{"id":49785,"date":"2025-06-04T15:12:54","date_gmt":"2025-06-04T14:12:54","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/?p=49785"},"modified":"2026-01-14T23:39:51","modified_gmt":"2026-01-14T23:39:51","slug":"vladimir-raevsky-im-not-ready-to-discuss-the-influence-of-art-on-the-masses","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/vladimir-raevsky-im-not-ready-to-discuss-the-influence-of-art-on-the-masses\/","title":{"rendered":"Vladimir Raevsky: \u201cI\u2019m not ready to discuss the influence of art on the masses\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Photo from Vladimir’s personal archive <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Do you remember the first theatre performance that made an impression on you?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I grew up in a theatrical city\u2014Yekaterinburg. Our opera house was founded back in 1912. My grandmother had a friend who worked there, so we\u2019d get in for free. I went to everything, absolutely everything that was staged, sometimes more than once. I especially loved the grand, long operas\u2014like Verdi\u2019s Il Trovatore<\/em>. I was about nine or ten years old.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What drew a ten-year-old boy to opera?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I still love opera. It seems to me it’s the most unnatural thing you can do\u2014staging operas and singing in them. And I love everything unnatural.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Is history also something unnatural?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course. It\u2019s dead, after all. And I love everything museum-ified or archived. Just imagine: an archaic, strange plot where people often behave inexplicably. Like Rigoletto\u2019s daughter being kidnapped when his eyes are covered. Or characters mistaking close relatives in the dark, like in The Marriage of Figaro<\/em>. And they sing\u2014strangely too, by our everyday standards. I love all that. The more unnatural an opera is, the more I like it\u2014so I\u2019m especially fond of Baroque.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Photo from Vladimir’s personal archive <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Is drama a more natural art form?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I really don\u2019t know much about theatre, but yes, I think so. Some elements\u2014like the Chekhovian plays, the life on stage that Stanislavski and his colleagues strived for in the early 20th century\u2014feel more natural than opera.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You were invited to make a film about Sovremennik<\/em> by Ryzhakov, who was artistic director at the time. Would you have explored dramatic theatre if not for the invitation?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Initially, Viktor\u2019s team invited me. But yes, I think I would\u2019ve explored it. The thing is, this film and the story of Sovremennik<\/em><\/a> aren’t really about theatre. They’re grounded in theatre, theatrical relationships, and plays\u2014but really, it\u2019s about something that deeply concerns me: inner freedom, the possibility of that freedom taking root, the ability to exist as a free person in an unfree country, and about this country itself, which always seems to be tightly and inextricably bound to art. That\u2019s what interested me most. Also, the personal dynamics\u2014how these people met and agreed from the start that they\u2019d be equals, that the theatre would be horizontal, with no one \u201cin charge\u201d. Theatre, in this case, is just the entry point for a much bigger conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n

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“Sovremennik: the Free Theatre in the Unfree Country” (2021)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

You said the history of our country is always intertwined with art. Can art save people? Did Sovremennik<\/em> save its audience\u2014give them something?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

No, it didn\u2019t save them. But it changed their lives, slightly, for many.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gave them a breath of air?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

For some, yes. For others, hope. For others still, a chance to find kindred spirits, to feel less alone. I think it\u2019s deeply personal. I\u2019m not ready to discuss the influence of art on the masses\u2014it seems like a dangerous impulse to me. Recently, I went to see Battleship Potemkin<\/em> at a cinephile theatre in London. I was impressed\u2014but also horrified. I get uneasy when art is meant to influence the masses, direct them somewhere, or change them. Sovremennik<\/em>, despite its full houses, centred around personal human experience, meant to resonate with the private emotions of each viewer. That\u2019s why we don\u2019t have sweeping mass scenes in the film\u2014the spirit of the era is captured in a small room that changes over 15 years with a young man living in it, leading up to 1956 when the theatre was founded. This personal, intimate space is what matters most to me.<\/p>\n\n\n

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“Sovremennik: the Free Theatre in the Unfree Country” (2021)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

I often hear that if a Russian-speaking artist talks about anything other than pain, guilt, or current events\u2014they\u2019re betraying something: themselves or freedom. Do artists have the right to speak about whatever they want? Must they always view things through the lens of trauma, horror, guilt, and responsibility?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s a trap. And we\u2019re stuck in it. On one hand, art can\u2019t be detached from the present\u2014it loses all meaning. Our present has been filled with tragedy and catastrophe for over three years now. So, when that\u2019s not reflected at all, it feels odd. I also find it strange to see artworks that seem ripped from the context of today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Someone might say, \u201cWhat about an artist painting flowers? Why should they reflect today\u2019s turmoil?\u201d But even Giorgio Morandi, painting vases and glasses, somehow absorbed his time. So when art is completely divorced from the present, it doesn\u2019t feel like real art to me. But how deeply the present is reflected, how that interaction plays out\u2014that’s a broad spectrum.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Photo from Vladimir’s personal archive <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

On the other hand, placing a strict duty on Russian and Russian-speaking artists to voice certain mantras\u2014this, too, feels wrong. It denies us the chance to be just like any other creator. The further history goes, the less room it leaves for manoeuvre. And it\u2019s not just artists\u2014it\u2019s everyone from Russia. What comes to mind when someone says they\u2019re from Russia? War, death, horror. Or Dostoevsky and Tchaikovsky. You want to be something else, to talk about something else. But again, there’s a sense of inevitability.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A friend of mine, an Iranian who\u2019s lived in London since the ’80s, works in contemporary art and archaeology. But the fate of Iran in the 20th century constantly hangs over him\u2014he can\u2019t escape it. It\u2019s a trap. And honestly, I don\u2019t know how to get out of it.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Photo from Vladimir’s personal archive <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Only 5\u20137% of big-city populations go to the theatre. So why has theatre always been such a sensitive space for authorities? From tsarist censorship to Soviet art councils and today\u2019s scrutiny?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why go after poetry, which even fewer people read and which is harder to grasp? Why kill poets? But that\u2019s how totalitarian regimes work\u2014for decades. I don\u2019t fully understand it myself. But the machinery of terror has its own logic and instincts. It knows what\u2019s incompatible with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As for Russian theatre after 2022, it\u2019s hard for me to comment\u2014I haven\u2019t been to it since autumn 2021. It\u2019s one thing to talk about 1935, a time few alive today remember\u2014we deal with documents. That\u2019s the dead history we spoke of earlier. But talking about what\u2019s happening now in my country, which I can\u2019t visit, based only on headlines and hearsay\u2014it feels unfair. I\u2019m not authorised to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why do you think lectures have become so popular since 2022?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

There are two reasons\u2014one loftier, one more practical. The loftier: people have been looking for answers since 2022. They want to understand the times, why we all ended up in this part of history\u2019s anatomy. And lectures, whether they\u2019re about the Middle Ages, monkeys, Putin, Zelensky, or political science, help point toward those answers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The practical reason: people abroad want to stay connected to audiences\u2014and earn fair pay. Lectures are economical to produce\u2014no sets, lighting, filming, or screenwriting. They became a way to speak to the Russian-speaking diaspora while letting that audience support the speakers. I can relate\u2014I\u2019m part of this scene. But I\u2019ve also drifted toward a different bear. I\u2019m not really a lecturer\u2014we\u2019ve turned it into a kind of stand-up.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Photo from Vladimir’s personal archive <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

You once said we\u2019re not used to laughing at our history\u2014it\u2019s treated with deadly seriousness. If we could have laughed at it, might things have turned out differently?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

If we could laugh at our history, that would reflect a different kind of society. It couldn\u2019t be the cause\u2014only the result. Or a sign that we\u2019re healthy, open to dialogue, and capable of seeing ourselves from the outside. My goal is to bring together those willing to do that\u2014to see ourselves as characters in a comedy, to run this experiment\u2014not mass-scale, of course!\u2014to start loosening the bolts. But when it comes to the general public, I\u2019m not trying to influence millions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do you have a favourite period in history?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFavourite\u201d is tricky. I enjoy working with material from the interwar years\u2014post-WWI to pre-WWII. But to say it\u2019s my favourite era\u2026 Well, sure, I don\u2019t quite \u201clove\u201d 1936, but I absolutely \u201cadore\u201d 1937! [laughs]\n\n\n

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Photo from Vladimir’s personal archive <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Yes, that does sound odd\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s that this period is both familiar and distant. We have lots of photos, films, and grandparents who lived then\u2014it feels accessible. But WWII cut it off from the better-known \u201960s and \u201970s. So it feels both forgotten and imaginable. I love the painting, architecture, and literature of that era.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why were Art Nouveau and Art Deco so under-represented in Russia?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Art Nouveau flourished\u2014just under the name Modern<\/em> here. Riga calls it Jugendstil<\/em>. Art Deco\u2014yes, we didn\u2019t get much of it. There are exceptions\u2014like Moscow\u2019s Aeroport metro station, which is very Deco. But broadly, no. I\u2019ll say something unpopular here: I think Art Deco came from capitalism. It was linked to private initiative, capital, and investment\u2014a response from art to the wealth of the few. But the Soviet Union went a different way.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Photo from Vladimir’s personal archive <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

When you moved to London, did you find places that gave you strength or that you fell in love with?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Absolutely. I live in my favourite neighbourhood\u2014Hackney. I love it dearly. Some days I don\u2019t even leave it. It\u2019s incredibly international, very immigrant-heavy, and historically one of the poorest areas. I greet my barber in Turkish, the lady who sells fruit in Arabic. My favourite caf\u00e9s are here. A 15th-century tower, the imperial Hackney Empire Theatre from the early 20th century. An old cemetery, a Victorian park called Victoria, and a great little museum. My favourite thing about London is my neighbourhood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When you fly in from a lecture, do you feel like you\u2019re coming home?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, yes. This is the first city I\u2019ve ever missed when away, the first place I don\u2019t want to leave. Sure, I enjoy travelling\u2014Oslo, Malta\u2014but I have very tender feelings for London, and Hackney especially. I got very, very lucky. I know not everyone feels this way, but I truly feel I\u2019m coming home.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Photo from Vladimir’s personal archive <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Did that feeling come right away?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pretty quickly. I moved here in the third year of the war. During that time, I lost my first home\u2014Moscow\u2014and Russia altogether. Then I found a second home: I lived in Tel Aviv for almost two years. Then came London. Moscow is a city I know inside out. Yekaterinburg is my hometown\u2014I\u2019ll always miss it. Tel Aviv also became \u201cmine\u201d, and I\u2019ll always be a proud Israeli.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And London? Who am I here? Nobody. Hundreds like me arrive daily. I\u2019m nobody here\u2014but somehow, this strange place has become the most interesting, the most magnetic. That\u2019s how it turned out for me. I feel lucky. Really lucky.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Television journalist, historian, and creator of his own tours, Vladimir Raevsky performs his program \u201cThe Realm That Never Smiled\u201d in various cities and countries. Then he returns to London, manages to shoot a memorable segment for his blog, and flies off again\u2014often to joke about a country whose history few are used to joking about. Recently, he also made a film about theatre\u2014specifically, about the history of the Sovremennik Theatre\u2014but it turns out that theatre and performances are just a pretext to talk about something much broader than what’s behind the scenes. That\u2019s where we began our conversation.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":91,"featured_media":49748,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[84],"tags":[],"type_post":[184],"column":[185],"class_list":["post-49785","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-people","column-letters-from-the-theatre"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/49785","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/91"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=49785"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/49785\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":60104,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/49785\/revisions\/60104"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/49748"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=49785"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=49785"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=49785"},{"taxonomy":"type_post","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/type_post?post=49785"},{"taxonomy":"column","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/londoncult.co.uk\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/column?post=49785"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}