Dec. 26, 1955—In the first American theater troupe appearance in the Soviet Union since the Bolshevik Revolution, the international touring company of Porgy and Bess performed in Leningrad.
The massive company, nearly 100 strong, presented the
1935 “folk opera” by George and Ira Gershwin amid simultaneous
watersheds in U.S. and Soviet history. In America, the civil-rights movement
was picking up momentum with the Supreme Court’s Brown v. Board of Education
of Topeka, Kansas decision and the onset of the Montgomery bus boycott. In
the U.S.S.R., Nikita Khrushchev, having been named secretary of the Communist
Party, was gauging how to expose Joseph Stalin’s totalitarian abuses.
In this atmosphere, the production by the Everyman
Opera Company became a vehicle for political controversy, as this work had been
since its Broadway premiere 20 years before. Then, it was a matter of domestic
dispute: How accurate was its depiction of African-American life? Now, many
wondered if the Soviets would use the show to highlight American racial inequality
as Marxism competed against the free-enterprise system in the postwar order.
So much intrigue and suspense surrounded the event
that it received unusually extensive press coverage, including by CBS
correspondent Daniel Schorr and Truman Capote, stepping away from
novels, musicals and film scripts to venture into creative nonfiction for The
New Yorker Magazine. Capote’s chronicle of the epic trip, The Muses Are Heard, became his first significant step into the genre that he
would transform with In Cold Blood.
The all-black cast (insisted on from its Broadway
premiere) of the Everyman group had already been touring for four years,
including a triumphant stop earlier that year before a demanding Italian
audience in Milan's La Scala to perform the theater's first American opera. But
the stakes were far higher when Everyman director and co-producer Robert Breen led his company into Russia.
Throughout the international tour, the group had been
sponsored by the U.S. State Department. But funding was denied for the Russian
leg of the long tour because the State Department felt the Soviets would use
this depiction of poverty in Charleston’s Catfish Row in its propaganda war
against America.
Instead, funding was handled by the Soviet Ministry of
Culture, and as the Everyman group prepared for the show, they anxiously
considered whether they were being watched by their hosts and how they should
answer incessant questions about the civil-rights struggle going on back at
home.
It is hard not to read Capote’s account
without admiration for the intelligence, talent and dignity of its
African-American cast, each member balancing fidelity to an imperfect country
that could easily be embarrassed on the world stage with their commitment to
truth and justice.
It is equally difficult to read Capote without rolling
one’s eyes at State Department representatives addressing the cast in carefully
calibrated terms, at other whites along for the ride (e.g., Ira Gershwin’s
wife Lenore on rumors that their hotel rooms would be wired: “Where are we
going to gossip? Unless we simply stand in the bathroom and keep flushing…”)
and at Capote’s trip through a local department store.
Despite some jitters before and during the performance
on how Soviet listeners were reacting (Bess’ adjustment of her garter upset
some local prudes), the show moved audiences in Leningrad and, later, Moscow. It
paved the way for later productions in Mother Russia of My Fair Lady, The
Threepenny Opera, Annie Get Your Gun, Kiss Me, Kate, and Sugar.
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