The 2000s in review: from boundless freedom to irresponsible pseudo-stability.
The first decade of the 21st century provided some fascinating material for cultural analysis, and now, with the year in review, we're trying to make our own modest contribution by focusing on the cultural phenomena of the last ten years.
Surrounded by Puppets
The political dynamics of the first decade of the 21st century - or, if you prefer, the third millennium C.E. - have ranged from boundless freedom to pseudo-stability, but perhaps the most conspicuous thing about them has been the puppets. The difference between the TV programme of the late 1990s and the similarly titled programme of the late 2000s (i.e., the satirical "Cartoon Personalities") is striking testimony to the sea change in this country.
The early version of the programme, "Puppets" ("Kukly"), marked a revolutionary change in the relationship between the authorities and the people. The authorities ceased to be sacred and could be the butt of irony, ridicule, and criticism. The rubber look-alikes of real politicians became even more popular than the politicians themselves. Classical authors, from Lermontov to Shakespeare, when transposed into the present time acquired an incredible relevance. The stories were not just funny, but critically meaningful: the real personalities were dissolved in imagined ones that exposed the human foibles and professional shortcomings of the political elite. Yeltsin and Chernomyrdin bore the ordeal with stoicism. Not so Mr Putin, who immediately stamped his foot. "Little Tsakhes," a sketch with a puppet of Mr Putin in the lead role, so angered the newly elected President that the programme was promptly shut down. Gofman's brilliant stylisation was treated as an anti-state act, and the puppets were gone.
The owners initially offered their blacklisted puppets for rent. For a certain period, the show rematerialized in "Mikhail Leontyev's Puppet Theatre." This was the titular commentator's brief moment of glory. A sworn enemy of America, he filled his shows with the virtual doubles of international leaders. All of them, including Donald Rumsfeld and Condoleezza Rice, showed reverence for Mr Leontyev, but their grim and dour appearance was uncomfortably reminiscent of the prominent members of the United Russia party of which Mr Leontyev was (and is) a proud member. Unfortunately, his messianic streak was clearly at odds with the aesthetics of parody. The authorities shut down the programme in spite of such "redeeming" features as sycophancy and patriotism. In other words, the rubber characters would have merely remained a poignant memory of the good times if Vasily Pichul (who directed not only "Little Vera," a taboo-breaking film of the early perestroika years, but also "Kukly") had not proposed to resuscitate the show. His new and ambitious project, "Cartoon Personalities" (Multlichnosti), was launched at the end of 2009. It became clear from the very first show that it was a failure. 3D animation is marvelous. All the rest doesn't even merit a discussion. There is not the slightest hint of a coherent composition. The stories crowd out each other, there are few recognizable characters, there is no question of biting satire, and the humour is even worse than Petrosyan's (Kandelaky asks Volochkova: "Have you heard about sarcasm?" "Yes." "Where did you learn about it?" "I have experienced it.") The takeoffs of Pugachova and Galkin are malicious and obscenely stupid.
The crowd of personalities includes everyone from Arshavin to Obama, Yushchenko to Pozner, Hillary Clinton to Tymoshenko, Sobchak to Zadornov. Only the key protagonists, Medvedev and Putin, are conspicuously absent. The chief comedian, Alexander Tsekalo, explains this circumstance with the simple-heartedness of a dyed-in-the-wool Stalinist. He says that in Russia weak rulers allow themselves to be mocked, but strong rulers will have none of it... In short, satire is in safe hands. As for "Kukly," it no longer seems relevant to use puppets for parodying their political counterparts when the strings are very real-at least in all cases but two.
The Tandem
In the early 2000s public life was vibrant. Changes of government, the wars among oligarchs, suitcases with compromising documents-plenty to report. But by the end of the decade, the main content of news programmes has become the comparative chronicles (one might say hagiographies) of Medvedev's and Putin's lives. Their television duel or dialogue in absentia has been fleshed out with some tell-tale details. Any action of one prompts an immediate symmetrical response from the other.
A year ago, the pro-Kremlin spin doctors, led by Gleb Pavlovsky, were drumming it into people's heads that "the best Putin formats look derivative when applied to Medvedev." Unfortunately, Mr Pavlovsky was wrong about that about most other things. Mr Medvedev inhabits Putin's formats quite happily. He bawls out governors and policemen in front of cameras in a way that makes one proud to call him our President. Not to mention his dialogue with party representatives not yet elected to parliament. If it is to be remembered at all, it will not so much be for its rich content as for the President's unusually virulent attack on Yavlinsky for not listening attentively enough. A proud but very pale Grigory Yavlinsky was a sorry sight...
The harsh words are usually matched by a harsher picture: the speaker's steely eyes, panic among the listeners, drooping shoulders, nervously clasped hands. All of this masterfully conveys an atmosphere of fear. Not that anything else could have been expected. The methods of the Russian-Soviet rulers have hardly changed over time.
But for all the apparent variety of new approaches to the business of brainwashing the masses, the methods are really as uniform as they were in 1917. The man in the street doesn't hanker for novelty, but for clichés that he knows, including the cliché of the good tsar and the evil boyars. The myth surrounding the Boss must be reinforced from time to time by familiar patterns-all of them designed to produce a knee-jerk reaction among the masses. Stalin was lucky because he had experts who produced eye-catching slogans. Think of Mayakovsky and his warning to the freedom-loving Shalyapin: "He who does not sing with us is against us." This is an ideal formula for all times, including the present time. But not every president has the good fortune of having a Mayakovsky to praise him. And every leader understands that to be a good ruler in Russia, you must be able to transcend the real character and live up to the image.
Mr Medvedev is growing to match his image, but it must be said for fairness sake that he has yet to reach Putin's heights. Mr Putin can tame anyone (be it an Ussuri tiger or the disgruntled people of Pikalyovo) and cure anyone by just being present (the patients at the Altai regional clinical hospital greeted Mr Putin with stormy applause and instant recovery). Some of his TV appearances should be broadcast as master classes.
The pictures of cabinet meetings beginning with the same mise-en-scène are particularly impressive. The Prime Minister, squinting like Lenin, allows his eyes to rove for some time over the faces of those present. Each time, the mirthless faces of the ministers prompt Putin to ad lib: "What have you done for the Russian people during the last week?" The subordinates seem to have a fit of amnesia. "Why are you silent? You have done nothing? What are you paid for?" While the viewers on both sides of the TV camera are trying to make head or tail of what Mr Putin just said, he flashes a smile and gets down to the hard stuff. My favourite of such scenes was his declaration of the foundation of the Russian Arctic National Park. The long list of wonderful animals living north of the Arctic Circle from polar bears to Greenland whales did not bode well for Putin's cowering colleagues. Their foreboding was materialized in the form of a proposal or an order. With the broad gesture of a friendly host, Mr Putin invited the ministers to spend their next holiday in the Arctic. We have yet to see Cabinet ministers fraternizing with bears and whales.
In the meantime, one pattern is worth noting: although both leaders are constantly in the limelight, we are not any wiser as to what transpires between them. While we have known nothing about Medvedev for two years, we have known nothing about Putin for ten years. This despite the fact that at the dawn of the Putin era, the question that was first heard in Davos - "Who is Mr Putin?" - was ranked with other eternal Russian questions, along with "Who is to blame?" and "What is to be done?"
One thing is known for sure. In a documentary released at the beginning of the century called "Vladimir Putin. The Leap Year," the director, Vitaly Mansky, asks the new occupant of the Kremlin office: "How do you feel in the President's armchair?" Putin's reply is short and pointed: "Thank you, it isn't too tight."
Legends of standby airfields
Their personae created by television, the President and the Prime Minister have a high regard for its political utility, and no wonder: in no other country can television produce national leaders as unfailingly as in Russia. The channels have already learned to balance the airtime devoted to the two members of the tandem down to seconds. Everything seemed to run smoothly and calmly until a thunderbolt came out of the blue: first Putin and then, an hour later, Medvedev declared that they might run in the next presidential elections. This set off a flurry of rumours and theories. Gossip-mongers were feverishly dividing the media into Medvedev's and Putin's.
Several developments preceding this surge of activity lent credence to the talk about re-dividing the media. The Sport Channel was shut down and the management of VGTRK announced that its place would soon be taken by Russia-2, a channel aimed at sophisticated audiences. Simultaneously, rumours circulated about new management, a personnel shakeup handed down by the grandiose plans of the National Media Group, which has already taken over RenTV, Channel 5 (Petersburg), and now eyes TVCentre. The holding's public council is headed by gymnast Alina Kabayeva, which undoubtedly holds out a promise of further creative successes.
The growing empire of Yuri Kovalchuk, thought to be Putin's buddy, prompted gossip-mongers that NMG is expanding with him in mind. Meanwhile, Rossiya-2 was dubbed the Medvedev channel. Another development was the sudden resignation of the "unsinkable" presidential aide Mikhail Lesin. What was striking was not that the man was sacked (it can happen to anyone) but the statement of the reason. The prominent media personality was subjected to a public whipping as if he were a mischievous school pupil. The drastic move was prompted by Medvedev's disapproval of Lesin, who had invited Alexander Rodnyansky to NMG. (Allegedly, during the "Orange Revolution," he, running an Ukrainian channel, refused to back Yanukovich, whom Medvedev was promoting). Because the motive appeared astonishingly trifling, a more plausible explanation linked the move to the wars between advertisers.
They form the third act of our drama. When we say Lesin, we really mean Video International and vice versa. Rumour has it that Alexei Miller had complained to Medvedev about Lesin for allegedly trying to seduce NMG into betrayal. Today, the holding's advertiser is Gazprom Media, while Lesin proposed using the services of VI, which is allegedly faring better in time of crisis. Medvedev blew his top and kicked out his treacherous aide. But that is not the end of the story. The other day, the State Duma passed three readings of amendments to the "Law On Advertising" proposed by United Russia.
It is not accidental that the governing party's Duma deputies singled out television advertising. Under the amendments, TV channels will not be allowed to sign contracts with advertisers whose share in the segment exceeds 35%. In other words, if the law is passed, it would signify a victory for NMG and a defeat for VI, whose market share is over 60% on a conservative estimate.
I would not have dwelled on this dubious detective story except for two circumstances. First. The story, regardless of how much truth there is in it, is an eloquent document of our era. It speaks volumes about the relationships in the top echelons of power, which are something like a cross between a common cash fund and a very closed joint stock company. The second is by default. All these theories imply the possibility of the tandem splitting when both its members will need standby airfields for safe landing. But I think that the likelihood of one of the heads of the double eagle falling off is as great as the likelihood of Gogol's Nose taking a walk in Nevsky Prospekt (and hoping to meet Valentina Matviyenko there).
Taking the cue from Gaidar
Those who are battling for control of TV forget that virtual reality can be a treacherous thing. One can manhandle it, censor it, destroy it, and purge it. But then by a stroke of fortune, a context arises which, contrary to all the efforts of the creative managers, changes the script. The day of Yegor Gaidar's death is a case in point.
Because the present-day government came to power by rejecting the wild 1990s, all the protagonists of that period (with the exception of Putin, of course) have disappeared from the screens. Yegor Gaidar, who initially was blamed for all of Russia's woes, appeared only twice in recent years on the programmes "School for Scandal" and in Pozner's programme. Both were broadcast on the day he died. One could not help being struck by the stature of that individual and his integrity. When asked by Pozner, "When you face your Creator what will you tell him?" Gaidar replied: "I have done what I considered to be my duty." Then consider the following statement: "We have no democracy, we have a soft version of authoritarianism." He never tried to curry favour with anyone although he knew the recipes only too well: "In a country without democracy simple slogans such as ‘Motherland or death' or ‘Get the kikes' go down best. It is easy to endear yourself to the audience. It is far more difficult to get people to understand something."
But this was still not the most striking thing. For who ever spoke about Gaidar during those days, including Medvedev and Putin (I mean their condolences to the relatives and close ones), "responsibility" was the key word. It is a word that has been dropped from the modern political vocabulary. You want to see Putin in judo gear surrounded by the country's judo team? No problem. You want to admire Mr Medvedev presenting the "Breakthrough" youth prize at the Olympic complex next to Yana Churikova and the star of the soap opera "Margosha"? Be my guest. But responsibility is much less in evidence. It seems to get lost on the vast spaces of our country somewhere between the Neva Express train and the Lame Horse club.
Listening to the news on the box becomes an ever more excruciating experience by the day. The clever blend of semi-lies and semi-truths, the exhausting search for scapegoats in the lower and middle levels of government, inspirational talk about modernization while people just 100 km out of Moscow live in the stone age... and these endless promises of pie in the sky, most recently with the help of nanotechnologies...
At the end of the "School for Scandal" programme, Avdotya Smirnova, an impulsive young woman, tells Yegor Gaidar with feeling: "Please convey to the authorities that they are fools if they do not listen to you." With a shy smile Yegor Gaidar replied firmly: "I will."
But he did not live to do it.
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"The myth surrounding the Boss must be reinforced from time to time by familiar patterns-all of them designed to produce a knee-jerk reaction among the masses."
Slava Taroshchina