Longer moments.
Aug. 29th, 2008 08:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tyggerjaiMy Russians.
Let's start with what they have in common. Whether it's cultural, or a language barrier, or they're just all shy, they're insular as all hell. Roman, my straps brat, is fairly well socialised, but then he speaks good English, he's young and dumb, and I think he's been exposed to a broader range of cultures growing up. He's old-school circus - he's been on the straps since he was 5, his brother is also an aerialist, his father is their coach, and I presume was an aerialist himself. So Roman's ok, and especially with me, because I'm his winch op. But the rest of them, oy. They're surly to the point of rude, they shout a lot, they pick fights with, oh, pretty much everyone. And yet.
Once upon a time, the garage was full of crazy Russians. They were riders on the upside-down flying bikes, they mimed running around the theatre on the oval track carriers, they did it all. At one point, we had 8 crazy russians waiting for cues, including 3 couples. We started to regret putting mats down in the dark corner. We certainly refused to clean them.
Olga, like most of the flyers, is about 4'10", and might weigh 30 kilos dripping wet. Once, she was criticised for not having enough confetti in her umbrella to shake out over the stage during the bike passage. So props added more confetti. And because there was some confusion, we added more confetti. And because she took the note personally, and is feisty, she added more confetti. So we got another note asking for less confetti. Except that she was determined that no-one would ever tell her she needed more confetti again, and obviously we couldn't be trusted to add it. So we were told, in no uncertain terms, not to let her add her own.
On the night that the Rigging Head of Department brought the fucking Artistic Director of Creation (or something - there's 7 directors on this gig, half of whom I'd never heard of til the speeches at Gala premiere) up to the garage to observe the show, Olga went for the confetti bucket. And Ann-Sophie, the garage SM, said "Nope. Not going to happen". And Olga ignored her. So Ann-Sophie stood between Olga and the bucket, and Olga pushed past her, and grabbed a handful. Ann-Sophie grabbed Olga, I started taking confetti out of her hand. We physically herd her to her bike, with her screaming blue murder in Russian all the while, stamping her feet and throwing a tantrum with every ounce of energy in her tiny tiny body. And she came back from the passage grinning, and gave me her usual smile and fist-bump when she left the garage for her next passage. Crazy fucking Russians.
And Mikala the physio, whose been working with them in Montreal for months if not a year before they came over, said "Oh, you must be special. You get a smile." No-one else does, apparently. Some of the riggers, because we work a lot with them, and hey, if they piss us off they're in trouble. But everyone else is lucky to get a nod in the corridor.
But we all got smiles and even hugs last night. A month ago, after soft opening, the aerial act was pulled from the show. They hadn't been doing well, missing most of their passages, and just weren't solid enough. So they were replaced with some jugglers, and had extra training. And lo, they improved so much that the powers that be decided to put them back in the show. the night before Gala. Which meant 2 solid days restaging the transitions to and from their act, which are the technically most complex transitions in the show. We were not best pleased, given that the jugglers had been doing fine, and were very popular. But, as Ann-Sophie pointed out, they are *our* Russians. The jugglers are just some other random Russians. So back in the flyers went, and we were hoping they'd make most of the passages, and not embarrass themselves too much.
And they nailed every. Fucking. Catch. And I for one had a lump in my throat watching backstage. Because they are, indeed, *my* fucking Russians. They even made Olga's final passage, which I don't think they'd ever made before. It was moved to be the final passage so that when she fucked it up, they could just pretend it was the first dismount, toss all the other flyers down to the net, and take bows. So I think when Sasha Grol threw her to Mishenko, and Mishenko actually *caught* her, he wasn't quite sure what to do. They'd never really rehearsed what to do if she made it. So he, caught up in the exuberance, absolutely flung her at Vitaly, who wasn't expecting to have to catch her anyway. And she ended up with her legs around Vitaly's waist, their arms around each other in a bear hug, which is very much not orthodox catching form. But they fucking stuck it.
Then there's Nastia, and Snezhana. I have no idea how to spell Snezhana, and not much more idea how to pronounce it. She's slightly larger than Olga - maybe a quarter inch taller and an ounce heavier , and used to be one of the surliest Russians. She's very pretty, in a waifish way, and allegedly had a stunning smile. But of course none of us had ever seen it. She was less rude than Olga, but at least you could get a smile out of Olga if you really tried. Snezhana was just ... blank. Until Nastia arrived.
Nastia arrived after the rest of the Russians, and is also old-school circus, where the rest of them are mostly re-trained gymnasts. She laughs, and shouts, and bullies us, and pouts, and is generally a lot of fun to be around. And one day she realised that we keep gum in the garage crash-cart, so she started demanding gum. And we gave her a piece, to shut her up, and Snezhana a piece as well. And she said "Good. Now, vhiskey?". It took us a while to convince her that even if we had whiskey, we wouldn't share it with her during a show.
And then, of course, we had to make sure they took the gum out before they flew. Oy. I started with Nastia, because she is, strangely, easier to deal with and I was hoping she'd then deal with Snezhana. And we had the argument I was expecting, which resulted in her stomping off to the bin to lose the gum. And she obviously told Snezhana, because when I went to Snezhana, I got about as far as "So you need to ..." before she screwed up her eyes and opened her mouth as wide as she could and stuck her tongue out as far as she could to show me she'd already ditched it. And we both cracked up laughing. This is Snezhana - bottom right, with the very silly hat. Imagine that, in full makeup and costume, face screwed up and tongue hanging out. These are the moments that make it home.
And one final moment, a little more serious, because it has nothing to do with crazy fucking Russians. Many years ago, I saw "When Night is Falling", which is a beautiful film with a circus full of beautiful freaks. And in my memory, if not in the actual film, there's a scene where the main character enters an old warehouse, full of jugglers and stilt-walkers and a whole world of passion and art and creativity, not to mention the woman she is falling in love with. And as she enters, that whole world is lit up with fire. And that's always, however unrealistically, been a mental postcard of what life in the circus should be like. One night this week, I caught Ann-Sophie's eye (and at this point it's probably important to mention that Ann-Sophie and I have spent a fair bit of time working together in the garage and now onstage, and I find her both fascinating and attractive) across the open space we use backstage for lighting and extinguishing for the fire dance, and she just started to smile as the fire dancers lit up, bathing the wings, and her face, in leaping flames and firelight. Beauty, art, and fire. We live the dream, a moment at a time.
jai.
.
Let's start with what they have in common. Whether it's cultural, or a language barrier, or they're just all shy, they're insular as all hell. Roman, my straps brat, is fairly well socialised, but then he speaks good English, he's young and dumb, and I think he's been exposed to a broader range of cultures growing up. He's old-school circus - he's been on the straps since he was 5, his brother is also an aerialist, his father is their coach, and I presume was an aerialist himself. So Roman's ok, and especially with me, because I'm his winch op. But the rest of them, oy. They're surly to the point of rude, they shout a lot, they pick fights with, oh, pretty much everyone. And yet.
Once upon a time, the garage was full of crazy Russians. They were riders on the upside-down flying bikes, they mimed running around the theatre on the oval track carriers, they did it all. At one point, we had 8 crazy russians waiting for cues, including 3 couples. We started to regret putting mats down in the dark corner. We certainly refused to clean them.
Olga, like most of the flyers, is about 4'10", and might weigh 30 kilos dripping wet. Once, she was criticised for not having enough confetti in her umbrella to shake out over the stage during the bike passage. So props added more confetti. And because there was some confusion, we added more confetti. And because she took the note personally, and is feisty, she added more confetti. So we got another note asking for less confetti. Except that she was determined that no-one would ever tell her she needed more confetti again, and obviously we couldn't be trusted to add it. So we were told, in no uncertain terms, not to let her add her own.
On the night that the Rigging Head of Department brought the fucking Artistic Director of Creation (or something - there's 7 directors on this gig, half of whom I'd never heard of til the speeches at Gala premiere) up to the garage to observe the show, Olga went for the confetti bucket. And Ann-Sophie, the garage SM, said "Nope. Not going to happen". And Olga ignored her. So Ann-Sophie stood between Olga and the bucket, and Olga pushed past her, and grabbed a handful. Ann-Sophie grabbed Olga, I started taking confetti out of her hand. We physically herd her to her bike, with her screaming blue murder in Russian all the while, stamping her feet and throwing a tantrum with every ounce of energy in her tiny tiny body. And she came back from the passage grinning, and gave me her usual smile and fist-bump when she left the garage for her next passage. Crazy fucking Russians.
And Mikala the physio, whose been working with them in Montreal for months if not a year before they came over, said "Oh, you must be special. You get a smile." No-one else does, apparently. Some of the riggers, because we work a lot with them, and hey, if they piss us off they're in trouble. But everyone else is lucky to get a nod in the corridor.
But we all got smiles and even hugs last night. A month ago, after soft opening, the aerial act was pulled from the show. They hadn't been doing well, missing most of their passages, and just weren't solid enough. So they were replaced with some jugglers, and had extra training. And lo, they improved so much that the powers that be decided to put them back in the show. the night before Gala. Which meant 2 solid days restaging the transitions to and from their act, which are the technically most complex transitions in the show. We were not best pleased, given that the jugglers had been doing fine, and were very popular. But, as Ann-Sophie pointed out, they are *our* Russians. The jugglers are just some other random Russians. So back in the flyers went, and we were hoping they'd make most of the passages, and not embarrass themselves too much.
And they nailed every. Fucking. Catch. And I for one had a lump in my throat watching backstage. Because they are, indeed, *my* fucking Russians. They even made Olga's final passage, which I don't think they'd ever made before. It was moved to be the final passage so that when she fucked it up, they could just pretend it was the first dismount, toss all the other flyers down to the net, and take bows. So I think when Sasha Grol threw her to Mishenko, and Mishenko actually *caught* her, he wasn't quite sure what to do. They'd never really rehearsed what to do if she made it. So he, caught up in the exuberance, absolutely flung her at Vitaly, who wasn't expecting to have to catch her anyway. And she ended up with her legs around Vitaly's waist, their arms around each other in a bear hug, which is very much not orthodox catching form. But they fucking stuck it.
Then there's Nastia, and Snezhana. I have no idea how to spell Snezhana, and not much more idea how to pronounce it. She's slightly larger than Olga - maybe a quarter inch taller and an ounce heavier , and used to be one of the surliest Russians. She's very pretty, in a waifish way, and allegedly had a stunning smile. But of course none of us had ever seen it. She was less rude than Olga, but at least you could get a smile out of Olga if you really tried. Snezhana was just ... blank. Until Nastia arrived.
Nastia arrived after the rest of the Russians, and is also old-school circus, where the rest of them are mostly re-trained gymnasts. She laughs, and shouts, and bullies us, and pouts, and is generally a lot of fun to be around. And one day she realised that we keep gum in the garage crash-cart, so she started demanding gum. And we gave her a piece, to shut her up, and Snezhana a piece as well. And she said "Good. Now, vhiskey?". It took us a while to convince her that even if we had whiskey, we wouldn't share it with her during a show.
And then, of course, we had to make sure they took the gum out before they flew. Oy. I started with Nastia, because she is, strangely, easier to deal with and I was hoping she'd then deal with Snezhana. And we had the argument I was expecting, which resulted in her stomping off to the bin to lose the gum. And she obviously told Snezhana, because when I went to Snezhana, I got about as far as "So you need to ..." before she screwed up her eyes and opened her mouth as wide as she could and stuck her tongue out as far as she could to show me she'd already ditched it. And we both cracked up laughing. This is Snezhana - bottom right, with the very silly hat. Imagine that, in full makeup and costume, face screwed up and tongue hanging out. These are the moments that make it home.
And one final moment, a little more serious, because it has nothing to do with crazy fucking Russians. Many years ago, I saw "When Night is Falling", which is a beautiful film with a circus full of beautiful freaks. And in my memory, if not in the actual film, there's a scene where the main character enters an old warehouse, full of jugglers and stilt-walkers and a whole world of passion and art and creativity, not to mention the woman she is falling in love with. And as she enters, that whole world is lit up with fire. And that's always, however unrealistically, been a mental postcard of what life in the circus should be like. One night this week, I caught Ann-Sophie's eye (and at this point it's probably important to mention that Ann-Sophie and I have spent a fair bit of time working together in the garage and now onstage, and I find her both fascinating and attractive) across the open space we use backstage for lighting and extinguishing for the fire dance, and she just started to smile as the fire dancers lit up, bathing the wings, and her face, in leaping flames and firelight. Beauty, art, and fire. We live the dream, a moment at a time.
jai.
.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-30 12:23 am (UTC)I loved "When Night Is Falling", even though I found it just a teeny bit verging into agitprop. But when she found her in the snow *BAAAAWWWWWLLLLLSSS*