhartishvili has left the country, after having said some worthy words in hope to ring the bells but stayed unheard. I guess because the Russian nation is sunk in lethargy of snobbism pretty deep.  And so, I have the joy to welcome writer Grigori Chkhartishvili – Boris Akunin to talk to me exclusively  at The Watchman .

Boris, When did you write your first piece of literature, and what was it? 

When I was six. It was a historical novel. It started, prophetically, with the sentence “Boris woke up early in the morning”. 34 years would pass before I would take the name “Boris” for pseudonym. Sadly, the narration did not go any further. I decided to draw illustrations first, and then I was distracted by something.

How did it come about?

Well, it was a first step. An epigraph to my life. 

When you write your novels, how do you meet your characters? Do they appear to you?

The space sort of  dense……

 There is someone there, in the dusk sending signals. You have to very patient and very attentive at this stage. The character will start to tell his\her story. A face would appear, at first very blurry, then coming into focus. At the last stage you have to guess the name. It might come immediately, or it may take a while. But if you fail, the character will not come alive.  

How do you get into the flow?

Oh, once you have all the characters, the rest is easy. They do everything themselves. They build and disrupt relations, they get into interesting situations, they persuade me to look at life with their eyes.  And I do. 

When and how did you get into history and what was fascinating you about it?

There is a very comforting quality about writing historical books. You do not have to worry about people, they all already died anyway. And I am a magician who can bring them back to life. 

Lately, I’ve been  involved into a dispute about the value and credibility of the books of history. I said that that if more than one generation of writers say the same thing, it’s probably true. Or more then two generations. I have been convinced about this for my entire life... But what if that’s not the case? Could they have been adjusted to the need of one or another policy?

I am always distrustful of what I read on history. Probably because I majored in history in a Soviet university. You knew that they were teaching you total bullshit. What they call black must have been white and vice versa, I thought.  In a way it was a blessing to grow up in a society built on lies. Taught you to use your own brain at an early stage. 

In general, I think the most challenging thing now in global information flow of all varieties is to find out what is true and what’s not, for all of us. But how can we do it?

By using your intellect. By having access to information from different sources. By collecting a team of experts on different subjects – people whose judgement you trust. 

How would you describe the Soviet world view (Weltanschauung)?

I am not sure it existed. Maybe in the time of my parents, but not when I was growing up. Mine was a generation of individualists, introverts, cynics. 

Could you please expand on how you see the difference between the time of the empire, Perestroika, and now?

When I build a plot I start with drawing a chart of athmography. It-s a graphical sequence of episodes which “inhale” and which “exhale”, meaning the tempo, the mood, the heaviness-lightness thing. Well, in the novel “Russia” the period between the end on 1980s and the end of 1990s was inhaling – to the level of dizziness. Then the country exhaled again, heavily. 

Where is it all leading?

If you mean Russia, it would probably end up either as a Northern Iran, a “pravoslavny sharia” state or as a satellite of China. Unless a miracle happens.   I am an author of fiction. For me a miracle is a realistic option. 

Do you think that the “Red Terror¨framed the mind of our people to the state of now? Or something else?

I learned from history that people are like frogs, they adjust their temperature to the temperature of water. Always. I remember when my compatriots were Soviet zombies, I remember how they became anti-Soviet passionaries, how they demanded freedom, how they changed freedom for “greatness”, how they welcomed the annexation of Crimea. I am sure we’ll see them spitting on Putin’s grave when time comes. 

A need of being ruled and blessed?

A need to live their lives without being bothered. In Russia it implies a very wide margin of conformism. 

I have seen the schoolbooks for the first grade and there was a text from the president himself about the integrity of Russian culture. Well, it was disturbing, I did ask my Russian friend if it doesn’t seem to be misplaced and a sort of brainwashing; he didn’t see anything wrong, which made me very sad in a way.

Who cares what’s written in textbooks? The duller the better. Let children look for answers elsewhere. Like I did when I was a teenager. Or do you thank that Soviet textbooks were better than these?

 Do you think a democracy is possible in Russia?

Of course it is possible. But not if Russia remains a hyper-centralized state it has always been. It needs to become a real federation or even a confederation. Then there will be no need to dictate and control every move from Moscow. Russia should turn into United States of Eurasia, something like that. 

What needs to happen, to overcome the legacy of the repressions and a constant state of fear?

Decentralization. Resurrection of all democratic institutions. Trials for all war criminals and abusers of power. De-imperialization on all levels.  

If we speak about freedom of the spoken and the written word, do you feel restricted by anything nowadays? 

When I write a book intended for a wide audience I am restricted by ethics. I am a ”Say-no-evil” monkey. When I write a book for myself which would be read by few (and I write such novels too) I do what I like.  That’s the difference between Culture and Art, as I understand it. 

How do you feel yourself with social conformity and did you ever suffer under the ¨cancellation culture¨?

Some interesting projects have been cancelled last year, after the was started. A couple of films, a funny Erast Fandorin mobile game. The cancellation was not personal, not aimed at me. Everything Russian became toxic. Nobody wanted to lose money on something that wouldn’t sell.  Understandable, isn’t it. 

Since the pandemic we have faced the fact, that art isn’t of a big value anymore, at least in the western society, for sure. Why did it come to be, and what can we do to re-establish it?

What is the right way to get young people onboard and to enjoy, books, theatre, concerts, opera, etc.?

We, artists, shouldn’t whine and complain. Challenge makes creative work more interesting. Let us write, perform, produce, paint in a talented, captivating way. Play the flute beautifully, and audience will follow you, like the kids in Hammeln. 

Also, about literature, Shakespeare for example, or Goethe, is hard to bring together with the folks in their teens, do you think we might adapt it or even write “bridge novels” to make the spirit of those time accessible for them? Erast Fandorin does it very well, opening the spirit of the Empire times but very up to date in the expression. 

I like to play with literary “monuments”, to milk sacred cows. I turned “Hamlet”, “Crime and Punishment”, Chekhov’s “Seagull” into detective stories using the classical characters. Partly with exactly that intention – to make my readers (re)read classics. And it worked. I remember how pleased I was when my novel “F.M.” (about F.M.Dostoyevsky’s most famous novel) appeared in bestseller lists together with the original “Crime and Punishment”. 

Do you like classical music?

My tastes are primitive. I never got past 19^th century. Even Rakhmaninoff is too revolutionary for me.

Is there any composer you could identify yourself with?

Absolutely not. I digest existence with my mind, not with my senses. I am a “head” person (and composers usually  aren’t).

Coming back to Russia: we have a culture of established violence. We do have violent upbringing, violent system of education. The use of the sentence, ¨If he beats me, then he loves me,” frequently used by Russian women regarding their men was always a mystery for me and so I never had any relationship with a Russian man, maybe this why. 

Why is it so?

 Why has the violence such an irreplaceable place in the mind of Russian people?

Do you think it might change one day???

It is all connected. The violence on which power is built; Inequality: who is stronger has more rights; abuse of independent thinking and of dignity. This is what Putinism is about, and that’s why I hate it so. Violence seeps from above, it is cultivated and glorified by the state, by state controlled media. 

We have antisemitism and homophobia literally embodied in our culture, well probably because of the religious background, but to the atheistic times of the Soviet Union it didn’t get any better and now got even worse again. Why is it this way, and do you think there Is hope on the horizon to a better state?

I do not think that antisemitism and homophobia are typical for Russian culture. For mass conscience – maybe, but not for culture. 

As for antisemitism, it has given way to other phobias recently, I think. They are always stimulated by the state. I remember how 15 years ago everybody hated Georgians, now it’s Ukrainians. When the regime changes to something more civilized, this will change too. The same goes for homophobia. It’s not genuine, it’s just politics. Putin poses himself as a global defender of “conservative values” – as opposed to Western liberalism. Homophobia is just a part of the package. 

Where would you like to be staged or filmed mostly?

I do not expect to see my books turned into films or my plays produced any time soon – neither in Russia nor outside Russia. In Russia I am half-forbidden. Last year my name was taken off theatre posters. It’s absurd really. There are several shows, all of them very successful box-wise, they play to full houses, but the author’s name is neither printed anywhere nor pronounced. I feel like "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named". It’s even flattering in a way. Recently a TV series based on one of my novels was shown in Russia, but immediately after that Medvedev ( the ex-president and Putin’s deputy in the Security Council)  demanded that this traitor (me) should be banned. So my film career in Russia is over, I guess. In the rest of the world, like I said previously, Russian authors have become spoiled goods too. I stopped thinking about screen adaptations.  

Who is your favourite director? and which piece or novel?

Director? Tarantino, he makes me smile. Piece – none. I do not like drama. I have written half a dozen plays, but all of them are about how I do not understand theatre and about how it irritates me. Novel? Just one? “White Guard” by Mikhail Bulgakov. 

The books I mentioned here are all from a while ago, help me to get up to date with most recent publications , what are you working on now? What is your very next publication? 

I am getting old which means that I become less playful and more didactic, I bore my readers with serious writing. I am finishing a 10-volume “History of Russian State”. I am writing a long-winded philosophical family saga. I even wrote - in a fit of falling into childhood - a collection of fairy tales “Fairy Tales From Around the World”. To write differently is very pleasing. My readers seem to be less pleased, but I like to think that I am retired and so I am free to write what I like.  

I’m convinced, that the art might make these coming times of fading resources and lonely pragmatism a little better. It has always been the case, to tell a story or a fairy tale when we are scared once we have been small, and telling stories was what Janusz Korczak did on his way to Auschwitz. 

We might be at the final station as civilisation if we consider climate cataclysms and war. This why a story and Its author play such an important part -Not saying Goodbye !

AND! 

Following  an ecstatic piece  to read. 

Literally the very  first publication of a short and amusing play By The One who can’t be named in Putin’s kingdom.

 Boris Akunin has got a title of a foreign agent and is thorough cancelled   in the self-damned state of Russia.  PUTINISM seem to be a strain of  virus which turns people into hypocritical traditional-value advocates  ,  post imperialistic, books burning   zombies .  

 And here we go;  THE GREAT GAME

The Great Game

DRAMATIS PERSONAE in order of suspiciousness

The butler. Says nothing 

Smith-Jones. Foreign Office official. Speaks little.

Petrov. A young attachè. Talks a lot. 

Madame Ivanov. Stutters.

G. Lestrade. Inspector at Scotland Yard. Sweats.  

Erast Fandorin. Gentleman sleuth. Stutters.

Councilor Ivanov. A corpse. Silent. 

Presentation

Gidayu (puts on a black top-hat)

In the second half of the 19^th century Britain and Russia became bitter enemies. The two empires were playing the so-called  “Great Game”, a struggle for the control of Asia. 

(The title is projected on the curtain: “The Great Game”).

The diplomatic relations were tense and strained. Prime Minister Gladstone asked the Commons for a war budget. Now one tiny spark could ignite a colossal explosion.

As fate would have it, at that precarious moment a most unfortunate incident happened  in a house only10 minutes walk from Buckingham palace.   

Councillor Ivanov, a leading diplomat at the Russian Embassy, was found dead in his own home whilst entertaining a circle of selected guests.

Follow me, ladies and gentlemen! There is no time to lose! The murderer crime must be found before all hell breaks loose!

(The curtain opens, but the stage is still dark. Nobody moves. The beam lights Inspector Lestrade who is bent over the corpse). 

Among those present only this person is not a suspect. Meet Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, recently arrived at the scene of the crime!

He strikes the gong. The scene is lit. We see the corpse in a pool of blood, near a huge safe with the door open. A chandelier lies on the floor. There are two tall columns nearby, one mounted with a marble bust, one empty. 

                           (Smith like this, slightly taller than human height)

Petrov is supporting the widow whose face is hid under a handkerchief. Smith-Jones stands with his back to the audience. The Butler holds a tray with a glass of water on it ). 

Lestrade (when presented he straightens up, lifts his bowler hat, makes a star-like bow to the audience and then stops paying attention to it). 

...So, this is the murder weapon, used to crash the old man’s scull... (He lifts from the floor, granting, a marble bust which evidently had stood on one of the columns)... Who is this bulldog-faced individual anyway?

Petrov (scandalized)

How dare you! It’s His Imperial Majesty’s likeness! And this (bows to the other bust) is Her Majesty the Empress.

Lestrade

I see. (Takes out an enormous handkerchief from his pocket, wipes his forehead, then blows his nose into it, then wraps the bust with it and puts the evidence aside). I’ll need to keep this... You, madame are the widow? My condolences. (Lifts his hat). Can you tell me how it happened?

Madame Ivanov (stutters)

B...b...b.. (The butler offers her water)...Thank you, P-P-Perkins... We were having a b-b-b-b...

Petrov (tenderly)

(Turns to Lestrade). Leave poor Madame Ivanov at peace, will you? She has just lost her husband! Can’t you see she’s stuttering from the shock? 

Lestrade

And you are...?

Petrov

Attachè Petrov, the aide of the deceased. (Bows to the corpse). Madame Ivanov wanted to explain that there was a banquet downstairs celebrating the installation of electric light in the house. (Nods at the ceiling).

Lestrade

Yes, the light is remarkably good. It will help in the investigation. Where are all the guests?

Petrov

Everybody left of course when... this was discovered. But don’t worry, inspector. All those who were nearby are present.

Lestrade

How so?

Petrov

His Excellency asked Mr. Smith-Jones (nods coldly at the man who is still standing with his back to us) to come up to the study, that room over there (nods at his right), because Mr. Smith-Jones asked for an opportunity to speak in private with him. I followed my superior, and soon we were joined by Madame Ivanov who came to ask if we wanted some tea... 

 Lestrade

So, all of you were in the adjoining room. Right. Then what happened?

Petrov

One of the electric lamps burst. Madame Ivanov rang the bell, the butler came. (Nods at the butler who bows slightly).  He started to change the failed light bulb, something cracked, and we found ourselves in complete darkness. You know how unreliable electricity is.

Lestrade

No, I don’t. I prefer good old gaslight in my home. And it does not heat the air so. (Wipes his forehead with his sleeve). For how long was it dark?

Petrov

Two, three minutes. Then the light was on again. Everyone was in the room except for the councillor... I looked around and saw him through the open door (nods). He was lying here...

Lestrade

And what is this room for exactly?

Petrov

It’s a place for our confidential papers. The most secret of them here in this safe.

Lestrade (quickly)

Have you checked if any of the documents are missing?

Petrov

Today His Excellency received a most important telegramme from Saint Petersburg. I had just finished decoding it before the banquet. The telegramme is still there, but there was no need to steal it. It would be enough for an... interested party to have a look at it.

Lestrade

In the darkness?

Petrov

This door could have been closed. The interested party could have a pocket torch... Look, stop pretending, inspector. We all know perfectly well what happened here and who did it! And don’t hope that your police will cover it up. Our own investigator will be here any minute, and he is someone not to be fooled with.

Lestrade

A policeman?

Petrov

No, a gentleman. Mr. Fandorin, the most famous sleuth of all Russia. Luckily for our country and unluckily for yours he happens to be in London at this very moment in a private capacity.

Lestrade (wiping his forehead)

Oh no, not another gentleman sleuth! As if we don't have enough of our own!

Petrov

But I'll tell you even without Mr. Fandorin what happened here. The  blackout was part of the devilish plan. Those who devised it knew that in such a situation His Excellency was obliged to go immediately to the safe and not let most sensitive papers out of his sight. The villain followed the councillor into the darkness, waited till His Excellency lit a candle and unlocked the safe, then...

Madame Ivanov

M...m...m...

 Petrov

«Murderer!» - she wants to say.

Lestrade

And who would that be, in your opinion?

Petrov 

Why, he of course. Smith-Jones from your Foreign Office! (Nods at Smith-Jones). Who else here would want to know the contents of the telegram that badly? And no Russian would ever use His Majesty's likeness for such a sacrilegious purpose!

Lestrade

Mr. Smith-Jones?

Smith-Jones (He finally turns. His arms are folded, his manner cold)

Utter nonsense.

Fandorin’s voice

T-torch.

Everybody turns in that direction. Fandorin enters. He is smartly dressed, with a carnation in a buttonhole, very handsome. Makes a short pause so that everybody can admire him.

Madame Ivanov

F...F...F...

Fandorin

Yes, Madame. Erast Fandorin, at your s-service... I arrived some time ago, but I did not want to interrupt your d-deducting p-process, inspector. 

Lestrade

Do many Russians stutter? And what you meant by “torch”?

Fandorin

Ask Mr. Smith-Jones to show you the contents of his p-pockets. If there is a torch...

Smith-Jones

Utter nonsense.

Lestrade (triumphantly)

You see, the gentleman  doesn't have a torch! 

Fandorin

And may I inquire what is that b-bulge? (Indicates with his cane  Smith-Jones's frock pocket). Might it be a weapon?

Smith-Jones

Of course it is a torch. When I said “utter nonsense”, I meant to say that no sensible Londoner goes out in the evening without a torch these days.

Lestrade

That’s true. Or else you risk breaking a leg or stepping into something nasty... Beg your pardon, Madame Ivanov. (Produces a torch from his pocket). So, it could have been any of you for alI know... (Looks, in turn, at Petrov, Smith-Jones and the butler).

Petrov

Эраст Петрович, они заодно! Вечное британское бесстыдство!  Нагадят, а потом: «Где ваши доказательства?». Сделайте что-нибудь! 

Lestrade

We speak only English here! What did he say to you just now?

Fandorin (quickly turning his head here and there)

That it’s my d-duty to identify the murderer.

Lestrade (sardonically)

Oh, just that? And how long would it take a man of your genius to crack this particular nut? Would it be all right if I stayed here or maybe you don’t need me any longer?

Fandorin

If you and everybody else would care to keep q-quiet for one minute.

He takes off (ceremoniously) white gloves, produces a formidably big looking glass and starts investigating the crime scene. 

Everything he looks at through his looking glass is projected, in close-up, to the monitor above the stage. Sometimes we see the reverse view: Fandorin’s enormous eye.

All the others, butler included, follow Fandorin everywhere, curiously looking over his shoulder.

First Fandorin stands over the corpse.

Fandorin (inquisitively) 

Mmmm?

We see the grotesquely distorted face of the victim. Then the camera fixes on a red spot on his cheek.

Fandorin looks around, sniffs the air, dog-like. Looks at the floor. Steps back.

Fandorin (in disgust)

Mmmm!

We see  a small puddle with a wet smeared footprint. Then Fanorin’s finger touching the liquid.

Fandorin (sniffs his finger, then pensively)

Urine. (Licks his finger). Dog’s urine. (Licks it again). Italian greyhound. (Looks at the puddle again, this time the close-up is almost microscopic, we see a white hair). A white Italian greyhound. What is a p-puddle of white Italian greyhound’s urine doing here?  

Madame Ivanov

It’s Tuzik, my p-puppy. He is not quite trained yet...

Fandorin

Mmm...  (Looks down at the floor again. We see a candle lying near the corpse’s hand). From the left... (Fandorin turns to the left, that is in the direction of the backdrop. Quickly walks there). Mmm! (We see on the monitor a window which is half-open). 

Lestrade

The window is open! It could have been someone from outside! 

Fandorin (turning to him and pocketing his looking glass).

Not unless he had wings. It’s the second f-floor, inspector.

Petrov

So, have you made any progress in your deduction yet, sir?

Fandorin

I have c-completed it.

Lestrade (incredulously)

And you can tell us who killed the unfortunate man?

Fandorin 

Absolutely. 

Everybody in chorus

Who?!

Fandorin (slowly putting his white gloves on, enjoying the suspense)

His Majesty the Emperor.

Shocked silence.

Petrov

Erast Petrovich, this is not quite the moment for...

Fandorin walks briskly to the empty column.

Fandorin (lifts the candle from the floor)

But that’s what happened. The councillor opened the safe holding a c-candle in his hand. Than he started walking in this d-direction. He was holding the candle like this, close to his face. Suddenly the window opened because of the wind outside. (The monitor shows lace curtains swaying by the window). The draft caused the flame to burn the man’s cheek – hence the red mark. (The monitor shows it again). In pain the councillor made a step to one side, right into this puddle... Slipped – hence the smear. (We see it again).  The poor fellow lost his b-balance, struck his head against this column, and the marble emperor fell on his crown... (Confused with the dubiousness of English language). I mean, the bust crushed the councillor’s skull. Voilà, case closed.

Lestrade (slowly)

...I don’t think that this is possible. You mean to say, the man fell victim to his own clumsiness? Like this?

Lestrade stands in front of the other column, pretends to stumble, strikes it with his forehead. The marble Empress falls on his head. Lestrade collapses and lies still.

 Fandorin (having waited for the shrieks to subside).

Yes, this is exactly what I m-meant to say. 

Everybody leans over Lestrade, the light dims, the curtain closes.

Gidayu

Don’t worry about Inspector Lestrade, ladies and gentlemen. Policemen’s skulls are thick, so the worthy gentleman survived the incident without the slightest concussion.  

Ivan Šiller Awakens the Spirits and Cheers Up The Moods

Play with your head, not with your hands

... my piano teacher said repeatedly during my lessons. After all this time, Slovak pianist Ivan Šiller proves her right and turns even the most complicated music into a sensible/sensual experience with an endlessly sophisticated manner of playing the piano which amounts to nothing other than following my teacher’s directive.

It’s springtime as I write this, and the longing for the romantic is strong. The classical piano recital is certainly one of the most promising options to get a sophisticated, sensually loaded experience, which gives one the feeling of being an ensouled creature of non-artificial intelligence. A program with at least two modern or contemporary pieces and just one by the ever-fresh and slightly overplayed (and sometimes a bit misunderstood) Franz Schubert can be scary, though. One could get bored by or lost in the complexity of the new or less well-known Schubert. Yes, the Winter Journey is not on the menu. But why not get out of one’s comfort zone? 

It is May 13, and here is pianist Ivan Šiller, looking rather average: black shirt, glasses, focused, modest, no extravagance or provocations nor overriding sensuality. No politics, just simple magic—a sovereign of piano-playing: sophisticated, controlled, thought-through, and tender.

Isn’t that the perfect way to let the music be exciting, to make the music move without the need to illustrate it by a quite misplaced burst onto the concert stage? 

Isn’t Alban Berg’s music unapologetically complicated? Absolutely not, if one pays attention to the poly-voicing and the details of the score. 

In a related way, you succeed as an interpreter if you decode properly every single voice. You need to love every single line as if it were the only one and bring them all together with a loving hand under one musical arc.

Šiller is tender toward every counterpoint in his left hand and distinctive in his right, and suddenly Berg’s complexity turns into a simplicity full of sensuality and lyricism.

Franz Schubert, who is often made up to seem older than he ever was in life, sounds youthful again. And finally, with his playful fire back, we have Ravel: a breath of fresh air and a cliché-free version of his music. All this is done simply with a bit of analytic thinking and attention to the details of the musical text.

A sensual experience is not necessarily what music was meant to be from the standpoint of the composer and the art itself. Therefore, the sensuality and the composer’s feelings are scripted in the score. The role of the interpreter is just to be precise with the score in order to awaken and project those feelings. It is far more like being a bookkeeper than like an inferno. That is how you set free the Djinn (genie) of music which is captured in the score and is waiting to meet the audience.

Šiller seems to be into the matter, modestly awakening musical spirits on the stage and making every single piece on the program into a premiere. If it isn’t magic to make Franz Schubert and Daniel Matej into equals—composers that are alive, played, cherished, understood, and able to fascinate, then it’s probably a miracle of the divine realm (the resurrection from the dead was one of those, as I remember).

So what is the secret know-how? What is the proper use of the head? As my teacher used to say, “The head is not just for wearing a hat, but in the first instance for thinking.”

Interview by Hana Gubenko