In Which Things Get Animated

Friends, family, and esteemed colleagues;

Welcome to another action-packed blog post by yours truly. Currently, it is a blustery night in Putin-Land, and I have just finished watching Lord of the Rings po-russki (Властелин Колец, or Vlastelin Kolets,) on Mama Masha’s 64-inch flat screen TV equipped with surround sound and shirtless men who feed you popcorn and jelly beans. (Naw, just kidding—it’s 10 inches and looks like it could have been made by Prince. It’s also located on the top shelf of the cupboard, which can be very painful to the neck and spine when watching a movie such as Lord of the Rings po-russki.)

Anyway, onto the topic du jour. For those of you who don’t know me, I probably seem like a pretty cool cat whose milkshakes bring at least 87% of the boys to the yard. For those of you who do have the pleasure of knowing me, however, you will know that on any given Friday, Saturday, or Sunday night (as well as any weeknight,) you can inevitably find me curled up under a blanket in my sweatpants and moose sweater with a block of cheese or salami whilst watching cartoons.

Cartoons are, in my opinion, one of the greatest joys in life. They’ve served as integral parts of our childhoods—any kid born from 1985-1995 knows that no get-to-know-you session is complete without a nostalgic look at some of the greatest 90’s cartoons (Rocket Power, Rugrats, Wild Thornberries, Doug, Hey Arnold…the list never ends. At least until about 2001.) In addition, I think that people watching cartoons are a lot less judgmental in terms of the overall weird-ness of it. Face it- what hasn't been done in cartoons? You can pretty much portray anything that your little heart desires. As some people (mainly I,) like to say, the only thing holding you back is your imagination, and your imagination has no limits. I can’t remember if I’ve used that on this blog before, but I’m particularly proud of this sub-par quote, so I probably have. 

Admit it--when you were six, there was absolutely nothing abnormal about this.

And let’s be real—there are some things in cartoons that you just can’t do with real people. I mean, there are some pretty good actors and directors and whatnot out there, but come on—Futurama? South Park? Spongebob Squarepants? There’s just no way you could have a man in Dr. Zoidberg makeup or a gang of eight year-olds screaming obscenities at each other on public television without giving heart attacks to the entire population of TV-watching 65-80 age group (which, realistically, is pretty much all of them.)

Now, I could go on and on about cartoons and their places in society and how I am someday going to reinvent the cartoon culture (okay, that’s probably assuming a bit much of myself,) but as this blog is probably boring enough without my ramblings, I’m going to get on to what I actually came here to talk about: Russian cartoons.

Like I said--just kind of unsettling.

If you know anything about Russian stereotypes and/or have read any of the cultural updates I’ve posted on this blog, you would probably guess that Russian cartoons (мультфильмы, or multfilmi,) are some of the strangest phenomena on Earth that seem like they could have been created by a bearded man named Muroslav who lives in a basement with his cat Igor and Igor’s toy mouse Boris. Well, I am here to tell you that you are 100% correct. And in my opinion, they are the greatest things to have happened to me since the invention of push-up toilet seats. There’s no way I could even begin to cover the frightening and slightly unsettling concept of Russian ‘toons in just one blog post, so I’ll cover the ones I consider to be the most important. Because I, of course, am the judge of all things important.

Let’s start with one that defines the life of every Russian student. If someone has studied Russian at all, I guarantee you that he or she has heard of Cheburashka. It's like Russia's national animal if the bear were to go extinct. In case you don’t know, which you probably don’t, Cheburashka (whose name literally means ‘tumbler,’) is a strange mouse-bear-I-don’t-even-know-what-they-were-on-when-they-drew-it animal that was found in a box of oranges by a scamming Russian man who sells—you guessed it—oranges. He takes li’l Cheb to the zoo, where he finds out that it is an animal “unknown to science.” Cheburashka is then offered a job as a kind of circus attraction (because really, what else could a creepy talking unknown animal found in a box of fruit do?) where he sits and waits for his prince to come.

And that, kids, is why you always buy local.

At the same time, we meet a homely and very disturbing crocodile named Gena (Гена) working at the zoo as a…crocodile. (I think the show wore out its creativity stipend in creating Cheburashka himself.) Anyways, Crocodile Gena is feelin’ somethin’ lonesome--probably due to his homeliness and overall disturbingness--so he makes a collection of fliers advertising himself as a “young crocodile who wants to find himself new friends.” Which, as you all know, is the third most successful and non-creepy way to meet people. Although he lacks the ability to read, Cheburashka somehow senses this, and he toddles on over to Crocodile Gena's home, where the two become best of friends and have a series of Soviet adventures. 

Along the way, they meet a series of crazy characters, the most prominently featured of whom is an old woman named Shapoklyak. Although she more resembles a senior citizen escaped from her nursing home, she is portrayed as a flamboyant and cunning babushka who likes to play tricks on people with a pet rat who lives in her purse.

Like I said before, I would bet my six-disc Lord of the Rings Collectors Edition set that every Russian student has heard of Cheburashka in some form. I am telling you, it's a cult that has transcended even to the government, as it has officially been announced as Russia's Olympic symbol for the 2014 Sochi Olympics. A few weeks ago, there was even a (hopefully satirical) article equating the Cheburashka characters to terrorists. And, of course, there's nothing I love more than some crazy cartoon fan theories that people like good old Muroslav and his pet cat Boris take way too much time to put together.

I was going to try and put together a picture of Putin with Cheburashka ears, but this one is much better.

For featuring one of the national symbols of Russia, the Cheburashka DVD is outstandingly jank, so there aren't really any episodes with English subtitles available. However, I will give you this fan-translated video of the pilot, as well as one of the greatest and distinctively Russian-nest birthday songs in existence. In case you're wondering, I've provided the literal translation. I promise that this is really as much sense as it'll ever make. The only reason I didn't make this a link to a page with the translation is because I think everyone should see this.

Let the pedestrians run
Awkwardly through puddles
And the water-- as a river on the asphalt
And it's not clear to passersby
On this unspecial day
Why I'm so cheerful

Chorus:
I play on the harmonica
For the people in view
It's unfortunate that birthdays
Only come once a year

A magician suddenly flies in
In a blue helicopter
And freely plays movies
He will wish a happy birthday
And will surely leave me
Five hundred Popsicles as a gift

Chorus

Now it's time to move onto what is really the cream of the crop: Hedgehog in the Fog (Ёжик в Тумане, or Yozhik v Tumanye.) I've provided you the link to a subtitled version of it, but in case you don't want to devote thirteen minutes of your life to it, this tummy-tickling children's tale goes something like this: a hedgehog, or yozhik, sets out at dusk to meet his friend Bear (медведь, or medved.) Apparently, this is a nightly tradition: Yozhik brings the jam while Medved provides a campfire and his bear-y goodness, and together, they watch the stars. You know how boys' nights out go. Anyway, we can see from the start that it's just not little Yozhik's night--judging by the look on his face, he is experiencing some sort of spiritual turmoil. Either that or indigestion--it's hard to tell with Russians sometimes. During his stroll through the meadow dividing his house from Bear's, he meets a white horse shrouded in fog. As any normal person would do, he begins to wonder how the horse is able to live in the fog without choking to death. So, of course, the next logical step is to go into the fog to find out.

Along the way, it becomes clear that he is indeed experiencing spiritual turmoil and not indigestion. In a flurry of action, he is chased by an owl, a dog, and an assortment of unidentifiable birds until he falls into a river. Instead of scurrying to make his way out, he thinks to himself (and these are his actual words:,) "Well, I'm might as well let the river carry me along...I'm totally soaked. I'll drown soon." During this time, his indigestion-spiritual-turmoil expression never leaves his face--he literally does not give a flying wombat that he's drowning. However, a mysterious creature saves him, and from this he somehow figures out the meaning of life and goes to Bear's house to eat jam and watch the stars.

A snapshot of pretty much every date I've ever been on. Hopefully you can guess who the bear is.

Normally, I try to dig a little more deeply into seemingly depressing works to find a happy meaning, but truth be told, I really can't piece this one together. Oh, well; it does seem to explain a lot about why Russians turn out the way they do.

Now, when I see a page full of fifteen-minute cartoon videos, my first thought is, "Why wouldn't anyone want to devote their entire nights to watching these?" However, as I know that most people have lives, I would understand if you grow tired of my cartoon ramblings and want to leave. You now have my permission to leave the page. If you are one of the two who want to read on (aka Mom and Dad,) here are some more for you.

Ну, погоди! (Nu, pogodi! or 'Just you wait!'): the Russian version of America's "Tom and Jerry." In it, a chain-smoking wolf chases a cross-dressing hare in the hopes of making it his meal. A lot of people (particularly government officials of the time) believed that the creator was supporting struggles between the working class and the intelligentsia (the wolf being the 'working class' and the hare being 'the intelligentsia'), as well as the promotion of gay rights (occasionally, the wolf would give the hare flowers, and, as the Russians say, "Menly men do not give of flowers to menly men friends."

Okay, I don't really count this as Russian animation, but it's only two minutes long and strangely riveting. I guess when you live in a practically sun-less place and continuously bottle up all feelings of happiness, you get...this. Enjoy.

To the creator's credit, this probably only cost about $2.00 to make.

Okay, last one, I promise. One genre of animation that particularly fascinates me is animation used as propaganda; it's one of the phenomena that sparked my interest in the subject in the first place. Caricature versions of famous figures are always interesting to see in paper mediums, but when you give them movement and voice, it adds a whole new depth, and, in my opinion, is much more influential to the crowd. It's my belief that we connect more with cartoon characters than we do with, for instance, characters or actors in films, especially when it comes to children. The USA itself (mostly through Disney and Warner Brothers,) has created well over fifty propaganda cartoons--most having debuted during the Second World War--using some of the world's most beloved and well-known animated figures. For instance, did you know that before working with Michael Jordan in one of the 90's most beloved movies, Bugs Bunny sold exploding ice cream bars to unsuspecting Japanese soldiers nicknamed "Slanty-Eyes" and "Monkey-Face?" 

Face it, Golden Age Bugs Bunny cartoons are enough to give brain hemorrhaging to pretty much every conservative suburban mother that ever sat in on a Parent-Teacher Association meeting.

Or, for that matter, would you have guessed that Donald Duck laid down after a long day of making Disney magic happen to dream of working as a Nazi in one of Hitler's bomb factories? (Actually, a lot of people took this cartoon (In Der Fuehrer's Face,) as a declaration of Walt Disney's anti-antisemitism and Nazi views; while he did hold these opinions, the segment itself was actually commissioned by the government as a WWII propaganda piece. True, the image of Donald screaming "Heil, Hitler!" for the first nine minutes may be a tad misleading, but he vindicates himself in the end by waking up in a pair of stars-and-spangles pajamas, hugging a miniature Statue of Liberty, and saying, "I'm so glad to be a citizen of the United States of America!" Or, as it sounded in his voice, "AhhshhoglatbeeashitishenahthUnaht'dShtatshhofAmair'ca!") 

You can probably see why some people took this the wrong way.

AMURR'CA

Now, I could write at least five other blog posts on American cartoons, but sadly, that is not what I am here to talk about. The Soviet Union produced significantly fewer WWII propaganda animation pieces than the US, but this was mostly due to the extreme hardships faced by Russians during the war that were not present in America. In fact, from 1941-1943, союзмультфильм, or soyuzmultfilm-the company that produced most Russian animation- was relocated to Uzbekistan. After the war, they began to more actively produce propaganda cartoons, this time directed at the evils of American capitalism. I'll include a link to one, since it's beautiful and incredibly-done, but as I don't want to stir up no hard feelings, I'll just post some of their greatest WWII pieces. 

This one, Кино-Цирк, or Kino-Tsirk (Kino Circus,) depicts a rather flamboyant Hitler in three different situations. I really hope you can figure out the meaning yourself.

This one is perhaps even more obnoxious than the previous, but I still think it's well-done. Anyway, the title sounds pretty boss when read in a Russian accent.

Well, I think I've said far enough for now. Only nine days until I come back to the true Motherland, or until the end of the world. Perhaps the two are correlated. 

In Which I Have Titillating Adventures

My beloved people;

I would first like to apologize to all of you avid readers whose thirst for Russian knowledge has gone un-quenched during the past month or so. It turns out that the crazy party atmosphere of Rovaniemi, Finland was just too much for my body to handle, and I have thus spent the past week with an ear infection somethin’ fierce and screaming in an elderly fashion at the young Russian hooligans to speak louder so that I could attempt to understand their mockery.

So, here’s the down-low: as you would probably rather work a bake sale with Nicholas Cage than read about every excruciating detail of my travel week, I’m going to pick out a highlight or two from each of the places which has had the opportunity to be blessed with my presence. I will also include some fun and colorful pictures for all the visual learners who are overwhelmed by the sheer amount of text.

The first destination was the magical city of Kiev, Ukraine. Unfortunately, as I am the last to know about anything ever, and also due to some technical difficulties in the life of Alyssa Lindley, I was too late to sign up for the evening flight and was thus put on the “God’s not even awake yet” plane (aka 7:30 am on what is possibly the most questionable airline of all the questionable airlines there are in Russia.)

It's a good day to die.

 Nevertheless, the Little Russian Plane that Could struggled on, and we made it to Kiev to find ourselves greeted by boxed lunches of hamburgers, Coke, apple pastries, and hard boiled eggs. I may have swallowed a small Ukrainian child in my ferocious eating frenzy.

Unfortunately, we were only given about 22 hours in the city before boarding an overnight train to Moscow, so although it was quite beautiful, it kind of passed in one tired, borscht-filled blur. Churches (many churches) were explored. A hill was climbed. Delicious food was consumed. In general, merriment was had. Here are some pictures.

In which I try to get artsy but fail as I suck at all things photography-related.

Probably one of the most interesting experiences we had was in the catacombs, which are still active and open to worshipers  We and what seemed like about two hundred others were lead underground into small tunnels containing the dead bodies of saints and monks. While it was a struggle to make my way through hallways that are not specially designed for the horizontally-challenged, I managed to endure without injury to myself or others. Most people carried candles to light the way; I don’t think they trusted us Americans to hold anything with a flame on it, so we simply relied on others’ firelight and our imaginations. Apparently an American girl’s hair caught on fire, so perhaps it was good we weren't given candles.

Add 20 pounds and a bigger block of cheese and this would probably be the most accurate picture of my time in the Catacombs.

On another, more serious  note, my group and I had the privilege of visiting Kiev’s amazing Museum of the Great Patriotic War (WWII.) Growing up in America, we've always kind of learned that it was the good ole’ U.S. of A. who won World War II. In Russia, though, people think differently; I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked during random encounters with Russians, “So, we hear that in America, you think you won World War II!” (Okay, I probably can tell you—it’s around four. Maybe a few more since my comprehension abilities at the beginning of the semester resembled those of a cow with a concussion.) Now, I’m not saying that’s not true, but I’m also not saying that it is true—in the end, I think it was a combination of the efforts of all the Allies. Except for France, maybe; France was kind of like that alternate on the basketball team who sits on a bench the whole time but still gets to go to awards ceremony when the team wins the championship. At least, that’s my humble opinion expressed through my professional analogy-writing abilities. In any case, the museum did allow us to see one of the world’s most devastating wars through the eyes of someone else; a change of perspective can be helpful sometimes. However, I'll hop on off the soap box, as some would say.

At about 5 pm, we boarded our overnight train to Moscow. As I said before, my body is somewhat sensitive and would probably be the first to go in the case of a world epidemic, so I was almost immediately hit with motion sickness. The conductor, who didn’t seem to actually be conducting anything, seemed to take a special interest in our group and attempted to entertain us with a teething ring whose origins are still unclear. At one point he tried to put it on my ring finger. The wedding is occurring next month; save-the-dates will be sent out posthaste.

Me and my future husband. Sorry about the calves/thighs.

In all seriousness, though, Moscow was actually pretty incredible. I say “actually” because, to tell the truth, pretty much everyone I talked to about it beforehand said it was big, gray, kind of grim, and incredibly Russian. But you know what? I think it’s time to bring back a little segment that hasn’t been seen by the likes of this blog in a while. That’s right—it’s FUNformation Time! In case you aren’t familiar with Russia’s geographical history, Moscow was first referenced in 1147 by a little man named Yuri Dolgorukie. This, as you hopefully know, was the country’s capital until an even littler man by the name of Peter the First (Пётр Первый, or Pyotr Pervii,) came along. If you remember one of my earlier blog posts, he was the very same rapscallion who collected fetuses in jars and hammered out sticks of iron. Along with his unhealthy obsession with pickling, Peter had a certain liking for European culture and, when he became tsar, completely reinvented the Russian capital (which he immediately moved to St. Petersburg.)  Consequently, St. Petersburg is now known as the “Venice of the North,” and decidedly “European” (or at least, it wants to be. It can talk to me when it does something about the hordes of old women in head scarves trying to sell me strings of dried fish off the back of a truck.) While it was helpful for Russia to change up the routine a bit, it meant that a kind of cultural division formed between the two cities; those who like the European style tend to prefer St. Petersburg, while the people who do things the Russian way enjoy Moscow.

Perhaps what I was expecting.

Now that that’s done, or now that you’ve gotten bored and started to look up videos of adorable chinchillas doing tricks, let’s move on to some descriptions of Alyssa’s Titillating (Moscow) Adventures. The Red Square, which was the setting of Soviet and soldier parades and is the home of St. Basil’s Cathedral, was absolutely beautiful. Naturally, we talked loudly in English and took the most touristy pictures possible. These touristy pictures follow.

At one point, my friends and I were unknowingly pulled into a National Unity Day ceremony in which we laid red carnations on the steps of St. Basil’s. While we are not actually Russian, I hope the all-seeing Putin forgives us and smiles upon us for being culturally appreciative.  Pictures follow.

Aside from that, we visited churches (surprise, surprise,) parks, monuments, a few too many souvenir stands, some museums, and, of course, the all-powerful Kremlin. In case you don’t know, the Kremlin is like Russia’s Great Wall of China, except a tad smaller and occupied by Rootin’ Tootin Putin and his band of merry men (aka Prime Minister Medvedev.) Much to my sadness, we did not get to meet the world’s most unsmiling president (he was probably nursing his back back to health after flying with the cranes,) but we did get to see a museum with dresses and glass eggs and carriages and weapons. Also, in case you’recurious, here’s a link to 50 pictures of Putin being a badass. Don’t get me wrong, I’d take Barack over Vladimir any day, but I bet you’ve never seen a shirtless Obama riding a horse or posing next to a tiger in camouflage. However, Barack does get some brownie points by being able to take family pictures in which he doesn’t look like he wants to jump off a cliff.

Here's one for the Christmas card, Svetlana!

I won’t spend a long time talking about Finland, but I would like to let you know that I met the real Santa Claus. Our conversation went something like this:

Us: Hello!

Santa: *silence*

Us: So, how are you, Santa?

Santa: *more silence* Where are you from?

Us: Oh, we’re from America. You have a lot of presents here! Any of them for us?

Santa: Do you know who’s going to be the next president?

One of the last remaining parts of my childhood died that day. I also fulfilled my life-long dream of riding a sled pulled by the majestic beasts we call huskies. As my friends thought it was too cold, I trucked it out solo and spent the afternoon rolling euphorically on the ground with a kennel full of puppies. I think even the woman in the crocheted dog sweater pitied me a bit. Also, on a side note, I discovered Finnish cheese. This photo depicts how I spent the remainder of the trip:

Other than that, my vacation in the party capital of the world was pretty calm. We visited an awesome museum, went on a day-long hike, drank some of the most delicious hot chocolate ever made, ate at what is supposedly the Northern-most McDonald’s, watched Balto, and saw the Northern lights. Pictures follow.

Well, I suppose that about sums up my travel week. Sorry about taking so long to put it up; I know all of you were checking the internet at least seven times a day to find out what’s going on in my oh-so-exciting life. I promise the next one will be more exciting and more prompt—thanks for reading! And to all my American friends/family, see you in a few weeks!

PS—on a side note, it’s been snowing here like the Abominable Snowman in a dandruff commercial. 

My walk to school.

PPS-- 

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