Vadim Postilny in his concert "Plut" habitually deals with everyday tricks of life: here a fine for crossing the road, there a marking of personal failures and attempts to somehow fit into the rules that no one has explained. The problems are mundane, but gloatingly recognizable: sports, which hurts your teeth, and theater, after which you feel like a fool.
The main enemy, as usual, is the system - ridiculous, tired, like a courier who demands a signature for the sake of a check mark. Postilny has no illusions: normality has long been in short supply, hygiene is debatable, and happiness is more of an excuse to wipe oneself and fit the bill. The mood of the show is when each new day demands a receipt and change, but promises no difference.
