THE FIERY ANGEL

Last night, I saw Sergey Prokofiev's The Fiery Angel at the Bolshoi Theatre. It is Bolshoi's 229th season, since it opened in, yes, 1776.

You are not going to leave this performance whistling any melodies. It is a lot of screaming and shrill singing. I was really hoping for a ballet performance but got Prokofiev instead. An American couple from the state of Washington told me that this was one of Prokofiev's least commendable, and that Romeo and Juliet is the one to see.

I had a wonderful discussion with the slender, gray-haired woman from Washington State, while her husband left to stretch his legs. Not only is she Democrat, but seemed to acknowledge state terror, terror from the top, as well as terror from below.

I was tired and nodded big time. At one point, I was scared I would topple over from my chair. I tried to get into the music, but no go. I had the world's louisest seat. But no matter, I was at the Bolshoi!

During intermission, I went to buy a whisky. Offered a 100 ruble bill and waited for my change. The guy pointed to the price on the machine: 300 rubles. I blinked. He explained that it was Hennessey's. I calculated that that was $10 and felt a lot better. Actually tipped him 20 rubles; less than a dollar. Considered going to the toilet, but a massive water spillage in the hallway was an obstacle, considering I don't yet know how to walk on water.

Actually, I almost blew it because swimming in my head was the thought that the performance started at 9 PM. The fact is that it started at 1900 hours, which translates to 7 PM. So I spent many hours in Phlegmatic Dog, trying to get my money's worth on the internet and when I returned to the hotel, I only had an hour to shower, change and get to the theater with half an hour to spare.

It is a marvelous theatre, decidedly horsehow and about five levels, with a wonderful chandeleir hanging from the center of the roof.

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