Putin on the fritz

By Maralyn Lois Polak

I’m worried about Vladimir Putin. You know, that Russian leader with
the KGB background who’s hurtling full-bore ahead … to the past. If
he’s not careful, all too soon he’ll be seen as some neo-sinister,
dangerously autocratic throwback to the Soviet dictators of old. You
know, pro-military build-up, targeting his harshest critics for


arrest,
nabbing tax cheats, reassembling a federation. Shades of Stalin hatching a pogrom, Khruschev thumping his shoe on a table and shouting, “We will bury you.” The Evil Empire of old.

Unless, of course, Putin quietly snags himself a slick spinmeister — a Minister of Untruth, as it were — not just to polish his global media image but to keep his reputation from rapidly sinking into a pit of steaming tar.

Appearances rule. The way I see it, Putin needs to take drastic steps to smooth out his inconsistencies. Perhaps portraying himself in a Woody Allen movie. That’ll soften his hard edges if anything will. He needs a corrective, and quick. On the upside, at least he has hair, unlike the alarming Gorbachev pate, that scary strawberry birthmark shaped like the state of Texas. For his film debut, Putin doesn’t even have to know English, except for the word “no”; nyet is NOT acceptable, Vladdy. Otherwise, his lines could be dubbed in and he could portray a Lovable Fascist married to, what else, a Ditsy Dormat, for a TV pilot, call it … “The Honeymooners of St. Petersburg.”

Maybe Warren Beatty, since he’s no longer running for U.S. President, could be persuaded to do a re-make of “Reds,” and Putin could do a cameo appearance in that.

Meanwhile, has anyone ascertained if Putin’s a descendant of Rasputin, the scandalously randy mystical monk, poet, magician, healer, prophet, holy man who hung around the Romanov court of Nicholas and Alexander? Grigory Rasputin masterminded hypnotic intrigues and miraculously “cured” Tsarevitch Alexis, the young heir to the throne, of hemophilia. Rasputin, predicting his own death — a vaguely horrific experience involving imperviousness to poisoned wine, tainted tea cakes, and speeding bullets — he had a brief, eerie flirtation with

immortality
— all of which are attributes that can come in handy to a head of state.

The thing with Vladimir Putin, though, is that one day he zigs, the next, he zags. Then he comes across a tyrant, a power-freak, a megalomaniac, a heartless, cold-blooded villain. And that’s before the appetizers are served.

But with the right

PR,
it’s all good.

Except, clearly, the press in his country is on an untrammeled tear of trivial truth-telling. With little or no modulation. Until he starts arresting his enemies. Maybe that will put a damper on it. Oh, he’s started doing that? Let me check my notes. Look, this rampage must be halted at all costs. Why do I say that? Look, here are some recent stories emerging from Putin’s political playground, the country formerly known as the Soviet Union:

Russia’s media — and by imitative extension, ours — has him practically imprisoning teenage girls for poor punctuation. Except, we learn, it’s not heem, er, sorry, him. It’s those inbred village idiots in the provinces who are implementing official “state” policies.

This is what I mean. Yesterday’s headlines shriek, “Typos Cost School-Girl Her Medical School Spot. Missive to Putin Missing Capital Letter, Exclamation Point, Deemed Disrespectful, Costs Her Career.”

What an embarrassment! Incredible as it may seem, a 17-year-old high school student brazenly writes President Vladimir Putin asking for a video camera to film her graduation ceremony. However, she inadvertently omits the traditional exclamation mark after his name and fails to capitalize “you.” Post-haste, inspectors arrive at her school, bump down her grades, cancel her award, strip away her honors, and order her to compose a toadying explanation for the “disrespectful” letter, and banishes her to the ignominious Dairy Institute, where she will work on development of cows that give yogurt, which doesn’t require refrigeration. From first reports, hers was a breach of protocol so heinous, apparently, that consequences — vodka glasses rattling from Putin’s roars of outrage — are still being felt all the way to the gulags and steppes of Siberia.

For her typographical transgressions, she would be probably relegated to milking cows. Forever.

Get real, guy.

Next day, he changes his mind. Putin’s henchmen, critical of the regional government whose emissaries so traumatically hassled the poor kid, reprimand THEM and actually send her a video camera in time for graduation. Is that lame, or what?

Socialism at its best.

What would George Stephanopoulos or James “Snake-Eyes” Carville have done? Probably lock Putin in the War Room for a week or two with some Jim Carrey videos — particularly “Liar, Liar” — feed him Happy Meals through the brass mail-slot, spin him around blindfolded, take him to Hooters or Chuck-E-Cheese to chill out a bit, make him an honorary contestant on “Who Wants to Be A Millionaire” for the sheer capitalist joy of it, and then see how his disposition thaws.

President Clinton should offer those guys to President Putin on long-term compassionate loan (even though technically Georgie broke ranks some time back). Get them to urge Putin to schedule a contest or two, Sleep Over at the

Kremlin!
If George and James won’t go to Russia or whatever it’s currently called, then two East Coast PR practitioners I’ve heard whispers and hisses about — no names, please — would be perfect for the job of refurbishing Putin’s tarnished rep. One PR person has as a client that

yucky Cherry Hill rabbi
I wrote about who was accused of masterminding the murder of his wife so he could have affairs. And then kiss reporters from the mainstream media seeking to write puff pieces on how they alone experienced his true essence. Touching, huh? And I hear another PR person is representing the yucky owner of the Philly waterfront nightclub on the crumbling pier that collapsed into the river, killing three.

They could have a company called Sleaze and Grease, Unlimited. Oh, they already do?

Usually these particular flacks handle non-profit organizations, so they must justify their forays into big-time spin as some kind of PR social work for the underdog.

Rather sickening rationalization, huh?

Pile Putin’s alarming personal shortcomings atop his even more alarming political inheritance, well, he has his hands full dealing with rampant corruption and gangsterism, let alone concerning himself about the niceties. In their well-researched

“Mafiocracy In Russia,”
Alexandre Konanykhine and Elena Gratcheva describe the former Soviet Union’s terrifying transformation “from an oppressive communist state controlled by a small powerful ruling elite to an oppressive Mafia state controlled by a small powerful ruling elite.” Some things just don’t

change.

Years ago, I knew a bright, young, ambitious, somewhat Yupped-up publicist who was invited by the Philly Mob to represent the local up-and-coming Don. Dude thought it would be a fun gig, but claimed he declined the offer. And yet, every Christmas since then, or is it Thanksgiving, that local yokel of a Cosa Nostra chieftain gives out turkeys to the poor. A lavish Photo Op, right? And besides, city folks ARE hungry.

Putin, take notes, now. The whole world is watching.

Maralyn Lois Polak

Maralyn Lois Polak is a Philadelphia-based journalist, screenwriter, essayist, novelist, editor, spoken-word artist, performance poet and occasional radio personality. With architect Benjamin Nia, she has just completed a short documentary film about the threatened demolition of a historic neighborhood, "MY HOMETOWN: Preservation or Development?" on DVD. She is the author of several books including the collection of literary profiles, "The Writer as Celebrity: Intimate Interviews," and her latest volume of poetry, "The Bologna Sandwich and Other Poems of LOVE and Indigestion." Her books can be ordered by contacting her directly.
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