Three Sisters, One Cup

Three Sisters, One Cup is  three men, dressed up in drag, weaving and deconstructing the narrative of Chekhov's Three Sisters making special reference to a. the protest toward a more inclusive Russia, freed from Putin and the Orthodox Church's continued monopolies of power and heavy-handed actions against protest, b. the pop culture image of three women in 'free' Western society that has been the most widely seen worldwide in the last 20 years - Phoebe, Monica, Rachel of Friends, and c. the brutal consumerism of women and sex acts for the gratification of men epitomised in degrading pornography and the court case brought against the male Friends writers for sexual harassment of their only female co-worker.
In the show we consider our place in this discourse as men.  
In the show we dress up, make a mess, make some provocative statements and play some loud music.

A provincial garrison town in Russia, 1901
In, say, two or three hundred years, this won't be happening. This bickering. This argumentative, tit-for-tat squabbling. In two or three hundred years life on Earth will be beautiful, unbearably glorious. Our ancestors will bask in such a glorious life. Mankind needs such a life, and if it is not ours today then we must look forward to it, wait for it, think on it, prepare for it. Yet, in spite of this, you come to realise that everything you've done is just a scientific process. A clash, a collision. And you sit there and delude yourself that you mean something in any of this. You're stood, on right on the edge of this fin de siècle charade, looking out on Man's inhumanity and you think: "what's the fucking point of chasing all these gaudy baubles?" But something, somewhere, within your howling hormones you find a coldblooded truth and with alacrity you cling to something that rationalises the totality of the void.
Would you do anything the same way if you could do it all again.
Wouldn't it end the same way?
I certainly wouldn't have had children.
One day life will only be the Solyonys of this world.
The bitter, the wicked, the rude - pissing in your sandpit.

New York, Circa 2002
Monica - Courtney Cox
Richard - Tom "motherfucking Magnum PI" Selleck
Monica:               Do you ever think about the future?

Richard:               Yeah, I think about the future.

Monica:               Am I in it?

Richard:               You are my future.

Monica:               Honey, you are about to get so lucky. 

's Khamovniki District Court, 2012
Maria Alyokhina:              
This is a trial of the whole government system of Russia, which so likes to show its harshness toward the individual, its indifference to his honour and dignity. If this political system throws itself against three girls it shows this political system is afraid otruth. Even though  we are behind bars, we are freer than other people. We can say what we want, while they can only say what political censorship allows. I am not scared of you. I'm not scared of lies and fiction, or the badly formed deception that is the verdict of this so-called court. Because my words will live, thanks to openness. When thousands of people will read and watch this, this freedom will grow with every caring person who listens to us in this country. No matter what the verdict is, we have won.

Los Angeles' Superior State Court, USA 2002

Amanni Lyle [Plaintiff] vs. Warner Brothers Television Productions, Bright, Kaufman, Crane Productions, NBC Studios, Todd Stevens, Adam Chase, Gregory Malins and Andrew Reich [Defendants]

Mark Weidman, Atourney:         

Article 30 states that several of the writers made lewd and offensive drawings of women, some of which involved cheerleaders.

The rest of the indictment is unrepeatable.

This is a show where three men want to make a difference. They like Chekhov. They like punk music. They have watched repeats of Friends on E4 as students.

They consider themselves feminists.
Westernised, middle-class liberal male Feminists.
This becomes show where we dress up, do some acting, do some not.In a white dress, in a coloured dress, in tights, in balaclavas, in Central Perk, in the land where Putin lights up the fire.

As Olya, Masha, Irina. Pining.
As Katya, Masha, Nadezhda. Desecrating
As Phoebe, Monica, Rachel. Shopping.
As ourselves. Trying.
As transvestites. Dressing up.
As a band. Playing punk music.
As some men in their twenties eating some chocolate ice cream. Messily.

Where cross-dressing is the border of imitation and representation of gender as a readable cultural sign.
Where we talk about parochial values and sexism.
We are marching forward, this is progress.
We are going to change the world.
Down with patriarchy.
Free Pussy Riot.
Freedom is what we fighting for.
The right to do what we want, when we want.
This is our fight where we too, no matter what the verdict is, have won.

But, we could just keep drinking our tea from Chebutikin's samovar.
Have the second cup of skinny soya latte in Central Perk.
Remember the time we watched Sex and The City and ate so much brie we all got headaches.
I'm not made for hard labour. Solzhenitsyn can keep his gulag.

Anyway, one day life will only be the Solyonys of this world.
The bitter, the wicked, the rude - pissing in your sandpit.

Are they? Oh my God, No... I can't believe... Are they really?

That's safer. That's less provocative. Isn't that the future.

A samovar! How awful!