'Raymond' less lovable in Russia, creator finds

They say comedy doesn't travel well.

Phil Rosenthal found that out the hard way when he tried to help adapt his long-running sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond for Russian television. The result was a clash of cultures captured in the amusing documentary film, Exporting Raymond, which opens Friday.

American TV series are popular around the globe through the traditional expedients of dubbing or subtitling. (Raymond was seen in this fashion in 148 countries.)

But this was a bold new business model: faithfully translating the original scripts and replacing the cast with local actors.

Another show had pioneered this approach.

"They invented the sitcom in Russia by bringing The Nanny over there," says Rosenthal, lingering over breakfast in a Center City hotel.

"I always felt like the show was a gift," he says of his creation's success. "Now our former enemies want to do it? How could you not take that opportunity?

"It wasn't until I got there that I thought, 'Maybe I should have thought this through.' "

It immediately became apparent that all the Muscovites involved in the project couldn't stomach the Raymond character. That's a pretty big stumbling block when you're making a show called Everybody Loves Raymond (or as it came to be known, Everybody Loves Kostya).

"I was told Russian men are not like Raymond," Rosenthal says. "In fact, there's a certain disdain for the wimpy guy, the guy who is bossed around by the women in his life."

A second problem quickly emerged. The haughty woman in charge of wardrobe insisted that all the female characters dress in chic evening wear.

That didn't really fit the mood of TV's most kitchen-sink sitcom. It was like Alice Kramden and Trixie go to the ball.

Rosenthal was already jittery. It was suggested that he get K&R insurance before going over. Say what? Kidnap and ransom, he was told. But don't worry; it hardly ever happens.

"It happens enough that they have initials for it," he frets.

"My favorite thing in the film was the Russian stage manager, when they asked her, 'What about Phil's fear of being kidnapped?' " Rosenthal says.

"She said, 'He doesn't look like the kind of man who needs to be stolen.' "

Rosenthal's agitation was not allayed when he first arrived in Russia in March 2008 and discovered that Sony, the studio that had brokered this international venture, had decided to go with a discount security arrangement.

"My bodyguard-slash-driver took me aside and said, 'You know Sony did not go for the gun package.' "

"That makes you a little nervous. First of all, the word gun popped out. Gun had never been mentioned. Why are you saying gun? And why don't you have one? Maybe I'm not as valuable as I thought I was."

All in all, Rosenthal would rather have been in Philadelphia, a city he visits at least once a year because his wife, Monica (who played Robert's wife, Amy, on ELR), grew up in Alden, and still has family in the area.

"I love it here," says Rosenthal. "A very manageable, walkable city with great restaurants."

The film was shown the previous evening at the Philadelphia CineFest, and although it was greeted warmly, Rosenthal is aware that Exporting Raymond will face commercial challenges when it is released theatrically this week.

"This is by no means an easy sell," he says. "It's a documentary about a guy nobody's ever heard of. But I do think it plays like a comedy."

Except when it doesn't. Rosenthal isn't always the hero of his own movie. Again and again, he gets prickly about maintaining the integrity of his sitcom.

"I recognize I'm a pain in the ass when I watch the movie," he says. "When you're seeing yourself in that position, your first reaction is 'Uuuuuch, I can't watch this.'

"I had to see myself objectively as a character in a movie. That's the only way I could get through editing it."

No matter how controlling Rosenthal gets in the recreative process, the Russian crew and network executives tolerate him with patient Slavic forbearance. They, after all, have the home-field advantage. They know that sooner or later, this pesky American will have to go home.

"I like to think I did influence them," says Rosenthal. "But what I think happened is that they smiled and nodded and then did whatever they wanted when I left."

Do svidaniya, boss.