November 21, 2009

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The Real Yakov Smirnoff

Spend a day in the life of Branson's funny, yet surprisingly serious, Soviet-turned-proud American.

(page 3 of 3)

Photo Edward Biamonte Yakov gets ready to hit the stage. His Branson show has been attracting fans since he moved to town in 1992.

His optimism is infectious. It reminds me of the ever-positive, fish-out-of-water characters he portrayed in ’80s movies such as Moscow on the Hudson and shows such as Night Court. Except now, Yakov has been an American citizen for 20 years and a resident of the Ozarks for 16. He has new problems to tackle. The new territory is that of the established father and reconciling that nuclear-family optimism with the realities of divorce.

In a roundabout way, this permeates his attitudes towards everything he tackles in life. “We have our blind spots we have to check when we drive; this works the same way in life,” he explains.
He always viewed his relationship with his homeland in a similar matter. Now it is the relationship between men and women, and the family in general. This idea of the mythical family—the one that can work, that can be work—is of great appeal to Yakov. Yakov mentions that he is thinking of getting a dog, and when I bring up that I have two dogs—a brother and sister—he is intrigued. “I never thought about doing that,” he says. “How do they work together? Are boys or girls better?”

There’s still a familiar air to the comedy of Yakov Smirnoff. But even his signature material has become more serious. Yakov is still as patriotic as ever. There is less bashing of his country’s native Communism but more jabs at terrorism. While his comedy used to focus on the differences between the freedoms of America and the repression of the Soviet system, he has grown more and more attuned to the heartland, saying a thank-you to this country through his paintings. Cloying but sincere, his visual art is a saccharine answer to the more serious themes of his lectures. Adorning his theatre are several of his paintings, including a piece that was at Ground Zero for 18 months. When telling a story about how he personally bankrolled the project, Yakov gets teary-eyed. The colors are light and the themes easy and straightforward, but they are still part of Yakov as a whole; nothing here deviates from the message. There is a lightheartedness to the whole thing that is undeniable and unabashed.

His themes are the same, but the business has gotten serious. While on the surface Yakov is gladhanding and smiling, there is something underneath it all, a questioning uncertainty that belies the funny immigrant we all think we know. But Yakov has never apologized for what he has done and what he has become. He is still trying to make sense of how he got to be here today: American citizen, divorcee, father.

When I am being walked out of the theatre, I tell Yakov that I think people will see him for how light and funny he is in this story. “You’ll do what you want with it,” he says. He isn’t malevolent or spiteful, but rather tired and hopeful: He has a message, and he wears it with pride. While it can be mocked, misconstrued or misunderstood, he’s still out there, trying to make people understand him.