The Kathy-town Community Theater presents: ABORTION!

Sorry, no, that's not it. Wait ... OK: The Kolyada Theatre of Yekaterinburg presents: Tennessee Williams's "A Streetcar Named Desire."

WHEW! I'm so sorry, I don't know how I could have gotten confused. Oh wait, no, I do know -- I saw their show. Yes, tonight I was exposed to "New Drama" in Russia. To us Westerners, it is not dissimilar from the "in your face" drama of Sarah Kane, where plays are purposefully violent and disturbing. In that same sense, tonight I watched Kolyada rape Tennessee Williams, and I use that term in its most violent and graphic of senses.

Too harsh? Not really. Here's a some info on Kolyada, courtesy of Wikipedia (my apologies -- it is the most efficient source): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/User:Kenirwin/kolyada

From the moment Sara, Laura, Jenny, and I entered the Pushkin Theater, we knew we were in for a treat. The program shows a picture of a baby doll, holding an American flag, as it climbs up a tablecloth. Truly, it is an image synonymous with "Streetcar."

Then you enter the theater. Laid out on two tables are two large dolls with spot lights focused on them. Behind them, sitting in a semicircle of chairs, are a dozen other dolls who are watching the audience. It made me think of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I don't know why.

Then, the fun begins.

An American Indian, dressed in your Nana's housecoat and a headdress made out of $1.99 neon colored feather dusters, comes on stage and starts talking. He then puts himself inside a cage and then gives you "the finger." Tennessee couldn't have written it better.

Then the screaming ... I mean performance ... begins. Let's just say it was "inspired." There was no nuance or subtext or "heat." There was a lot of spit (Stanley repeated hocking loogies onto his comb to smooth down his hair; Stella spitting onto bottles to wipe them clean ... it was ... wrenching). There was a lot of jumping. There was a lot of jabbing at America.

Alas, the States deserved the punch. As I read it, there was a lot of criticism of American capitalism. Upstage center was a pair of doors, and often when those doors were opened a chorus of people in Mardi Gras masks (we're in New Orleans, remember?) would jump, grunting in time to some Mariachi (?) music while paper fell like confetti around them. At first I thought it was money -- but it wasn't. It was blank receipt paper. The Mardi Gras dancers -- often portrayed as young men in stars and stripes underpants -- were dancing in receipts. IOUs. The message seemed clear to me (Blanche has lost Belle Reve due to a foreclosed mortgage, ergo Americans (bankers) dance while the world goes homeless -- nevermind that about 95% of Americans were hurt by the crisis as well).

It only got clearer. Like when the American Indian stuffed his stars 'n' stripes underwear with IOUs, and then used them to pay the Statue of Liberty to flash her tits at him. That was subtle, and classy; but, confused.

Cowboys are the American icon, my dear Kolyada, not the Indian. We raped the Indians like you raped Tennessee Williams. And, according to your Wikipedia page, you are interested in characters who are on the verge of destruction. Why destroy Blanche further? Why lay your tactless point so heavily on one of the hallmark's of the American stage? You showed, with some skill, some new views of the plays misogyny -- why upstage yourself?

Tonight, watching the performance, the fact that Stanley schedules a card game for the same night that Blanche is taken away to the looney bin was clear for me -- thank you for that. For some reason, the power that Stanley exerts by that act never seemed to resonate -- tonight, with your men in their stars 'n' stripes undies, lined up like they were waiting for their turn with a $3 whore, was effective. I understood that scene.

Tonight, watching Mitch leave Blanche, and not being able to tell if the actor onstage was Mitch or Stanley, was also enlightening. Normally I've seen Mitch as a sad sap, caught up in a web -- tonight I saw him as one of Stanley's minions, poisoned into further torturing poor Blanche. I understood that scene.

Why did you have to interrupt such inspiration with such juvenile taunts at America? I understand their genesis, but I don't appreciate them -- they were crude and not intelligent. From them I don't respect your political views, nor do I respect your "Streetcar."

But, perhaps, this has less to do with you and more to do with the "New Drama."

Maybe. I still respect Sarah Kane.