The Tschiakster

HITLER KAPUT'S producer, Sergey Livnev hosted a kind of office party upstairs for his immediate employs. Downstairs, Marius and I had received an invitation to be a part of it. When 7pm rolled around, we were still chopping away on our Avids. But a series of messengers kept storming the editing room saying that everyone was waiting for us. So we bundled upstairs to find everyone gathered around the conference table with drinks in their hands, poised for a toast but missing only us.

Thankfully, a wide assortment of cheeses, meats and salads were about, because I was starved. Soon a chant broke out demanding the appearance of Father Frost, and in no time at all a fully decked out, well, woman in a Father Frost outfit showed up. But I couldn't escape a large drunk guy hanging on my shoulder and sputtering in my face in his broken English, "You are David? ...You are David?" "Da. I am David." "You are David?" And on it went.


Later, after a late night of preparing a screening version of the movie, Marius, Sergey and myself adjourned to a coffee shop called "24 Hours." It is and does what it's called. But what's really important in all this is that I finally got to drive in Moscow. Marius wanted to drink so I got to drive -- which I've been dying to do since I got here. So after picking up Sophie, we finally landed at 24 Hours.

24 Hours sits right next to The Tschiakovsky Conservatory, one of the premier music schools in the world. Don't know why, but it was a special thrill to be in proximity. A statue of The Tschiakster himself stands sentinel in front of the building.


Inside 24 Hours, we gathered at a corner table. I told Sophie of all the mispronunciations during her day's broadcast. And I ordered a strawberry ice cream that was suspiciously pink. But it was good.


We were soon joined by a press agent who's name I never got. But an intense discussion on HITLER KAPUT!'s audience demographics ensued.


We were supposed to move on to a club at which Marius' friend Fwad was hosting a birthday party for a friend of his. Olga and Agnes were (apparently) there waiting for us. But we stayed so long at 24 Hours that by the time we got to the club, everyone but Fwad had left. Olga and Agnes were (apparently) angry.


The tiny dance floor sits right next to the stage and directly in the path of the bathrooms. So when you make your way to the WC you feel obligated to dance your way through the crowd and dance your way back.

The sub woofers were rattling our vital organs so we decided that enough was enough and decided to call it a night.