When being a prisoner becomes hip

Perils of protest

The show outraged conservative Russians, while in the West and among liberal circles in Russia, the group became a symbol of anti-Putin resistance and gained fame as feminist icons. After their early release in 2013, the two inmates began to capitalise on their experience. They have since made an appearance (as themselves) on the American television show House of Cards, recorded English-language songs and appeared in theatre plays. In the West the couple are seen as celebrity-rebels.

Inside Pussy Riot, an immersive theatre piece currently on show at London’s Saatchi Gallery, is the most recent example of Pussy Riot’s fame translated into art. The kickstarter-funded production by the critically acclaimed Les Enfants Terribles theatre group, with Tolokonnikova’s contribution as an associate writer, promised “a groundbreaking piece of political theatre” based on the personal experiences of Pussy Riot. “This is an important project that has immense educational value, especially given the trying times in which we are living and an increasingly scary political world order,” reads the promotional description. “This wild theatrical experience will allow the audience to become a participant, experiencing exactly what Pussy Riot went through during imprisonment – from the original Church performance, to the court trial and prison cells,” the creators promised.

In a promotional video, Tolokonnikova says: “Putin is really scared of strong, powerful women who are not afraid to speak up. That is why he prefers to have them locked up. That is why we ended up in jail for two years.” She then promises that through the experience, the viewers will understand for themselves what it means to be a Russian prisoner.

Balaclavas and messages

For the purposes of the show, part of the gallery was divided into separate rooms prepared for the different stages of the experience. The hour long show begins with a small group of participants filling out forms which include questions related to their values and beliefs. Subsequently, the audience members are asked to put on multicolour Pussy Riot balaclavas and given placards that best reflect their views.

Upon entering the next room, which looks like a cathedral with pictures of a burning Grenfell tower and portraits of Donald Trump, Rupert Murdoch and Kim Jong-un, among others, viewers learn that instead of Russia, they are in a fictitious land called Calumnium. They are soon asked to stand up for their beliefs by waving the placards, to the disgust of a grotesque nun. They are soon imprisoned, all of which mimics the experience of Pussy Riot. The audience then go through all the stages of Calumnium’s penal system. Two policewomen wearing over the top make-up, in what looks like a Russian police station, are there to detain and humiliate them.

A Kafkaesque show trial with a female judge dressed as a marionette follows and the participants receive prison sentences. They continue to another room where they have to put on prison uniforms and are instructed about the rules of the labour colony they are about to enter. The next stage is the labour camp where participants are given various pointless and impossible tasks such as sewing without needles or copying Calumnium’s coat of arms. A prison guard walks through a realistically-looking gloomy Soviet room with prisoner desks carefully monitoring their work. At the same time, another actress tells a story about the cruelty of Russian prisons.

The audience continues to the next room, resembling a toilet, where stories about the humiliations and punishments prisoners were subjected to in Russian prison bathrooms appeared on the walls. After that each participant is invited to a separate visitors’ box. There, Tolokonnikova’s voice talks about her experience of the Russian prison system and the importance of speaking up for oneself, defending one’s ideals and beliefs and the value of resistance.

Her message is inspiring and when the audience enters the final stage, each participant receives their original placard and is asked to stand in front of a camera, with a harsh light on their face, and say the message out loud.

Banality of confusion

While the show is impressive, with good acting performances, and realistic, spot on decor, some of which bring to mind the gloomy aesthetics of the post-Soviet world and the absurdity of the Russian system, one may end up asking: what is the point?

The grotesque setting, the tasks audience members have to complete as well as the need to follow orders as everyone realises that nothing depends on them, do not seem to bring anyone closer to the experience of a Russian prisoner. On the contrary, many of the stages are more entertaining than scary, which somehow trivialises the experience. It also made me realise that an affluent Londoner (the tickets prices start at 23.65 pounds) could not be more detached from the reality of a Russian prison, and after the show their knowledge hardly improves.

The introduction of the fictitious state of Calumnium, which is meant to represent an authoritarian regime – a system not limited to Russia – turns the audience’s attention away from the Russian example and leaves them with a degree of confusion. Are we here to see what authoritarianism feels like, or what the Russian system feels like? The fact that no men are a part of the acting crew is another confusing element, for Pussy Riot is known for their fight against patriarchy, which is not clear from the show. All police officers, the judge, the agents of the system are female, which brings even more confusion to the overall message.

Finally, while Tolokonnikova’s words inspire and make the audience stop for a moment to think about what they believe and constitute a call for action, I cannot resist the impression that the message is too vague to make any meaningful impact. Comfortable, middle-class people attending the show, expressing grand slogans before they move on to take selfies in their colourful balaclavas with a Pussy Riot wall in the background, hardly looks like a team of rebellious revolutionaries.

This all made the show seem almost banal and more like cool entertainment than a strong piece of political theatre. The promised educational value was somehow lost amid the colours which made the real testimonies of prisoners look somehow out of place. In a YouTube interview about the show, Tolokonnikova said: “There are a lot of violations of human rights going on in the prison system and that is part of what we are trying to recreate … We are showing them that this is what many people are going through right now. It’s an invitation to think politically, it’s an attempt to make people more politically motivated, that’s an overall goal of my whole life and this project is just a part of it.”

It is fair to acknowledge that Tolokonnikova has proven to be a fearless human rights activist, an uncompromised feminist and a punk rebel. I believe her intention to create a good piece of political art was genuine. While her goal has not been fully realised, she has still co-created a good show which raises awareness of the situation of political prisoners in Russia – despite the confusion the show may have caused. In the end, it was not a wasted hour.

Agnieszka Pikulicka-Wilczewska is an editor with New Eastern Europe.

London, Pussy Riot, Russia, Theatre