Even the Bolshoi isn’t immune to Russia’s economic downturn

Soon, the curtain will rise. Backstage, sopranos’ scales slip from dressing rooms and costume matrons fly down corridors on tiptoe, gowns and wigs slung over their shoulders. From the orchestra pit rises the piping of flutes, the saw of strings and the squall of brass.

The pre-curtain flurry is a familiar rite in the iconic Bolshoi Theater, commissioned by Catherine the Great in the year of American independence. But these days an edge of worry has crept into the wings as Russia’s financial woes force the theater to scrimp for savings.

“For any performer, progress means new roles,” says Maxim Paster, a Ukrainian-born tenor who pounds on piano keys, paces his dressing room and bellows out notes to loosen up for his role in Dmitri Shostakovich’s opera “Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District.” “Now the world is consumed with this hassle; we are afraid there will be no more new productions.”

This year’s budget constraints forced the Bolshoi, literally “big,” to scrap a premiere of “Otello” and call off a ballet tour of Mexico. Fattened in recent years on oil and gas revenue and pampered by a crop of nouveau riche businesspeople, the theater has grown unaccustomed to such indignities.

“We had canceled productions before because we were not satisfied with the artistic value,” general director Anatoly Iksanov says wistfully. “But never for financial reasons. Never for that.”

The uncertainty at the Bolshoi is emblematic of the anxiety gnawing at Russia, as sudden economic upheaval whittles away at national touchstones. Russians are seeing the realization of the unthinkable -- the price of oil tumbles, the popular Bookberry bookstores go bankrupt, towering “oligarchs” shed their billions.

The cost-cutting is particularly bruising to the Bolshoi, treasured by generations of shifting empires as proof that superior European culture could thrive in Moscow. The theater has been an empirical gem, a defiant symbol of Soviet artistry beloved by Stalin and, more recently, an opulent showcase invigorated by capitalism and visited frequently by Prime Minister Vladimir Putin.

Over the last decade, the theater’s budget swelled to 12 times its former size, a historically typical reflection of the benevolence of an increasingly powerful and wealthy Moscow leadership.

“[International] directors and designers think that Russia has endless money, and if they’ve limited themselves in their own country, in Russia they can do anything and everything, without limit,” Iksanov says. “And a few years ago, it was true. When oil went to $130, $135 [a barrel], people just lost their minds.”

But along with the rest of the state budget, the Bolshoi’s government sponsorship was slashed this year by nearly a tenth. Corporate sponsors, meanwhile, are bowing out, or asking for extra time to scrape together their dues. Even as the theater braces for further cuts, inflation eats at the salaries of the corps of 1,000 dancers, singers, musicians and other artists.

“We’re looking through history to see, if they reduce by that amount, we’ll do this,” Iksanov said. “If we have that much money, we’ll do three premieres. If we have this much money, then two premieres.”

At the same time, the much-anticipated renovation of the Bolshoi’s main stage has bogged down, leaving the company stranded for an extended exile on the boards of a more cramped, less prestigious side theater.

Four years after closing for what was originally planned as a three-year, $700-million renovation, the construction project has ballooned hundreds of millions of dollars beyond budget and fallen behind schedule. The opening date was first pushed to 2009, then 2011, and is now expected as late as 2013 for all facilities.

There is a palpable pining for the bigger stage among the troupe, many of whom sacrificed their childhoods to exhaustive rehearsals in the dim hope of one day strutting the famed stage.

“Every singer in the world dreams of singing on the stage of the Bolshoi,” says opera singer Irina Rubtsova. “Nothing can compare with its acoustics, or the feeling you get when you walk out and see this black cosmos before you.”

Iksanov said he was confident that the government would continue to pour money into the desperately needed renovation. Putin himself is keeping a tight eye on the progress, he says.

Still, the performers fret over whether the combination of rising expenses and falling wealth will conspire to prolong their relegation to the temporary theater.

“Now they’re saying 2013, but who knows?” says Svetlana Adyrkhayeva, who first danced “Swan Lake” at the Bolshoi in 1960 and today trains the younger ballerinas. “This crisis! We don’t know what’s going to happen. It’s very, very hard on us.”

It’s also hard on profits. With only 750 seats compared with 2,000 in the original Bolshoi, the smaller stage generates less cash in ticket sales, when the theater is in need of increased revenues.

Eager to ease frayed nerves among the performers, Iksanov recently wrote a piece for the theater’s newspaper.

“I told them life is not as before, and there’s a new price for everything,” he says. “But culture in Russia has lived through even harsher times, and the Bolshoi always survived.” He pulls on a cigarette, and sighs.

“Of course,” he says, “everybody is still worrying anyway.”

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megan.stack@latimes.com

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