Valentin Krasnogorov and his plays

Krasnogorov’s plays have been performed in more than 400 theaters all over the wold and directed by many prominent theater directors. They are part of the permanent repertoire of many theaters, and several have been peformed hundreds of times, to rave reviews. The critical assessment that “Krasnogorov’s plays cross borders easily” is no empty praise: they have been translated into a number of other languages, and performed in Australia, Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Cyprus, Estonia, Germany, Great Britain, India, Mongolia, Montenegro, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, Turkey, Ukraine, the USA, and elsewhere. Plays from the Krasnogorov catalogue have received numerous awards for best drama at various international theater festivals.

Krasnogorov’s theatrical mastery spans a wide range of unique talents and skills. It is the combination of biting satire, a keen sense of humor, the art of the grotesque and the absurd, tender lyricism, and a deep appreciation of human nature that makes Krasnogorov’s theater pieces so sought after, so delightful, so delectable. The conflicts in his plays are beautifully balanced out by their easy yet brilliant dialogue, lively dynamics, and gripping narratives. The author’s witty plots and paradoxical situations are quick to draw readers and audiences into the world created by his imagination.

In addition to drama, Valentin Krasnogorov has written novellas, short stories, and essays. His biography is included in the Marquis Who’s Who in the World (USA), the International Who’s Who of Intellectuals (Cambridge, England), and other publications.One Passion and Four Walls, Krasnogorov’s book on the essence of drama, has earned praise from notable figures in the theater. He is also the founder and first president of the Dramatists Guild of St. Petersburg.

Running the Show

Режиссер массовых зрелищ

A mysterious comedy in two acts

with no intermission

Translated from the Russian by Liv Bliss

Liv Bliss is a professional translator who resides in the United States and is certified by the American Translators Association for translation from Russian into English. She has a shelf-full of translated books, mostly fiction, and truly enjoys the challenge of academic translation and editing.

Synopsis

A unusual show goes into a mystifying, bizarrely amusing night rehearsal that ends with a twist. 2 men and 2 women. Interior.

CHARACTERS

DIRECTOR

CONSULTANT

MAN

WOMAN

The age of the characters is not critical. The men can be 40 to 60 years old; the women, 30 to 40.

An ordinary, unremarkable room. The actors are offstage as the play begins. After some time, a middle-aged man, the DIRECTOR, enters. He is accompanied by a beautiful, impeccably dressed woman, the CONSULTANT.

CONSULTANT: Here we are. After you.

DIRECTOR: Is this where we’re going to rehearse?

CONSULTANT: Yes. Do you have a problem with anything?

DIRECTOR: No. Why do you ask? What is this room?

CONSULTANT: A kind of recording studio. It’s nicely sound-proofed. If you close the door, no noises can get in or out. This is just what you need for your rehearsals. No one will bother you here. Do you like it?

DIRECTOR: (casually) It’s quite cozy. I don’t care, though. I can work in any conditions, even in a storm on the deck of a ship. But where are the so-called artistes? The rehearsal’s scheduled for ten p.m. sharp, and it’s already three minutes past.

CONSULTANT: They’ll be here soon.

DIRECTOR: (not pleased) What does that mean, “soon”? They should be here and ready at ten p.m. on the dot. My work doesn’t accommodate any deviations from the schedule. I’ll still have to pull an all-nighter after this rehearsal. And I have to have everything done by tomorrow at three p.m., come hell or high water. This isn’t some first-night premiere that can be postponed until whenever.

CONSULTANT: Take it easy, sit down. Would you like some coffee?

DIRECTOR: I’m not here for coffee, dearie, but to do my work. And who are you, by the way?

CONSULTANT: I’m a consultant.

DIRECTOR: I don’t need any consultants, sweet cheeks.

CONSULTANT: I’m not your consultant.

DIRECTOR: Then whose are you?

CONSULTANT: Not yours. I was sent to help you with the rehearsal.

DIRECTOR: Help me? I don’t need any assistants either. Do you know who I am?

CONSULTANT: You’re a renowned director. Everybody knows that. But surely you’re not going to pour your own coffee or find the right script pages? That’s why I’m here.

DIRECTOR: Well, if that’s why… I can’t stand having outsiders at my rehearsals.

CONSULTANT: Don’t worry. I’m only going to be your aide… or your associate director… I don’t know what the job’s called in the theater.

DIRECTOR: OK, stay. But don’t even think about tampering with my work. If you do, you’ll be out on your ear.

CONSULTANT: Very well.

DIRECTOR: If you’re somebody’s consultant, maybe you already know why this rehearsal – and, for that matter, all the work I’m doing – needs to be kept secret?

CONSULTANT: It must be because the client wants it that way.

DIRECTOR: A strange thing to want. Something’s wrong here.

CONSULTANT: Will you be paid for this project?

DIRECTOR: Sure.

CONSULTANT: Will they pay well?

DIRECTOR: Better than well. Anyway, that’s what they promised.

CONSULTANT: Then you should have no questions.

DIRECTOR: (paces the room impatiently) But where are those wretched artistes, damn them?

CONSULTANT: Why’re you going off on them all of a sudden? They’re respected people, eminent people…

DIRECTOR: That’s why they have to be put in their place right off the bat. As soon as an actor starts telling me about the prizes and awards he’s won, and how many times he’s been on TV, and all that, he immediately becomes impossible to work with. I can’t stand big stars. I boot them out on the spot.

CONSULTANT: These people have been on TV too, but I asked them to keep it low key here.

DIRECTOR: Just let ’em try any other key… So far, all I can see is that the show’s scheduled for tomorrow, but they’re not here. Do they know their parts, at any rate?

CONSULTANT: (unsure) They promised to learn them.

DIRECTOR: If they haven’t learned their roles by heart, I’ll send them back where they came from. I don’t have time to study the script with them. This isn’t a kindergarten.

CONSULTANT: I’ll pour you a cup of coffee anyway.

DIRECTOR: To hell with your coffee…

MAN enters. He is somewhat older than middle age, wearing a well-tailored dark suit.

MAN: Good evening.

DIRECTOR: At last you delight us with your presence.

MAN: Sorry, I’m a little late…

DIRECTOR: I don’t accept apologies. If you don’t value your own time, at least respect the time of others.

MAN: I’m a very busy person. Is that so hard to grasp?

DIRECTOR: I’m busier than you are, let me assure you. But I arrived on time, although every second’s precious to me. At this moment, hundreds of people are working on the show under my leadership, and everything will collapse without a clear-cut schedule. If I accept an apology from everyone instead of getting the work done, we’re in for a failure tomorrow.

WOMAN rushes in. She’s beautiful and dressed in a bright, provocative outfit. She’s trying to hide the fact that she’s tipsy.

WOMAN: Good evening. (Guilty) It seems I’m late.

DIRECTOR: To quote Hamlet: “Seems,” madam? Nay, it is. I know not “seems.”

WOMAN: (baffled) What are you talking about?

DIRECTOR: About you being late and me not putting up with it.

WOMAN: It just turned out this way. I don’t know why.

DIRECTOR: If anything else “just turns out” with you, nothing’s going to turn out for us. Is that clear?

CONSULTANT: Maybe we should start the rehearsal?

DIRECTOR: Are you giving me advice already, sweet cheeks?

CONSULTANT: But they’re here, they’ve apologized.

DIRECTOR: So sit quietly, and not another peep out of you. I want everyone to understand here and now: without iron discipline, we won’t get anywhere. My time’s very limited. Everyone has to obey me implicitly. I won’t tolerate any superstar-itis. I hope that’s clear to everyone.

Silence

Fine. Now, without wasting another minute… (looks at his notebook) The first to speak is our leading lady. The rest will sit quiet and stay out of it. (to WOMAN) Are you ready?

WOMAN: In a minute. I’m just going to make a call.

DIRECTOR: No calls! Everyone, turn off your phones!

WOMAN: I’ll be quick. It’s very important.

DIRECTOR: Nothing can be more important than this rehearsal.

WOMAN: Oh, all right. (puts the phone away)

DIRECTOR: I seem to recall asking if you’re ready.

WOMAN: Yes.

DIRECTOR: So begin. Come forward… By the way, why are you dressed like that? I asked everybody to report in costume.

WOMAN: I didn’t know we had to.

DIRECTOR: Get this into your head: everything I say, you have to do. Got it?

WOMAN: Yes.

DIRECTOR: Fine. You were supposed to come in full costume so you could get used to it, get comfortable in it, feel that it’s yours. But the most important thing is that it helps you to create the right mood.

WOMAN: I was afraid to stain or crush it.

DIRECTOR: Then the least you could have done is figured out that you needed to wear something a little more somber than that. You’re going to be portraying profound sorrow, while your skirt is, sad to say, barely hiding what’s not usually displayed in broad daylight. True, it’s almost night by now. Anyway, do you even have a skirt on?

WOMAN: Don’t you see it?

DIRECTOR: Almost.

WOMAN: But you’re taking a close look, aren’t you?

DIRECTOR: I’m afraid that if I look closely, I’ll see too much.

WOMAN: This is what people are wearing these days.

DIRECTOR: OK. Let’s not waste any more time talking. As they say in the theater, you’re on.

Pause. WOMAN obviously doesn’t know what to do.

So why are you standing there like a pillar of salt?

WOMAN: You didn’t tell me what to do.

DIRECTOR: First of all, step forward and face the audience.

WOMAN doesn’t move.

Well? What’s the problem now?

WOMAN: I don’t know how I’m supposed to walk.

DIRECTOR: You don’t know how to walk? Do you need to be taught that too?

WOMAN: I meant, quickly and energetically or the opposite – slowly?

DIRECTOR: Of course slowly. Do what Stanislavsky – he was a theatrical genius, you know – said, and let yourself sense what’s needed. Meaning that it all has to be done slowly and sadly.

WOMAN: Where’s the audience?

DIRECTOR: The audience is me.

WOMAN goes to stage center and again stands silent.

You have a rare gift, dearie. I love silent women, but silence isn’t always golden. Begin, before we’re too old to care!

WOMAN: One minute… (quickly trots back to her purse, opens it, takes out some sheets of paper, unfolds them, and again returns, slowly and sadly, to stage center.)

DIRECTOR: What’s that?

WOMAN: (guilty) My lines.

DIRECTOR: (exploding) What? You haven’t learned your lines yet? You undisciplined, disorganized… I refuse to work with you! Are you going to speak from a script tomorrow?

WOMAN: What if I do? We all speak from scripts.

DIRECTOR: That’s what you do. With me, you’ll speak without one, or we’re done. Your words should be born of feeling, not from a cheat sheet.

The seated MAN hurriedly takes some pages out of his pocket and starts learning his lines.

WOMAN: I’ll have it down by tomorrow.

DIRECTOR: And you think I believe you? Are you even capable of learning anything, never mind (mimicking her) “by tomorrow”?

WOMAN: I give you my word.

DIRECTOR: Oh, all right. Use the cheat sheet for now. (mocking) You can read, can’t you?

WOMAN opts not to react. She finds the right page and reads.

WOMAN: (cheerfully) Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: Stop!

WOMAN: What?

DIRECTOR: That’s how you tell someone happy birthday. You have to make your face and whole body mournful. Slow movements, shoulders lowered, arms dangling, disobedient lips pronouncing the words with difficulty. Get that?

WOMAN: Yes. (tries to speak sadly) Dear friend! (hitches up the bra strap that has just slid off her shoulder)

DIRECTOR: No, you’re not getting the mournful look. And how can you when your front’s open almost down to your waist, and your legs are on view up to… Well, I’d best not say up to where. How did you wind up here dressed like this?

WOMAN: The thing is, when I got the call to come here, I was… How can I put it?.. At a small party.

DIRECTOR: And you, of course, got a little bombed there.

WOMAN: A little.

DIRECTOR: And you were apparently so rushed, you left some of your clothes behind.

WOMAN: That’s not funny.

DIRECTOR: It’s very sad. But then you tried to assure me that you were late because you were very busy.

WOMAN: I’m entitled to have fun now and then. How did I know I was going to get an urgent call?

DIRECTOR: (gives WOMAN another critical once-over) There’ll be no extracting the correct intonation from you like this.

WOMAN: I’ve got the costume downstairs, in the car. Maybe I should go and do a quick change?

DIRECTOR: Wait, let me think… (eyes WOMAN closely) You still look… pretty good… And without clothes probably even better than fully dressed… Yes, perhaps we’ll shoot you without clothes.

WOMAN: On television?

DIRECTOR: No, first we’ll take your clothes off. And then we’ll tape you without them.

WOMAN: I don’t understand. You want me to perform in the nude?

DIRECTOR: Do you call this dressed?

WOMAN: (frightened) But I can’t appear in public without a stitch on.

DIRECTOR: Why not? First, you’ll look more decent that way than you do half-naked. Secondly, it’s just not a show these days unless somebody’s in the buff.

WOMAN: (frightened) You seriously want to undress me?

DIRECTOR: I can undress you frivolously, if you want.

WOMAN: But so many people will see me!

DIRECTOR: At worst they’ll get a kick out of our show.

MAN: And what’s the motivation going to be?

DIRECTOR: (surprised that MAN has butted in) Actually, that’s my concern, not yours. Still, the motivation’s obvious: a woman’s gone out of her mind with suffering, and she’s thinking not about decency but only about her grief. She collapses onto the coffin in despair. Only her long, flowing hair covers her nudity, like Lady Godiva…

WOMAN: My hair’s not long enough to cover my… you know… my nudity.

DIRECTOR: We’ll get you a wig. But OK. I’ll give that option more thought later. Consider it a joke. Meanwhile, let’s start over. Well? Don’t dilly-dally! Off you go!

WOMAN: Dear friend!..

DIRECTOR: Not like that, not like that! Grief, more grief! Drop a tear or two if you can.

WOMAN: (tries to squeeze out a tear, fails, feels guilty). I just can’t weep. I always can, but not this time.

DIRECTOR: Dammit, why not? Don’t you have any imagination? So imagine, for example, that your lover has dumped you. If you don’t remember the script, improvise for the time being.

WOMAN: (thinks for a second, then the expression on her face changes dramatically)