Putin, the greatest of Russian miracles, was demonstrated in a live cast.
Conversation with Vladimir Putin, a programme that ousted a previously announced episode of the Bandits of Petersburg serial from the schedule, was coming to an end. Oleg Dobrodeyev heaved a sigh of relief. He had every reason to feel assured, with top-notch presenters Ernest Mackevicius and Maria Sittel-but you can never be sure. Russia is a huge country with many mavericks-what if an off-colour question came through on the air, breaking through selection barriers? All worries aside, however, everything went according to the scenario.
All of a sudden, a man dared to sting none other than Dobrodeyev, as well as Ernst and Kulistikov: "Why don't central television channels broadcast morning exercises?" Mr Putin replied with an ominous smile, "I think because their bosses feel perfectly fit." It's hard to say from that how actively television bosses have actually retained their fitness, but it is clear, anyway, that ravishing anchors like Arina Sharapova or Dana Borisova will lose part of their morning air time so that the nation can implement at least one of its lawful rights during the crisis.
Even at the start of the Putin era, Gleb Pavlovsky described the difference between the old and the new leaderships: "Unlike their predecessors, new rulers fully realise the difference between reality and pretty pictures." I dare to add: they know the difference well enough to substitute pictures for reality, as proved by the genre and style of the President and Prime Minister's Q&A sessions. These are more features than documentaries, given the elegant scenario, refined composition, and well-conceived plot. The semi-circular amphitheatre of Gostiny Dvor and the ritual colouring of the content remind viewers of Antiquity. Its theatre had the same goal-to help the audience forget drab routine, hearkening back to sublime words-and the same methods. Greeks who came to see a tragedy by Euripides knew the myth it was based on, and thus followed not the plot, but its rendition.
We are like ancient Greeks-we know that all is well and will be even better, whether it concerns pensions, healthcare or the problems of warrant officers. Despite this, we listen with bated breath. Look at the audience-only a guard at the Lenin Mausoleum could have such an inspired countenance. Beautiful Maria Sittel of the call centre offered one proof after another of public interest in Putin: the number of calls exceeded a million, then another 300,000 added, and another 700,000. Those who could not get through did not give up, but instead turned to SMS. Maria admired one message. It had 400 symbols. "Imagine, the buttons had to be pushed 400 times!" she cried, displaying her naivety-Russians are ready to push buttons nonstop day and night to touch their beloved leader virtually, since they cannot touch him in the flesh. (To be honest, I am not overjoyed with this shower of questions and do not share the presenters' enthusiasm for it. Is it normal for a Great Power to have more questions than answers with each passing year? But then, what does my doubt matter?)
The luckiest won admittance to Gostiny Dvor for the show. Take one Alexei Vishenin. He was living his obscure life in Volgograd when, all of a sudden, he was entrusted with putting the nation's principal concerns into words: "Where can we buy Christmas trees, and will Ukraine pay up for the gas we have supplied?" He knew his text by heart and said it with great expressive force and tears in his eyes, and so deserved appearing as a featured extra several times. I am sure a reporter is collecting information about him to publish a story one fine December day, after morning exercises anchored by Ksenia Sobchak, or at least Anastasia Zavorotnyuk.
Even before Conversation with Vladimir Putin was over, recalcitrants started wondering why the Prime Minister was addressing the nation in a presidential format and, furthermore, which office was the principal-the President's or the Prime Minister's. But then, what's in a name? The word Putin stands for an office, not a person. There is nothing new about it. Every Russian leader is one in several forms. Napoleon saw it long ago. When he heard that Russian emperors were also Church leaders, he remarked to Alexander I, "So you are a priest unto yourself? Very convenient, isn't it?"
The two centuries that have elapsed since then have changed the ruling system only outwardly. As before, it answers for its sins only to itself, and repents them on very rare occasions. It never asks anyone to prolong its own terms, it appoints its own successors and outshines them. The rest depends on its personal tastes. Alexander I never staged a Conversation with Alexander Romanov at the Winter Palace, while Vladimir Putin thoroughly enjoys such conversations at Gostiny Dvor. He enjoys mingling with the public on the air-which is the most effective tool of freedom of speech, as sceptics should know once and for all. Putin is so explicit in answering cleverly selected questions that one could watch his sessions with bated breath for more than three hours. It is a pity they are so rare. But then, we cannot have these gifts more often-Putin is too busy, while the TV people have fallen out of the habit of working in real-time. They inform not the public at large, but the rulers about the same rulers' activities in a form that pleases the rulers, with the content duly filtered.
Putin thus deserves our gratitude, as he appears on the air once a year to singlehanded play the part of all Russian news analysts at once. News analyses have died out not by God's will-and not by the President's. They were doomed because they had nothing to analyse. Racing for power lies at the heart of all public politics, of which Russia has none. Politics have found a recess in quiet Kremlin offices, out of which nothing reaches our ear except calls for propaganda that suits the elite-what they term "the positive public image of the leadership", in official lingo. Former analysts, ranging from Sergei Brilyov to Pyotr Tolstoy, are doing their best to adapt to the new political philosophy based on praises and clashes between The Good and The Best-a philosophy that is no burden on the mind and pleases the heart, because a complacent audience is its sole purpose.
Judging by public ratings, Russians do not want anything more than to see their leader. That reminds me-there was a rehearsal of the present "conversations" on television six years ago, titled Conversation with the President: Close-Up. The bizarre show, evidently made in haste, was a patchwork of snippets from five evening talks Putin had with leading Russian scientists on Lake Baikal. Venerable gentlemen blushed and stammered like school kids when reporting the achievements of their branches of science. The latest Conversation was quite different-mainly for its metaphysical message. It meant to present Putin as miracle-worker. He easily coped with the mission. As he says, he loves Russia most of all, which is perhaps why he has such a subtle intuition for the Russian mentality, what Boris Berezovsky, the most poetically minded of all oligarchs, calls "the music of the soul". The Russia Channel has also stored ample relevant experience-just look back at Uri Geller's recent reality competition show Phenomenon. It was quite like Mr Putin's Q&A session, complete with a live cast and a call centre. "Are you hearing me, Katya?" shouted Denis Seminikhin, who had miraculously turned into a presenter from a fitness trainer. "Loud and clear," Katya Odintsova replied. "Are you getting many calls?" "Lots!" "Details, please." "OK! A spoon broke in a boy's hand in Uryupinsk, and a vase fell off the top of a television set in a Voronezh girl's home."
Not spoons but fates changed shape in the Conversation with Vladimir Putin. They certainly changed for the best. Saakashvili was the only exception, with the prospect of being hanged not even "by a certain part of his anatomy" but by "more than a single part". All the others have idyllic futures ahead. A little girl from Buryatia will have a Cinderella-style dress and an invitation to a Christmas-tree party in Moscow. The town of Pokrovsk will receive a swimming pool thanks to a child's call. Jobless steelworker Salnikov was promised global improvement in his industry and a wage increase. Military officers will receive fine accommodations, and the Zvezdochka submarine repair plant of Severodvinsk, contracts. There was no end to the miracles promised for the New Year. Mr Putin was the greatest miracle of all. His essence was summed up by Vladimir Chernyshev, then-NTV analyst: "Putin is like a Teflon frying pan-nothing ever sticks to him, even when the dish burns to a cinder!"
There was only one question he could not answer: "When will we have snow?", to which he replied modestly, "That's up to God."
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"I am not overjoyed with this shower of questions and do not share presenters' enthusiasm for it. Is it normal for a Great Power to have more questions than answers with each passing year?"
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"The latest Conversation had a metaphysical message. It meant to present Mr Putin as a miracle-worker. He easily coped with the mission."
Slava Taroshchina
