Throwing Brassieres in the Air

;“On the night of September 5–6, Nikolay Fomenko’s super-show 'Empire of Passion' materialized on the stage of the Novosibirsk club NVN.”
— Seven Days in Novosibirsk, September 1998
;It had come down to vulgar things: I had joined the newspaper as a music critic, and here I was, already being driven into night clubs.
…Times change, and the newspaper changes with them. The ruble took yet another plunge, and covering the cultural life of Novosibirsk became an unaffordable luxury for Seven Days. Its television insert, TeleSem, featuring the weekly TV guide, was brazenly conquering larger territories and dictating new terms, forcing a "tabloid" style upon us. Forget about concerts; everything now revolved around the television set.
Now, the front page of the weekly featured a portrait shot of some TV or radio hostess, and every single issue placed a double-page interview with a local TV celebrity.
;…We were preparing a piece for the upcoming issue about Oksana G., a radio host for Radio NTN.
I overheard the bickering about it out of the corner of my ear.
Valentina, our editor, was reprimanding our correspondent, Tretyakov, for a lack of "juiciness" in his material.
;"What kind of a stupid question is that: 'Do you prefer cats or dogs?'"
"It’s my favorite question," Tretyakov defended himself. "You can immediately determine a person's personality type by it."
"And where is the personal life? Tell me, please, Oksana G. lives with a pet turtle—now that is hot gossip! Don't you understand what our readers actually want to know?"
;But Tretyakov is a devout Christian, and that was no argument for him. With a sigh, Valya turns to Andrey, the photographer:
"Stop by Oksana's place on your way, photograph her with a turtle or something, otherwise we’ll have nothing to put on the page."
;…A musicologist with a conservatory degree, I reluctantly trudge toward a stupid night show in the chilly air.
Why me, of all people?
First of all, I live in the city center, and it’s easier for me to get home than for the rest. Tretyakov, for instance, lives in Akademgorodok.
The other reason—there is simply no one else. You can count the journalists at the paper on one hand.
Lera is our primadonna; it’s beneath her dignity to roam around at night. Tretyakov flatly refuses to go to a strip show because he is a Christian.
As if I were some kind of heathen. It disgusts him to look at people stripping, you see, but I’m perfectly fine with it? It’s simply that I’m new to the paper, and they’ve set up a system of hazing.
;…The clock shows five minutes to midnight. I quietly creaked the door of the dressing room—and the famous actor and musician Nikolay Fomenko suddenly turned out to be a blonde!
;"Kolya," he says, offering his hand.
"Olya," I reply.
"Do you smoke?"—hope gleams in "Kolya's" eyes.
"No, no, but if you want, you may smoke," I grant magnanimously.
"Oh, I would smoke if I had anything to smoke," Fomenko says, crestfallen, clutching his peroxide-bleached head.
"How did you come up with Empire of Passion?" I begin the interrogation, pulling out my notebook.
"How, how—I just up and did it," Fomenko, having given a dozen interviews during the day, has absolutely no desire to socialize, especially without cigarettes.
"They say you are a highly intellectual individual. How does high spirituality coexist in you with this occupation—physically stripping people?"
"Oh, it’s just a cheerful, funny show. It’s a parody of our life. And to anyone who takes it at face value—my condolences."
A security guard enters the dressing room.
"Got any cigarettes?" Fomenko lunges toward him.
The guard shakes his head apologetically.
"What, did Radio NTN run out of cigarettes or something?" I ask Fomenko (he had just come from a live broadcast there).
"Well, I had my own back then, but now I don't," Fomenko says ruefully.
The guard slips out of the room.
"How will the free fall of the ruble affect show business?" I ask the next question.
"The devil only knows… Same as everyone else… Frankly, it's hilarious. It gets funnier and funnier…" Fomenko remarks grimly. "What else have you got there? Why are you silent?.. Forgot the question? Yes?.. What a journalist—shows up without cigarettes and forgets her questions!"
"First of all, I’m terribly sleepy; second of all, I am not a journalist," I fend him off languidly.
"Then who are you?"
"A musicologist…"
"Seriously?" Fomenko suddenly cheered up immensely. "Ah, I suppose you wanted to examine Stravinsky under a magnifying glass, but it didn’t pan out?"
(“You knew! You knew!”)
"It did pan out," I counter proudly. "Stravinsky was the topic of my thesis!"
"Oh, hit the bullseye, didn’t I!" Fomenko boasts.
The guard returns and, looking devotedly at his favorite artist, hands him a pack of Marlboros.
"So, you love music…" a blissful Fomenko takes a drag.
Who is interviewing whom here? The questions here are asked by me:
"Speaking of music: I used to like you so much back when you were in the beat-quartet Secret! I must admit, I was somewhat bewildered when I saw you as the host of Empire of Passion!"
"Well, that’s our Motherland for you: you are doing something that isn’t your job, the ruble is in free fall, and people are stripping on television," Fomenko counters calmly.
"But surely there is a kind of devaluation of the naked body happening here! It’s tasteless, in my opinion."
"There’s no accounting for taste. Tchaikovsky, if you must know, is also tasteless! Tasteless and great at the same time."
Well, look at that! He’s not as simple as he seems.
"First time I’ve met a person who… Indeed, Tchaikovsky is somewhat… So you do have taste!"
"And remember: a person must do their job—under any circumstances," Fomenko declared sententiously.
;“…After midnight, to the deafening signature music of the show 'Empire of Passion,' a patchworked Fomenko energetically rolls out onto the stage like a clown-entertainer.
— Hello, my name is Kolya!
— We know, we've seen you on TV! — someone shouts from a back table.
— Oh-ho, this man wants everyone to know that he owns a television set!”
— TeleSem newspaper, September 1998
;…Here is a true actor: he is capable not only of roles in Moli;re, The Threepenny Opera, or the musical Bureau of Happiness (where he duets with Lyudmila Gurchenko)—but also of this difficult role: a sexually obsessed, slightly dim-witted brute with flat jokes.
;With a salesman-like grip, he masterfully drags night patrons from their tables and the bar counter into dialogues, latching onto every casually dropped remark, and practically hypnotizes them into stepping onto the stage.
;"Hey, kid with the television set, come on down here!"
;In real life, rather than on TV, the passions surrounding stripping flare up far more intensely: the opportunity to transition from a spectator into a participant scandalizes the situation surprisingly well. What if no one comes out? The show must go on! But the clown-humanitarian "Kolya" knows full well that exhibitionist tendencies are inherent to the nature of both men and women.
;"If you've grabbed it—you know what it is—don't say you can't handle it!" is his signature phrase.
"By the way, we are playing for an iron! Had a hard time getting it. Cast-iron! It comes with a stove upon which you have to heat it."
;Larni, the "beautiful swineherd," if memory serves, exposed her beautiful breasts for a million. But here, commodity-money relations are not the point; this isn't The Field of Wonders! Here, they enjoy the process itself. People are even willing to fight for the right to strip. Guys lift weights on a dare, ladies eat fruit salad with whipped cream against the clock—all just for the privilege of stripping in public.
;"Oh-ho, look who I see! The most popular radio host in the city! Oksana G.! Oksana, wouldn't you like to strip? Let's all ask her!"—and Fomenko begins to clap energetically, followed by the entire room.
;Resistance is futile. Oksana steps out from behind the bar and onto the stage. Stripping is inevitable; all that’s left is to relax and enjoy it. Oksana easily defeats a girl in red by swiftly swallowing the salad.
;"Bring the DJ a toothpick!" Fomenko bustles around.
;And everything began to spin…
;…If it hadn't been Oksana G., I would have thought Fomenko was working with "plants" in the audience. But Oksana definitely had no intention of participating in this show: the next morning, she called the editorial office with a plea not to print the photos where she was naked.
;"How did you end up in Empire of Passion?"
"By pure accident. I was returning home after interviewing Nikolay Fomenko on the air at Radio NTN. My friends and I were passing by the night club, and they talked me into going in. We sat at the bar, ordered coffee, and suddenly Fomenko goes: 'Oh, that’s exactly the girl we need! Let's all ask her!'—and the spotlights were aimed right at me… And I stepped forward, hoping I wouldn't lose and would under no circumstances strip. And then I found myself… naked… and that I was rather cold…"
;…In a way, it all resembled Woland's show at the variety theater. At least, hypnosis was certainly involved…
What didn't those two "winners," Oksana and some unfamiliar guy, have to endure! By touch, they took turns pulling fruits and vegetables of indecent shapes out of a bag (while "Kolya" commanded the man, "Shove it!" and the lady, "Grope it!"). They caught rings on the horns of special helmets, a pink one and a blue one ("For the first time, the color blue is combined with horns!" Fomenko reveled). They dressed mannequins that fell apart on the move.
"Don't tear the tights so hysterically!" Fomenko scolded the guy while he was nervously stuffing black tights under the police-branded skirt of a huge doll, holding up an arm that had fallen off.
To find out how many items of clothing they would have to remove, the participants had to crawl under the skirt of a female extra. Tucked behind a lace garter beneath a short crinoline was a slip of paper with the coveted number.
Seeing an eight, Oksana clutched her head, and our Andrey clutched his camera.
;"And they say Radio NTN DJs shouldn't show their faces," no one at the tables could fully believe their eyes, watching Oksana G. strip more and more…
;"And now, let’s use applause to ask her opponent to come out!.. If you want, you can just take off your clothes without any game," he offered a beauty who nimbly bounded onto the stage.
;Without further coaxing, the girl simply and modestly removed her red outfit, her brassiere, her black boots, and even her glasses! (Looking ahead, I must say she didn't even hesitate to sue the newspaper that published her naked photograph. She claimed the newspaper had suddenly ruined her personal life, and she expected compensation for moral damages).
At the sight of such professional readiness for stripping, Oksana even declined her prize—some jeans!—in favor of her brave competitor.
It was truly a case of women shouting "Hurrah!" and throwing their brassieres in the air.
;"…Well, I'll be damned—'with a turtle'!" our photojournalist Andrey muttered with a smirk as he walked out of the night club with me.
"What? What turtle?" I didn't understand.
"Valya told me, 'Go shoot Oksana with a turtle, otherwise we’ll have nothing to put in the article!' Tried to catch her all day, couldn't manage it, and then this happens…"