Kommersant: "Preview of Eurovision"
What Vladimir Putin and Kommersant's special correspondent saw at the Olimpiisky Sports Complex on the eve of the Eurovision contest.
On May 9, Victory Day, Prime Minister Vladimir Putin visited the Olimpiisky Sports Complex, where preparation for the Eurovision song contest was in full swing. Kommersant's ANDREI KOLESNIKOV was following the Prime Minister as he checked the preparations for the contest.
Within a space of three months the organisers managed, metaphorically speaking, to turn an ordinary Singer sewing machine into a world-standard musical instrument. The gym has been converted into an international press centre (its main function - interminable and meaningless exercises - has been preserved).
The table of contest participants has the format of Mendeleyev's Periodic Table, in which the elements are the participating countries marked as in the Internet: Ru stands for Russia, De stands for Germany and so on), the figures mark the year they first took part in the contest and hearts indicate the number of victories on Eurovision.
Before Vladimir Putin's arrival all these fruits of creativity were demonstrated to us by Andrei Kurpatov, the Director-General of Red Square (one of Channel One's divisions engaged in the preparation for Eurovision-2009). I was somewhat surprised to realise that he was Dr Kurpatov, a TV presenter and author of numerous popular pamphlets on psychology.
"So you are the producer?" I asked. "Yes, he said without a shadow of arrogance and shrugged modestly. I worked and worked and here I am..." He made a gesture with his hand that took in the snack bar through which we were passing.
"But of course I am better known as Dr Kurpatov," the producer added.
"So, what are you, a producer or a doctor?" I kept probing him.
"Well. Our profession requires that you should be a little bit of a..." he hesitated. "A producer?"
"No, a doctor," he replied.
We entered the huge Olimpiisky hall. What has been accomplished inspires a sense of respect verging on awe. The amount of projection equipment on the stage made one think that it had been brought not only from all across Russia, but also from all across Europe (the impression would turn out to be correct as the director-general of Channel One, Konstantin Ernst, would later confirm answering my bewildered question. He said that it is impossible to stage any serious show in Europe today because 80% of capacity is here: "Two thousand square metres of screens").
Beneath the ceiling were fixed swimming pools apparently designed to perform a very special role, probably of turning the sports complex into an aquatic park. A Firebird of enormous size, looking more like a fire-breathing dragon, was also fixed to the ceiling.
The role of the dragon falls to Russian singer Dmitry Bilan, who will descend onto the stage from under the dragon's jaw. The rotating spheres suspended from the ceiling will carry the name of the country whose representative will be performing.
When I approached the stage a girl from Slovenia was singing. She was standing inside a metal detector frame, one of several deployed on the stage. Perhaps the original idea was that the frames would symbolise something very different, an entrance into some shining infinity, perhaps... But they ended up looking like metal detector frames: the Slovenian dashed about the stage between the frames, but Dr Kurpatov paid no attention to her.
"We have enough power here to provide the whole of Zelenograd with electricity," he said. "What about Khimki?" I asked.
He thought a while and then said apologetically:
"I am sorry, I don't know exactly because I am not a Muscovite".
Proceeding from the simple truth that nothing appears out of nothing, the people in Zelenograd (and Khimki) should be prepared for blackouts in their homes during Eurovision semifinals and the final. "There are 160 tonnes of equipment under the roof," Dr Kurpatov explained. The biggest weight this roof supported up until now was 80 tonnes".
I thought at the moment that the words "aquatic park" that flashed through my head were not entirely accidental.
Sensing this, the doctor hastened to reassure me:
"The situation is controlled by the Olimpiisky builders, who, thank God, are still alive." Apparently his hopes rested with them, and even more with Him.
On either side of the stage I saw multi-tiered structures looking like honeycombs.
"Living pictures that made everyone shed tears at the 1980 Moscow Olympics will be projected here," Dr Kurpatov said proudly.
It brought home to me that the formidable Soviet and Russian experience of mass events and of drawing strong emotions from spectators would be committed to this contest.
"The director is the same man who staged the Olympics, Dr Kurpatov added. Thank God he is still alive..."
"So everybody will be crying again?" I asked him.
"Not everybody", the doctor corrected me. "Did you cry at the Olympic ceremony?" I asked him.
"Probably not, he said vaguely. I was seven years old at the time. How should I know?"
We emerged from the hall and approached a mobile TV studio (MTS), of which the organisers are very proud.
"This MTS was deployed at the Beijing Olympics, the doctor explained. We bought it from the Europeans. It will also be used at the Sochi Olympics.
"Isn't it going to be outdated?" I asked worriedly. "No," the doctor reassured me and I felt that he had to check himself not address me as "patient".
We went into the MTS. The doctor told me that a single person cannot keep track of more than nine TV monitors, and here there were 24. I saw instant proof of his words.
"Work with your tooth, damn it," the director was shouting through the microphone.
"Of course they are under great strain," the Doctor signed.
"I don't think they are coping," I hazarded.
"Shut the doors," the director yelled without turning while reacting not only to the monitors but also controlling the situation inside the studio all at the same time.
Several foreigners were discussing something using microphones and trying to be unobtrusive. Apparently they had been victims of his directorial ambitions more than once.
"Foreigners," Dr Kurpatov told me as we were going back. They still don't believe that we can make it working against such deadlines. But we will."
"Perhaps you should have started earlier?"
"Maybe," he agreed. "But we couldn't start before we got funding".
Vladimir Putin arrived at the Olimpiisky Sports Complex after a Kremlin reception where he probably did not stay very long judging from the fact that he was not late for the visit. However, he didn't look as if he was going to linger at the Olimpiisky Complex either.
Meanwhile the public - the local staff and journalists who had arrived in their hundreds and did not know that the contest would begin with Vladimir Putin were stunned by his appearance and gave him a rousing welcome.
In the press conference hall the Prime Minister was given a microphone just in case he wanted to ask a question.
"I would like to ask the journalists. Do they like the facility?" he inquired.
In response there was applause which could mean both that they liked the facility or Mr Putin, or both.
In the main hall Vladimir Putin saw a demonstration of how the stage would be transformed during the show. The Prime Minister came on stage and looked around him... It pays to be on one's guard. After all, he had done a bit of singing recently at a Defence Ministry Boarding School and he seemed to do quite well (he even managed to comfort a young girl who kept mixing up the lyrics of a popular World War II song).
But Vladimir Putin chose not to display his vocal skills at Olimpiisky. He had no chance to upstage an Azeri singer who was standing on the stage in front of a microphone looking somewhat embarrassed. Vladimir Putin, accompanied by Konstantin Ernst, lingered in the MTS box (Apparently the studio's director was temporarily suspended, otherwise Vladimir Putin would have come outdoors much earlier).
As I later found out, Mr Ernst showed the Prime Minister a routine that was to be performed by Anastasia Prikhodko of Russia. Konstantin Ernst shared some exclusive details of the number with Kommersant.
"The first reaction may be that the Russians have come up with something too simple, he said. A girl stands and sings. But then the spectators see the girl's face on the screen beginning to age, within three minutes she turns into a sixty-year-old woman. Benjamin Button in reverse... She sings a song about her mother...."
"So she turns from daughter to mother," it finally sank in.
Konstantin Ernst confirmed my guess and I thought that grandmother would have been more appropriate.
Judging from how pleased Vladimir Putin looked after watching Anastasia Prikhodko's clip, the process of a Russian Eurovision participant turning from a radiant young girl into a grey-haired old woman turned out to be a success.
