By Thomas Goltz
PROLOGUE:
So, I did a trim of grammar about last night’s unexpected Opera/Torch song performance by Fidan Hajiyeva--but my changes were minimal and the event heralded a shift from my near cosmic depression about current Azerbaijan to near cosmic ecstasy. It was great, wonderful, life-altering (etc)
And then there was tonight, Sunday, April 20.
As planned, I did indeed attend a major theater event this evening: It was called Mom's Book. (‘ANANIN KITABI”). Although not as ‘random’ as my walk-in to the Diva Fidan’s gig, to be honest, I had no idea what it would be about. Indeed, judging by the age of most in the audience (young), I initially thought that I was at the wrong show at the wrong time. Making it a little more worrisome was the fact that I had a last-minute ‘date’ of sorts, a Russian-born/US-schooled Azerbaijani zany woman named Ella whom I met in LA some years ago, and who just happened to be in town and was keen to meet again; we do (or did) not know each other well at all so the idea of a five-minute meet & greet and then take a dive into an unknown play that was maybe for ‘youths’ about mothers’ literary efforts was potential a disaster.
NOT.
The story-line essence was essentially this: set circa 1918, traditional Muslim Mom has three quite different sons, all reflecting aspects of Az mentality at the time. The primary son is a Russophile; the Second is an Islamist (Iran); the Third is a Pan-Turkist. They all endeavor to marry off their sister to a representative of their various political persuasions: 1) A pre-Soviet style assimilated 'Ruski' merchant; 2) A ranting, Fez-wearing Ottoman; and 3) a 'deep' Islam suitor (Iran?), a role that brought down the audience in applause for the comic performance as the actor cited Koran/Verse/etc which was utterly hilarious (and sociologically interesting because the audience thought it was so funny, too…)
The main point was (the obvious): who among the brothers' candidates would win their sister's (Azerbaijan's) hand? Moscow/Tehran/Turkey? (Duh...)
All of this was very classically ‘funny’ according to standard character type until the inject of The Shepherd From The Blue. He stunk; spoke local; was true...from his appearance on the stage, it was clear that he would win sister's heart...
The brothers begin to fight, beseeching Mom about who should win sister's hand...Then followed a ridiculously funny, full-crafted ‘town-hall’ meeting featuring the various candidates and their backers, plus beggars…and then the bombardment (1918 Bolshevik take-over of Baku) begins...close Act One.
ACT TWO:
Bombardment continues, along with the arrival of Soviet Commissars. Rather than just shoot the three brothers for their anti-Soviet attitudes (Czarist/Pan-Turkist/Islamist), they let them melt away into their various ‘bookish’ corners (Russian/Iranian/Turkish)--and then fall upon each other.
My companion to this theatrical event (and I was glad I had one) suggested that all this book-throwing symbolically meant not absolute rivalry between the three brothers, but that there was an absolutely need of ‘exchange’ of all these ideas (Russianness/Turkishness/Islam)--but I never quite saw that. Frankly, what I saw/heard (as a theater critic kind-of-guy) was a Beat-The-Audience-On-The-Head sort of metaphor connected to the three brothers' collection of books after the Bolshevik take-over that went on WAY too long. My companion, in contrast, stated that drumming this theme into ground was in fact necessary in order to make it fully understood to all in attendance because it was so important: the 'book-throwing' between the three brothers was less a fraternal confrontation than a 'forced exchange of ideas', or a synthesis of the complex range of ideas vexing the Azerbaijanies over the past century about that essential question: Who Are We?
A couple of other quick notes.
The performance was highly professional; the actors excellent on every level—funny when we needed to laugh; tragic when we needed to nearly weep, etc. The cast worked like the proverbial ‘clock’ together, and it was a wonderful thing to see professional actors in action.
The theme--"Who Are We?" was addressed adroitly; the approach included high comedy and heavy drama, and asked the right questions, even if the title 'Mom's Book' might have over-played that emotional hand.
Of course the play ends with Mom's death--and thus the remorse/reunion of her feuding children--even while her body is literally lowered into her grave (a drop-down part of the stage).
This was a bit of unexpected if simple stage-craft, even for an old theater-goer like me. But it was well done (and appreciated by the audience), particularly during the curtain-call moment when everyone else in the cast had done their bows, but 'Mother' remained a ghost--until re-elevated from her grave (surprise) by the hoisting devices that had so dramatically brought her down...
(Applause, Applause--but just for the sort of emotional tricks technology can perform...)
All this praise said (and I mean it; once again, I am fairly certain that I was the only Azerbaijani-language half-competent foreigner in the State Drama Theater chamber at the time; the last was 2008 or 2009 when I was blessed to witness "Javid" on a one-night performance (Javid was one of Azerbaijan's great theater authors, who died in Stalin-style exile and whose multiple plays were long banned in Soviet Azerbaijan; the play/performance consisted of mini-segments of most of his work, stitched together by his personal history), but I do have certain reservations about the performance of "Mother's Book" tonight.
The first: WHEN WILL IT EVER BE PERFORMED AGAIN?
Like the 'Javid' performance just mentioned, I have a sense--and I would like to be corrected if this is not true--that ALL these extraordinary theatrical projects are 'once-offs,' IE, the entire team is trained-up to a 'once only' performance of something that is theoretically wonderful/spectacular.
The second: RESPECT
Even if 'once-offs,' a code of decorum MUST be enforced with rigor in Azerbaijani theaters, at the very least in order to respect the efforts of the performers. This is so sadly lacking in Azerbaijan as to make me want to grab cell-phones out of the person behind me, and stamp said cell-phone into smashed junk. Ushers (such as tonight) are only irritating in telling kids to stop wandering up and down aisles; they are less than useless in telling adults to stop texting/talking on cell-phones during--of course--the essential dramatic moments of the play/opera/musical we all came to watch.
THESE PEOPLE (the indolent, lazy nay-bobs just there in the audience because they think they must be seen) must have their cell-phones stripped away the moment there is a cell phone-flash in the audience, and ideally publicly embarrassed. In addition to diverse folks running up and down the alleys (kids, mainly; why bring them if they do not want to watch? But Ok...) there were the 'talkers' and then the 'texters.' Shame on them all.
The third: Hypocrisy
Somewhere in this mix, someone called me on my cell-phone, which I had presumed was on soft irritation/vibration/idyll mode. This small fact—my cell phone being on at all—possibly exposed me and my entire analysis/criticism of ‘Mother’s Book’ as being nothing more than multi-language/cultural hypocrisy--but you the reader and can judge such putative self-crit comments for what you think they are worth.
The fourth: QUALITY and Delight
My companion, laughing aloud at various moments, was in the former category; perhaps I wished that she had stayed more silent so that I could have focused more on the Azerbaijani-language detail, but so what: she was having an Azerbaijani-language excellent time, and I was having a (close) excellent Azerbaijani/foreigner time. Indeed, I was utterly delighted and self-flattered that of all the rude youth and their mamas texting away during moments of high, intellectual drama, I was the sole foreigner there who linguistically, historically and culturally understood what the playwright was possibly trying to, and what the actors were trying to convey. This was of course deeply gratifying, odd—and utterly delightful. As with the aforementioned ‘Javid’ series of mini-plays I was privy to watch some years ago (2008?) on another once-off performance in he same “Milli Dram Teatr”, then only thing better than my being their as a sole witness would have been the presence of Audrey Altstadt along as the ultimate interpreter of a very strange and wonderful evening of Azerbaijani excellence.
The evening concluded with delicious snacks at a new 'bio' restaurant/pub around the corner from the theater that I discovered last week, and which is rapidly becoming my new favorite basement joint in town--cheap, with a touch of real class and a true chef who believes in his craft.
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