Behind the Scenes of Fireworks: Traveling for a Performance

One of the greatest prerogatives of living in New York City is having the access to its spectacular cultural magnitude.

Contemporary art is dead and SoHo galleries stay unoccupied. But we got the Met, the Guggenheim, the MoMA, the Frick—to look at the old stuff. Indie filmmaking fares no better than art nowadays. But there is Angelica, IFC Center, and Film Forum, treating us to foreign and indie classics.

And Drama still lives—on, off, and off-off Broadway!

And yet, not everything that might be important to you ends up here. Case in point: the most comprehensive Salvador Dali exhibition in the US, the 2005 Centennial Retrospective—of over 200 paintings and sculptures—was hosted by the Philadelphia Museum of Art. We simply had to drive there.

And what if you really-really like some band or want to see a certain performance? You know what I’m saying—when you feel you simply must do it?

So, multiple times going cross country to witness the magic of Cirque du Soleil was special, yet not extraordinary endeavor for me. On more than a few occasions I travelled out of town, out of state, and abroad in pursuit of unique theatrical and musical experiences.

Those trips are among the brightest highlights of my life. I feel both privileged and fortunate to have them in my past. It was only natural to channel some of the enduring impressions onto the pages of Fireworks and Other Illuminations.

The Red Arrow

I guess you can say that my unwavering love for dramatic theater has been cultivated since I was very young….

It’s weird—the way my parents were. Despite their general lack of attention to me, bordering on ignorance, they were extraordinarily generous when it came to my cultural exposure.

They took me to the Leningrad Philharmonia from such an early age that I would nap while listening to Beethoven and Mozart. But it made me very comfortable with the full-size symphonic orchestra. I don’t even remember the first time I was brought into the Hermitage Museum—it was just part of my existence.

My father provided me with subscriptions to every single literary magazine available in the Soviet Union— including New World and Foreign Literature—since I was in my early teens. The latter gave me my first experience of One Hundred Years of Solitude.

And theater? I saw every single children’s play. And when I got older—every important production in the repertoires of St. Petersburg’s nine major theatre companies.

Yet, from time to time—in defiance of communist censorship and oppression—some truly groundbreaking theatrical events materialized in Moscow. That bit of nostalgia that Regina shares with William in the the last Chapter of Fireworks, the one about her father taking her to Moscow for theater on a very special overnight train called Red Arrow… Well, you guessed it correctly—it’s actually my father who did that for me… The must-see miracles—The Master and Margarita in Taganka, The Twelfth Night in Sovremennik…

The tiny islands of incredible memories in the sea of otherwise horrible parenting.

Making up for the stolen youth

All that cultural exposure available within the despotic borders was great and thank God I had the access. The painful truth, however, is that the iron curtain deprives everyone of so many freedoms, it’s distressing to even point them out.

Don’t even get me started on the foreign-travel restrictions imposed by the Soviet communists on Jews. The first time I went abroad was as a political refugee—actually leaving it all behind, including the citizenship.

But the saddest thing for me was being cheated by the misfortune of my birth out of the possibility to experience in-person the live performances that were happening around the world during my late teens and early twenties. That primal communion you can only attain when you are there, witnessing the magic conjured by your favorite band on stage.

Yes, while in high school and college, I always had friends whose parents had fancy jobs that took them to countries where you could buy original albums. So, my collection of tapes was complete with the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Queen, Bowie, the Clash… But every time, perusing the pages of Amerika, I encountered photos of people my age crowded in the pit at the feet of the music gods on stage, I felt so angry—it made me want to cry…

We can’t ever turn back time… I was fortunate, though. I had my daughter when I was very young and we always liked the same music. We still do. And when she started going to concerts, it was never just tickets for herself—she was always kind to let me tag alone. Radiohead, Tool, QOTSA, The Mars Volta, Morrissey, Kanye West, Wilco, The Cure, AFI, Alt-J, etc., etc., etc.

And some of them we followed well beyond New York. Through the cities along the East Coast all the way up into Canada, across the country to the Greek, and even to Milan and London. Reliving the experiences multiple times… Making up for my stolen youth…

London’s calling

Speaking of London… It’s nearly 2,000 years old, you know. Its first successful theater was established when Shakespeare was 12—fifty years before the Dutch landed on Manhattan Island. So, I guess, that inescapable bit of the British stuffiness—the partiality for blood heritage and the penchant for poshness—is to be expected, considering the age.

But I love it nevertheless. Probably because, despite the age difference, in many ways that are important to me it’s just like NYC. With famous museums and art galleries, legendary opera houses and concert halls, and the world-renowned theater district.

The truth is, as far as drama goes, London’s West End frequently offers gems you won’t see on Broadway. I had a chance to catch a few of those marvels there over the years and I am compelled to mention at least three here…

Jessica Lange in Long Day’s Journey

That London trip that Regina takes in Chapter Seven of Fireworks to act as an expert witness in Royal Commercial Court is actually based on my own appearance in the Rolls Building back in 2001. And I must admit—the first thought that came to my mind when my British colleague called asking for my testimony on his behalf was: “Mmm… the West End!”

I only had one free night then. The concierge of my posh Mayfair hotel was charmed by my theatrical enthusiasm, though, and promised that he’d get me into whatever play I’s choose. And the choices were impressive: There was Judi Dench at Royal Haymarket, Anna Chancellor and Zoë Wanamaker at New Ambassadors… But as soon as I saw that Jessica Lange was starring in Long Day’s Journey into Night ¹at Lyric Theatre the matter was settled for me.

My very first encounter with Ms. Lange’s acting happened when I, at 22, saw Frances during Moscow International Film Festival. She won the Best Actress Prize there. I’ve been… Hmm, I don’t think a “fan” is an accurate description… A great admirer ever since.

So, that’s what I went to see. And she was spellbinding as Mary Tyrone. This emotionally semi-autobiographical play is one of Eugene O’Neill’s most popular. So, I’ve seen it multiple times—with other superstar actresses. But, let me tell you, nobody can match Ms. Lange’s nuanced delivery of utter vulnerability…

A few years passed before I realized that it was my first time watching the wonderful Olivia Colman—27 at the time. She played Cathleen.

Equus Revived

Six years after that… But wait, there is a prequel to this part.

When I was 15, while browsing the theater section of Saint Petersburg’s most famous book store—The House of Books—I stumbled on a relatively smallish square hardcover of maybe 200 pages. It was stuffed with essays on London’s stage productions of the previous year.

It has always been a puzzle to me how such unique bits of contemporary foreign culture were allowed to penetrate the thick barriers of Soviet censorship during the 70s. I will never know for sure, of course, but in the historical contest I can attribute these miracles to Yekaterina Furtseva—the first female Minister of Culture—and her efforts to implement cultural exchanges with the West.

Naturally, I bought the book and read it through that very same night… One particular review blew my mind—the play’s title and its synopsis permanently imprinting into my consciousness. It was Peter Shaffer’s Equus—a play about a boy who in religious fervor sacrifices his God. Can you imagine how mesmerized and intrigued I was? At 15, in communist Russia? And also resigned to never see it on stage….

After I escaped Soviet Union in the 80s as a political refugee and got to New York, I was always on the lookout. There were no revivals. Of course, I knew about Sidney Lumet’s movie… But I cherished my dream of seeing it on stage for the first time. So, I decided not to watch it.

And then, at the end of 2006, I read in New York Times’ Arts and Leisure about the upcoming West End production… First time since the original run. Starring Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths!

And if you think that I didn’t immediately start planning a 10-day London trip for me and my daughter to see it in May 2007—you haven’t been paying attention.

You know how it is. Sometimes, when you wait for something for a really long time, the magnitude of expectations may outshine the experience itself. 31 years is a long time. It could’ve been a terrible letdown.

It’s a testament to the incredible scenic directions and outstanding acting that I didn’t get disappointed finally watching the play at Gielgud Theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue. In fact, I was so impressed that when two years later they brought that very production to Broadway, I got premium tickets to see it again. Twice.

And then, Dame Maggie Smith…

Well, as busy as London trips can be (I’ll tell you more some day), a 10-day stay can accommodate at least two plays. And I got incredibly lucky. We happened to be there right in the middle of a very short, three-month, run of Edward Albee‘s rarely staged gem The Lady from Dubuque. With Maggie Smith playing the eponymous lady—the Angel of Death.

I love Albee. His type of sober, human surrealism is exactly my cup of tea. And this play—dealing with the tragedy of terminal illness and the separation from life itself—elevates the emotional drama to the level I always hope for in my theatergoing. It was also staged well and everyone in it was good…

But Dame Maggie… She was absolutely breathtaking. On an unreachable level of the artistic genius. As vital, tangible, and magnetic as she was in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. Leaving the Theatre Royal Haymarket, I was in such a daze, the whole experience seemed unreal.

BAM! and you are in Greece…

Life is full of unexpected events—I know it firsthand. Some things just happen without you planning for them. You don’t even need to organize anything… An offer to participate comes in. It’s expensive, but within your means. And you just go.

STAMP—the Society of Theater, Arts, and Music Philanthropists, which I conjured in the novel as the primary beneficiary of William McGrath’s contributions to the arts, is actually my fictionalized rendition of Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM). For a significant stretch of time I was first its Friend, and then its Patron.

And the STAMP Voyager trip he is urged to consider in Chapter Two—the visit to Italy culminating in Shakespeare at Pompeii? That did actually happen. Not in Pompeii and not with As You Like It, though.

In my real life, it was BAM Travel trip to Greece. A once in a life time, unforgettable experience centered around the final performance of The Bridge Project‘s The Winter’s Tale at the Ancient Theater of Epidaurus. A collaboration of the Old Vic and BAM, it was directed by Sam Mendes and starred Sinéad Cusack, Rebecca Hall, Ethan Hawk, and Simon Russell Beale among others.

Sitting in front of the stage—on the stones laid down in the 4th century BC—and witnessing Shakespeare under the spectacular night sky was a singular, incomparable adventure.

And that closing-night afterparty! But that’s another story altogether…

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Uncover more of Regina’s and William’s travels, trials, and thrills –> Read Fireworks and Other Illuminations

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1. Curiously, she reprised that role in a movie just last year. ↩︎