His years are his wealth

Vakhtang KIKABIDZE: “I don’t have a lot of property, but still, I wrote it off to my children and grandchildren and said: “You can, if you want, kick me out of the house, but if I raised you correctly, you won’t touch me for now.”

Part II

“DID NOT LIKE WINE VERY MUCH BECAUSE OF AN ULCER, BUT CHACHI COULD DRINK WELL, UP TO THREE BOTTLES. WITHOUT WALKING, HE STANDED UP FROM THE TABLE AND WALKED AWAY WITH HIS OWN FEET..."

- You went on your first tour as Vakhtang Bagrationi - why?

“So that the director of the Philharmonic would not find out, he rejected me then, but the administrator, who also sat on the artistic council, came up and said: “If you change your last name, I’ll take it.” He probably saw something in me... I consulted with my mother: “What should I do?” “Take,” he says, “mine—what could be better?” I still have this article at home - in the only newspaper that scolded me: “You are a thin, nervous young man walking around and yelling in a hoarse voice into the microphone” - something like that was written in it (laughs).

- You smoke one cigarette after another - at a time when smoking is no longer fashionable and is prohibited everywhere. They say you've been addicted to cigars since you were nine years old?

— 67 years of smoking experience! (laughs).

- And you don’t want to quit?

“I can’t: I feel like if I quit, I’ll die right away.” One day I ran out of cigarettes, and I was looking for a stash - I turned the whole house upside down! It was very funny...

Why didn’t I fly to my son? They don’t smoke on the plane, and the flight to Canada is a long way – 10 hours. One day he called: “I have an idea! If you fly through Kyiv, you will be allowed to smoke in the cockpit.” I thought: is it enough? - and my wife and I went overseas from Kyiv. We boarded the plane, the girls smiled at us, we sat down, buckled up, took off, then the flight attendant walked through the cabin, offering tea, coffee... I asked: “Do your pilots smoke?” (It was still the first hour). They were surprised: “What’s the matter?” - "I feel bad". - “I’ll go tell them.” The guys invited me over: they thought I’d smoke one cigarette and leave. I sat there for 10 hours, they all turned yellow! I told them all the jokes I knew so that they could bear it somehow; they almost fainted. In general, we arrived, and three months later I returned back - and this plane, the same team! When they saw me, they started shouting: “No!” (laughs).

— Do you smoke a lot, but do you drink?

- Well, I drank - God willing, I could drink well!

- Chachu?

- Chacha, vodka - mostly. I didn’t like wine very much - because of the ulcer.

- So, wine is not allowed for ulcer sufferers, but chacha - 70 degrees - is okay?

— 74! (Smiles).

— Don’t you drink now?

- Not allowed.

— Was drinking ever a problem for you?

- No. He stood up from the table without staggering, walked away on his own feet, and there was never a hangover: I drink tea - everything is fine, I’m working.

— Could you take a lot on your chest?

- Up to three bottles.

- Chachi?

- In one sitting?!

- So you are a hero!

- Hero of the Soviet Union! (Smiles).

“We also lived playfully, and if we walked, to the fullest. One day Danelia and Leonov came to see me at the Rossiya Hotel at night. I loved Zhenya very much, in my perception he is a big and kind Cheburashka. Surprisingly, he was a completely non-drinker, so you can’t tell anything funny about him (it still happens during the feast), but Gia and I gave in well and at about three in the morning the two of us, drunken assholes, moved to his house.

We sat down at the table again, we continued, and, like a ghost, his wife, Lyuba Sokolova, in a white nightgown, came in and tenderly asked: “Giechka, Bubochka, don’t drink anymore.” Suddenly Danelia, in anger, takes out a pistol and shoots at her - almost point-blank. Lyuba falls... I sobered up instantly, rushed to her in horror, I think I killed her! Can you imagine my condition? How could we have known that the gun was a gas gun, but Lyubochka was not even offended: she was not only a wonderful actress - she was a holy woman, a pure angel.”

“ONCE THEY WRITTEN THAT I AM NOT A GEORGIAN, BUT AN ARMENIAN SARGSIAN, AND IN CHICAGO ONE WOMAN SCREAMED TO A MAN: “MONYA, BUT VAHTANGCHIK IS OUR!”

— There were a lot of rumors about you at one time - for example, that your black daughter was growing up in Kenya...

- In Kenya? No, I haven't.

- What have you heard about yourself? That you are not Georgian, but Armenian?

- It was even printed, and they indicated some funny surname - Sargsyan or something like that (laughs).

In Chicago, I remember, the concert is going on: it’s sold out, the hall with three thousand seats is jam-packed... Ira, my wife, gave up her place to a woman with heavy legs, who has elephantiasis, and stands behind her near the wall, and I sing “My Jews, live forever,” I sing, and suddenly that woman from her third row shouts to the man in the first: “Monya, Vakhtangchik is ours!” (Laughs).

“I know, you were sent a gorgeous spruce tree six times in a row for the New Year...

- ...Christmas tree, yes.

- What kind of story is this, Vakhtang Konstantinovich?

- Well, the first time this happened, we were already decorating our nylon one, which was at home, and then the doorbell rang, I opened it - a boy, about 16-17 years old, with a live Christmas tree. Apparently he didn’t know whose apartment it was: they gave him money and he brought it. “Uncle Vakhtang, is it you who live here?” - “Yes, what is it?” - “Here, they handed it over.” - "Who?". - “I don’t know this man - he paid me, told me to raise him.”

I felt so pleased! - they removed the artificial one, dressed up the real one... Later in the city I asked: “Perhaps anyone heard who it could be?” Nobody, nothing... A year passed - they sent a Christmas tree again, a year later again. We got used to it, we didn’t dress up ours, we knew that this would be a gift, and after five or six years we suddenly didn’t get it...

I once went to visit a friend in the hospital - I took some fruits and something else. I get out of the elevator - I have to walk a couple more steps to get to the desired floor, and on the stairs there is an urn and several patients are smoking near it. I brought in some fruit and also went out to smoke, but there was already one person standing there - throwing away one cigarette, lighting a second, in a tracksuit, thin... I asked: “Can you smoke?” He: “No, absolutely.” I fell silent, and he looked at me like this... “I,” he said, “can no longer send you a Christmas tree.” I remember - and even now there is a lump in my throat... I felt so ashamed! He had cancer... Apparently he was somehow connected with the forest - by profession. (Sighs). Amazing things happen in life sometimes, right?

- There is an expression: “A million for a smile” - you have such a smile that you could give a million for a million, and more than one...

— (Laughs). Come on...

- Where does it come from? Did your mother smile like that?

“I look a lot like my father, probably from him.”

— Did you know that this was your weapon when you were communicating with women?

- No-no...

“That wasn’t the weapon, was it?”

— (laughs).

“UTESOV SAID: “YOU ARE NO LONGER VAKHTANG KIKABIZE, YOU ARE VAKHTANG BERNES!”

— Is it true that you were in love with Claudia Ivanovna Shulzhenko?

- Is it true. Very! She was Olga Voronets’ neighbor, and I asked Olga: “Introduce me to her!” There were two people who were transformed during the game: she and Juliet Masina - an ugly woman...

-...both are ugly...

- ...but what actresses! We went to see her...

- ...to a small two-room apartment...

- Yes, I invited you for tea. I admitted that I was going to Africa, she said: “Vakhtang, I want you

Please bring me a bottle of Ma Grief,” that’s what the perfume was like. I looked for them and couldn’t find them anywhere: it turns out they stopped selling them altogether. In every store I bought some good perfume - I brought a whole bag to Klavdia Ivanovna, but she keeps putting it aside - “Ma Grif” is looking for it. I threw up my hands: “It wasn’t.” She was an extra-class singer!

- And Bernes, and Utesov?

— Did you know them?

— I met Bernes in the elevator. We often visited the same house - he was friends with my father-in-law's brother. I remember I was wearing a sheepskin coat—I brought it from Bulgaria. He said: “You don’t need any bonuses, give them to a needy country, and find me one sheepskin coat.”

- Well, what kind of Georgian is without a sheepskin coat?!

- Yes, and then Bernes saw me in it in the elevator. He asked: “Can I touch it?” I tried it, I didn’t like it, and now we leave on the same floor. When they approached the same door, he asked: “Are you going to Georgy Yakovlevich?” I nodded...

-...and he didn’t recognize you?

- No, then I realized - they probably told him, and Utesov... I thought all the time: “Am I really going to be so lucky in life that I won’t shake his hand at least once?” And at the Central House of Arts, Sabantuy, I was standing talking with some colleagues and suddenly I saw: everyone turned around - Utesov was coming. He was already walking poorly, and there was a whole crowd behind him, and he walked, walked, walked, came straight up to me and said: “Vakhtangchik, you are no longer Vakhtang Kikabidze, you are Vakhtang Bernes!” And left. (Laughs). I was so happy! I probably thought I was doing something right.

— Still, there was an interesting generation: Shulzhenko, Utesov, Bernes...

- ...Very!

“Something went wrong with them, didn’t it?” - there will be no such thing anymore...

- No never. First of all, what do they write? Secondly, what are they singing? Will I really become an American if I perform American music?

— A trivial question: I can imagine what kind of not even crowds, but entire hordes of female fans followed you...

— (laughs). Got it!

— Did you have a lot of women?

- I think yes.

- And there was great love?

- No. I don’t really like it, but I’m a one-woman man—I realized it with age. Now I have another syndrome: I’m afraid that when Irina is left alone, without me, nothing will happen to her - I call all the time to find out how she’s doing...

- Your wife is beautiful - a ballerina...

- Well, we’re adults already, you know? I call, and she gets angry: “Why are you bothering me? “As long as you’re gone, nothing will happen to me!”

From the magazine “Caravan of Stories Collection”.

“Then everything was like everyone else: the foam that accompanies success began - interviews, photo shoots, television... Fans, like the tail of a comet, accompanied us everywhere, the most elite families opened the doors of their houses for us, and the most beautiful women opened their arms, but I won’t talk about it. Maybe that’s why women loved me because I never pawned them, although there was this and that and “go for a walk, Vasya.” Some less, some more, but all men, which is no secret to anyone, alas, is not without sin: it is very difficult to live correctly. I can say one thing: if you fall in love, I must honestly admit, leave everything and leave, do not spoil the life of a loved one, children, and my wife and I have been together for plus or minus fifty years - so draw your conclusions.”

In show business, it often happens that friends take each other’s wives, run back and forth... Firstly, you have no right to offend a loved one. If you fall in love, tell me honestly and leave, there is no need to fight for an apartment or anything else, but this is what I think - maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know.

Yesterday I watched a program: in capital countries, joint deaths of elderly people have become more frequent - they come up with some option - and die together. It was an incredibly touching story, and I thought: probably their children have their own families and don’t really care about their parents. I don’t like it when old people are sent to a nursing home: it’s scary. I distributed all my property—I don’t have much, but still—to my children and grandchildren. He wrote everything down and said: “You can, if you want, kick me out of the house, because I...

-...goal like a falcon...

“Yes, and now everything depends on you, but if you were raised correctly, you won’t touch me for now.” It’s better to decide now what will go to whom - why should they quarrel later?

— They’re not touching it yet?

— (Laughs). Not yet.

"WHAT IS LIFE? EVEN LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY COULD NOT ANSWER THIS QUESTION.”

“I once asked if you still wanted Larisa Ivanovna, and you answered that a real man, as long as he walks on this earth, should...

- ... always want Larisa Ivanovna - without it, life is meaningless!

- Do you still want Larisa Ivanovna?

- Yes, I still want to! (Laughs).

— What are your children doing now?

- The eldest in Canada - everything is fine with him there. My daughter Marina worked at the Tbilisi Theater named after Shota Rustaveli, starred in several films - a talented person, and her son Georgiy, my eldest grandson, works for the Socar oil corporation and became the gas director - for Georgia. He graduated from the University of London, defended his studies in Canada - he’s so smart... The middle grandson Vakhtang will probably go to his father - he wants to become a sound engineer, and there are good universities there. I say: “If you’re interested, study, of course,” and the youngest, Ivan, is studying at an American school. I think he will look after his brother - he is completely different: he’s such a guy, he doesn’t say much... He recently came to me: “I want to work.” I ask: “Why?” - “Well, how? It’s not convenient to ask your father for money in your pocket.”

— Do your children help you financially?

- They want it, but I don’t take money from them - while I can earn it myself, why? They don't ask me for anything - ever.

- Do you give it yourself?

- When necessary and there is an opportunity. I knew that my youngest grandson needed a computer, so I bought it - he is so happy! They are good guys, they adore grandma, they love me...

- You, Vakhtang Konstantinovich, are a very wise man, but what is the meaning of life, what is worth living for, have you already understood today?

— Did I tell you the story about the shoemaker?

- No...

— There is a program on the Moscow channel “Culture” called “Islands”: these are stories from the lives of famous people. They called me: “We want to make a 45-minute documentary about you.” I asked: “About what? Come up with an idea and I’ll tell you yes or no.” Well, the editor explained everything - Tanya Korbut is such a smart girl. “Come,” I say, “and I’ll tell you what life is.”

In general, the group arrived for a week, we were in the city, at home, filming anywhere. It’s already the last day, we’re sitting at home, and suddenly Tanya asks: “Vakhtang Konstantinovich, do you have any close friends among businessmen?” Me: “Yes,” and in front of my house there is a shoebox - small, like this closet. The shoemaker has Parkinson's disease - he can no longer hit his shoes, he suffers... We used to be very friends, he is 15 years older than me. “This,” I say, “is my friend, he has a shoe business,” and I point to the booth. “Can I talk to him?” - “Of course, we’ll go to his office now.”

We approach, he comes from the window: “Ah-ah, Buba-jan! Hello” (he is an Armenian from Tbilisi). I told him: “Hello, Sandro. A film crew from the “Culture” channel came to see me, they were interested in what life is,” and he was illiterate right away, but he figured it out! - said: “Even Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy could not answer this question.” The editor almost fainted - that’s how the film ends.

“You can’t answer that either?”

- For what it’s worth it, actually...

- Well, for the sake of little Alexandra ( great-granddaughters. — D.G.), for the sake of the children. It’s not a fool who said: “Plant a tree, build a house, sing a song”... I’m happy: I’m doing what interests me - this is great happiness, because everything could have been different, right? That's why I'm not complaining...

— Are you satisfied with your health today?

- Completely dissatisfied (smiles sadly)- God is punishing me for something. There are probably some sins, but I just can’t figure out what they are yet. Every two days they “charge” my “batteries” - I once didn’t pay attention to my kidneys, but now...

“I’M NOT AFRAID OF DEATH, BUT I DON’T WANT TO DIE SO AS TO TORTURE SOMEONE”

— Several years ago I interviewed the brilliant cartoonist Boris Efimov. He was 107 years old at the time (he died at 108), and I said: “Forgive me if my question seems tactless to you. Are you afraid of death? He smiled: “Well, what are you talking about, the question is absolutely innocent - you can ask it to anyone.” I’ll ask you, Vakhtang Konstantinovich, about this...

“The only thing I can say is: I don’t want to die in such a way as to torture someone.” When there is a bedridden patient in the house, it is very difficult for loved ones. There are peoples who treat death as a holiday - in Latin America...

- ...in Asia...

- ... yes, and I’m not afraid of her: I have my own philosophy. If I had not been born, we would not have talked about this topic - it is a blessing that we were born, enjoy life, sing songs, write something, do something else, gave birth to children, raised them. You should be grateful for the fact that you showed up. It's probably easier to die than to be born (smiles)- I wrote a song for my wife... Well, I always write the lyrics first, and then the music, and the chorus is like this:

My dear, mother of my children,

Grandmother of my grandchildren!

I ask the Almighty

first to die

So as not to see your tears.

Wife: “You won’t sing that!” - "Why?". - “Take away the word “grandmother”!” (laughs).

As the Almighty decides, so it will be...

— You have been “buried” more than once on the Internet - they wrote: “Vakhtang Kikabidze has died”...

- ...Yes I know.

- How did you feel about this?

“One of my friends said: “If they “bury” you a third time, everything will be fine,” and a few days later they “bury” you again... My friends contacted the woman who was spreading such information - and so what? “And I was joking...”

From the magazine “Caravan of Stories Collection”.

“I was then nominated for the title of People’s Artist... My uncle Jano Bagrationi was in the hospital and said: “Until I see the paper, I won’t believe it.” I arrived to see him and was late, I found out that my uncle was no more, and it was as if something heavy had hit me from the inside of my skull - I fell unconscious. Well, I’m not used to seeing doctors, and I don’t have time: we were in the old city, right on the square, to present an absolutely fantastic program “Old Tiflis” of 25 concerts...

It lasted like that for another month. Previously, I didn’t know what a headache was, but then something terrible began. He began to lose his balance, he began to skid when walking, his arms were shaking, he could not hold a glass of wine without spilling it - what good is this!

The last concert ended, I lay down, but I couldn’t get up - they discovered a cyst in my brain. The doctor in Tbilisi refused to perform the operation: take him, he ordered, to Moscow - if Buba dies on my table, I won’t live in Georgia. They stuffed me with medicine and sent me to the Burdenko Institute. Alexander Nikolaevich Konovalov, a great man and a brilliant neurosurgeon, said that the operation should have been done “yesterday,” but he was ready to take the risk, although he would not give more than one percent for everything to be successful. I said to my wife: “It’s either pan or bust. Sign the consent, but if I become disabled and can’t sing, it’s better not to live, don’t let them take you out of anesthesia.”

The evening before the operation, I called the Moscow artist Misha Bakushev: “Come, let’s have a drink somewhere - tomorrow it may be too late.” They gave the watchman some money, drove off, got thoroughly drunk (by the way, when I drank, my head hurt less). In the morning the doctor smelled it and looked at it reproachfully.

- What's the difference, doctor? - I asked.

He said nothing. The anesthesiologist came in with a huge syringe in his hands, they called it an “atomic bomb.” In order to hide my jitters, I tried to joke:

- Can I, doctor, ask you not to take off your panties?

“If you hold them tight, the orderlies won’t be able to handle it,” he echoed the joke.

I woke up from anesthesia at night - I tried to understand what light I was in, and saw figures in white in the fog. Suddenly a face with a mustache loomed over me and spoke in Georgian in a woman’s voice. Well, I think he’s dead! I remembered that I was in a Moscow hospital - where did the Georgian language come from here? — and suddenly my nose smelled the smell of fried sausage. Not at all otherworldly, earthly and so alluring - even my stomach began to growl: I’ve been hungry for a day. No, I think it seems to be alive.

"My head hurts? — again, in our way, the Georgian nurse asked. “Is the spacesuit in the way?” and I realized that I was sitting, and my head and neck were fixed. For another year and a half I slept while sitting - as soon as I bent my head, it felt like a plane was falling. It turned out that after finishing their duty, the doctors celebrated something with vodka and snacked on fried sausage. They poured me some water, I made a toast and suddenly felt that my hands weren’t shaking!

When they allowed me to eat, Danelia came to me and brought me chicken: “Eat, dear, get better—I cooked it for you myself.” I have a lump in my throat: Gia! Myself! Cooked chicken! I don’t know if it’s clear: he could have just asked his wife. I see the remains of feathers sticking out of the chicken - I can’t stand this, but I didn’t even show it, I ate with appetite, I didn’t wince - how can you offend a friend? Since then, I stopped paying attention to whether the bird was plucked well or poorly.

Out of idleness, lying in a hospital bed, he wrote the first script, then he made a comedy based on it, “Be Healthy, Dear!”, which received the Grand Prix at the Gabrovo festival in 1983.

They discharged me, handed me a disability certificate (I don’t remember which group), and everything was forbidden - smoking, drinking, singing, running, and I even walked on the wall, but the ending was inexplicable, mystical. After the operation, I persistently had a strange dream every night: a cut glass, a soldier’s glass, with a greenish tint, filled to the brim with vodka. I couldn’t get rid of this vision; it was already standing before my eyes during the day, but I never drank alone.

Ira and I returned to Tbilisi on New Year’s Eve, everyone in the house was preparing for his meeting. He quietly poured Borjomi from one bottle, poured vodka into it, and marked it. When we sat down at the table, I filled the glass to the brim - so that it was about to spill: just like I saw in a dream, and - balloons! - to the bottom in one gulp. It hit me and I fell out of my chair (I didn’t drink at all for four months).

Ira sniffed the glass, in horror she called Konovalov, who was sitting at the New Year’s table and, poor thing, almost fell. He said: “If he survives, then let him drink.” In the morning I woke up - more alive than anyone else alive, and a couple of days later, secretly from my family, I ran away to hunt at night. As usual, with my best friend Guram Meliva - a wonderful opera director (may he rest in heaven! - he recently passed away, and I lost a huge and important part of myself). Then I wanted to see if I could walk, and I wandered through the forest for nine hours. When he returned, he tore the issued certificate into small pieces: “That’s it, I’m not disabled!”

— You once admitted to me that you were writing a book of memoirs called “A Person of Caucasian Nationality”...

- I wanted to, but then it became inconvenient: I have a lot of friends who wouldn’t like it - why? It pulled me in a completely different direction, and now I call this book “They” - it’s more about them than about me. The short stories turned out like this - about many people of different nationalities.

—Have you finished writing it yet?

- No, but there’s not much left. I haven’t touched this book for two years, but now the publishers are talking about this topic again. I suggested: “Let’s conclude an agreement - and in a month I’ll hand over the book to you, ready.”

— Is she interesting? Or rather, are you interested in working on it?

- I didn’t want to take it on, they tried to persuade me... I don’t like it when memoirs write: “I thought”, “I did”, but when I remembered one story, I suddenly realized: these people need to be shown through me, and off we go , wrote very quickly. Two thirds can already be printed, one third is here (shows), in my head, but until they sign an agreement with me, I won’t run around and calculate any percentages. Roughly speaking, I can voice the price: “It costs a ruble, buy it and you’ll earn a million,” but there are also serious crooks in publishing houses - you know better than me.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING ON OUR BALL NOW IS NOT ETERNAL, SO YOU NEED TO LIVE WITH A SONG, LOVE FOR YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD AND RESPECT FOR YOUR NEIGHBOR”

— In your youth, you dreamed of becoming an artist - do you draw anything now?

- Not anymore. To be honest, I always drew caricatures - it’s unclear why. I often go to see my artist friends and they come out unshaven...

— In Georgia, the artists are wonderful...

- Yes, and when they start drawing, I say: “How happy you are!” (laughs). They eat old bread, some canned food - they don’t care.

— You also wrote poetry, didn’t you?

- I wrote something...

- And now?

- Well, when a song is needed, but it’s not poetry - so, the lyrics are rhyming. During the first “poetic” night I composed five songs - all of them are very popular now! Two bottles of vodka helped. (Sings):

I don't like old people

aching, bored,

I don't like crying

dreaming in vain.

Life is given to man

just for torment

You are against fate

live in pleasure!

Old robbers

cute falcons,

Beautiful fighters

passionate suitors,

So live and hello

life is fleeting!

Make yourself happy

because it is not eternal.

— Your poems?

- My. I once visited Nazarbayev, and he asked me: “Sing this song, Vakhtang.” - “Which one?” — “Old Robbers” (laughs).

- I will turn to you with a completely wild request. Millions of people who love your unique timbre of voice... Maybe, by the way, they love you because no one else has it...

- Do you want me to sing something?

- Yes!

- My mother sang this song - I only remember the chorus. Then I’ll translate what it’s about. “Vardi” is a “rose”, “bulbuli” is a nightingale. (Sings in Georgian). In Russian it sounds like this:

The petals have fallen from the beautiful rose,

and the nightingale began to cry bitterly,

and the poet says: “Don’t cry, nightingale,

because spring will come

and the rose will bloom again...

I am an optimist and believe that everything will be fine - both for us and for you. What is happening on our balloon now will not last forever, so we must live with song, love for one’s neighbor and respect for one’s neighbor.

“This is how our conversation went today—at times you had tears in your eyes.” Do you often cry?

— I noticed that when I watch a movie where something happens to children, tears well up: as if it’s not on the screen. Age, probably... It happens...

— Vakhtang Konstantinovich, I am very grateful to you for the interview...

-...on the contrary, I’m grateful...

- You are an unsurpassed teller of jokes, and in order to end our conversation on a positive note, I want to ask you to tell one at the end...

- I would love to, but how can I replace a bad word?

- And we’ll put points...

- OK then. USSR, time of guild workers, thieves, Jewish house, doorbell. The owner came out - a respectable man in a raincoat, tie, with a briefcase, standing. “Who do you want?” - “I’m from OBKhSS.” The owner turned pale and blue: “What is it?” - “I’m wondering, do you have a home photo album?” - “Yes, but why do you need it?” - “Yes, your family sent me here to fuck me: I’m afraid to miss someone.”

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Today we talked to the photographer. Tatiana Nevmerzhitskaya spoke about her work, creative development, and also revealed several professional secrets.

— Tell us about how you became a photographer? Why were you attracted to this particular profession?
“I’ve always loved photography, but I didn’t realize it before. My dad was an amateur photographer. Apparently this took its toll on me. When I was young there were no digital cameras. I shot on a small Kodak point-and-shoot camera and rejoiced at every developed film, every successful photo. When our first son was born, I first took photographs with a digital point-and-shoot camera. But as he grew older, it began to be missed due to the very slow autofocus. My husband gave me my first DSLR. It solved the problem with focusing speed, but not with the quality of photos. And I wanted beautiful, high-quality photographs of my baby. Then, finally, I realized that it’s not just about technology. Need to study.

— Did you receive special training somewhere or did you learn everything yourself?
— I completed a basic photography course in one of the Kyiv photography schools, and then away we go. A huge amount of practice, working on mistakes and constant self-development - MK, workshops, video lessons.

— How has photography changed your world?
— While on maternity leave, my soul demanded creativity. After taking a photography course, it was as if a creative avalanche, which had been hiding for many years behind all these numbers and laws, broke through. I became so interested in photography that I subsequently opened my own photography school with a colleague – a photo studio in Kyiv.

— Tell me, what is the most difficult thing about being a photographer?
— See a successful shot before you press the shutter.

— What qualities should a good photographer have?
- The ability to see. Catching a good moment in reportage photography, catching an important story, seeing interesting light, capturing an emotion, finding a good angle - all this fits into one and the most basic skill for a photographer: being able to see.

— Tell us about the main and most successful photo poses that you prefer.
— Posing is a very individual thing. It all depends on what mood the photographer wants to convey. I like lively, relaxed poses, when a person does not pose, but simply lives in the frame. But this applies more to reportage photography. I photograph mainly artistic staged shots and here the posing is dictated by what I want to convey with my photography. I think all the poses in my photos are pretty versatile.

— What should an ideal photograph be like? Do you have one?
— Everyone has their own ideals and parameters of ideality. I have favorite photos. But I probably haven’t made my ideal one yet.

— How do you feel about black and white photos? What is their highlight?
— I really love black and white photographs. High-quality, and not just photos about nothing with a claim to a masterpiece (there are also many of these). And not depressive ones - about grief and troubles. And joyful, bright photos that “live” and convey the mood of the moment. The beauty of black and white is that they help the viewer see the essence of the photo that the photographer wanted to convey. They remove all the unnecessary tinsel that distracts us from the main thing. I myself don’t often photograph black and white photos and reports in general (except perhaps my family and children). I like to create my own pictures, fictional images, as if introducing elements of a fairy tale into everyday life. I am not a photographer who documents reality. I'm the photographer who creates it. But as a consumer (being on the other side of the lens) I really appreciate such live shots. Our recent family photography was just in this style: a lively, light reportage in black and white style in our home. Only emotions and nothing extra.

— If the models don’t like the photos taken, whose fault is it? Have you ever had such cases?
- There are different situations. There are models that you don’t like in real life: your nose sticks out, your waist is gone, your butt is fat. No matter how you photograph them, the photographer will be to blame. And there are people who love themselves in life. These are easy and simple to work with. But, if you get to a photographer who “doesn’t see” - it’s a lost cause. It can be photographed in such a way that a beautiful and harmonious person in life will have a double chin, extra pounds and a dozen years to boot. To my joy, I have not had a single case where a client was dissatisfied with my work. There were requests to correct some things in terms of retouching, but, in general, everyone was happy with the results.

— Tell us how to properly prepare for a photo shoot? How to overcome embarrassment?
— The most important thing is to formulate what you want to get in the end, show photographic examples. You need to compare what you want with the photographer’s portfolio: can he do the same? Then relax, completely and completely trust the professional. Let him do his job and you just have fun. Before the shooting itself, you need to get enough sleep (to avoid red eyes and dark circles under the eyes), eat well (hunger fainting has also occurred), and leave in advance (the time of the photographer and the rented photo studio is not immeasurable). If the photo shoot is in a studio, you shouldn’t skimp on professional makeup and hairstyle, at least minimally: studio light will mercilessly show all the smallest details of your skin that you might want to hide. You can take your favorite music to the shoot; it really helps you relax and get out of a tense state.

— What would you like to photograph? Or who?
— I have a lot of ideas: based on recently read books, watched films and just born in my head. They are all carefully noted and waiting in the wings. For now, I'm on maternity leave with my youngest son. And I don’t have much time to implement my plans, but everything has its turn. I'm not rushing things and enjoying the current state of affairs.

— Give some advice to beginning photographers. How to succeed in this matter?
— Decide on the direction that you like best and that works best. And then, develop and improve in it. Whatever you say, it is impossible to be a high-quality photographer in all genres at the same time. Of course, for fun you can photograph landscapes, objects, and reports. But the main direction in which the photographer is positioned should be one. Self-education, the target audience, and promotion channels depend on this.

Tatyana, thank you for the interview. We wish you new and creative ideas for photos, lots of energy and positive emotions.

An autobiographical book by the remarkable composer, People's Artist of Russia Mikael TARIVERDIEV (1931-1996) was published in Moscow. It's called “I'm Just Living.” Its editor and publisher is the composer's wife and faithful friend Vera Tariverdieva. The book contains the most interesting, sincere memories of the composer about his life, about his colleagues and friends, about the vicissitudes of Soviet cinematic and musical reality. For many, Mikael Tariverdiev’s book is a revelation, another incarnation of a talented person - the author of film music for 132 films. Many paintings have long been forgotten, but his music remains. Not to mention four operas by Mikael Tariverdiev, ballets, vocal cycles, romances, etc. We offer excerpts from this book.

“Pozhenyan,
free your room!”

Calls me like
- a wonderful poet Grigory Pozhenyan.
- Mikael, I am a persecuted poet (which is true. - M.T.). And you are a persecuted composer.
- Why am I being persecuted?
- Well, they’re persecuting you in the Union?
- They're chasing.
- Let's make a picture together.
- Like this?
- I will shoot the picture at the Odessa studio.
- How will you shoot the picture?
- As a director.
- But you’re not a director, Grisha, you’re a poet.
- I'm genius. “I can do anything,” said Grisha.
And so I came to see him in Yalta, where he actually filmed a film about sailors during the war. Grisha is a wonderful, sweet guy. But, in addition, he is also a hero of Odessa. He is ten years older than me. During the war, he was in a detachment of Black Sea residents who gave water to Odessa at the cost of their lives. They made their way into the city and actually saved it. The entire detachment of twenty-two people died. It was believed that Pozhenyan also died. In Odessa there is a monument to twenty-two heroes who saved the city; the names of these people are engraved on it, including the name of Grigory Pozhenyan. But Grisha did not die, he got out from under the corpses and was saved. The only one from the squad.
Later, of course, they found out about this, but his name remained on the monument. So everyone knew Grisha and loved him very much. Ivan Pereverzev, the then screen star, agreed to star in his film. Oleg Strizhenov and many other wonderful actors. But Grisha, being on the one hand a poet, and on the other hand a commanding sailor, had little idea of ​​how to communicate with actors, especially famous ones, who came to act only because they loved him as a poet and as a good man. And Grisha began to command them. And very strongly. He announced:
- There are two geniuses here. Me and Tariverdiev. All the rest are our employees.
I started laughing, thinking that he was just playing the fool. But Pereverzev was very offended by him.
- Grisha, what is the name of your film? - he asked.
- "Goodbye!"
- Goodbye, Grisha! - Pereverzev boarded the plane and flew to Moscow.
- Grisha, what are you doing! After all, half the picture has already been shot! - I tell him in horror.
- Don't worry, Mika. I am not only a director, but also a scriptwriter. No questions.
And now they are filming the scene in which Pereverzev was supposed to play. He had the role of an admiral. The orderly comes in and asks:
-Where is Comrade Admiral?
“Killed,” they answer him.
So they got rid of the wonderful, poor Pereverzev. A week passes. For some reason, Grisha began to explain to Oleg Strizhenov that he was a very bad artist and played poorly. Oleg can’t stand it:
- Grisha, what is the name of your film?
- "Goodbye!"
- Goodbye, Grisha! - Gets on the plane and flies to Leningrad. He played a lieutenant commander.
- Grisha, what are you doing?! - I scream. And he:
- Nothing. Director Pozhenyan will order screenwriter Pozhenyan, and he will rewrite the script.
The shooting day begins. The actors hand over the text to him. An officer comes in and asks:
-Where is the captain-lieutenant?
- Killed, comrade commander.
So Grisha killed everyone. And not because it was necessary to kill, they just all moved away. Of course, the film didn't work out. Yes, it couldn’t work out. But we had a wonderful time. I think this was my first trip to the Yalta studio. That's when I fell in love with this city.
Winter Yalta amazed us with its cleanliness, empty restaurants, and the half-empty Oreanda hotel where we lived. The studio is right next door. The sea is leaden and very strange, unusual, not the blue that I have been accustomed to since childhood. And the sun, the sun in January. We wore jackets. There was some kind of European way of life, it seemed to me. Upstairs is a cafe where we had breakfast every morning. It was open from nine in the morning, half empty, with a huge glass wall through which winter Yalta and the sea opened right in front of you. It was an old hotel. Almost only our film crew and a few other people lived in it. We could come to the restaurant at any time and have a normal lunch or dinner. Empty beaches. A huge number of seagulls. Not people on the beach, but seagulls. And the ships ran on schedule. We even sailed with our friend, captain of “Georgia” Tolya Garaguley, to Odessa for three days. He gave us a cabin.

Amazing time

Overall it was an amazing time. The end of the sixties - the beginning of the seventies - it is now generally accepted that this was the time of the Bolsheviks who crushed everyone. I don’t know about anyone, but I felt completely free. Absolutely free. I have never been financially secure enough to not think about money. I never had any reserves, but I could live at the level at which I wanted to live. My friends and I, three or four of us, could fly to Sochi or Yalta, rent a hotel there and spend the weekend. And that was okay. I could fly from Moldova by plane with a landing in Sochi and, thinking that no one was waiting for me in Moscow, leave the airport, get on a bus and arrive at the House of Artists in Khosta, where a lot of acquaintances were vacationing. They immediately arranged a room for me, and I spent several days there. Everything was different...
There was a lot of work in the film. In Yalta, I wrote eight monologues based on Pozhenyan’s poems, which were included in the film along with orchestral music. Much was done there, in Yalta, in the hotel room where I had a piano. But besides work, we had a lot of entertainment. The film was made about the life of wartime sailors, and, naturally, the film featured a full wardrobe of commanders of ships, torpedo boats, and battleships. And often we dressed in these same costumes. For example, I put on an admiral’s uniform (according to Vanya Pereverzev’s height), with a cap, with all my business, and we went for a walk along the embankment. The sailors we met saluted us, and we saluted them in return. Of course it was a mess, but it was still fun. And it made an impression. The uniform suited me very well. And when we were already handing over the picture, I came to Odessa for re-recording and tinting.
We lived at the Krasnaya Hotel, the best hotel at that time. We are sitting in Grisha’s room, in a suite, with some young girls, probably actresses, and Grisha importantly tells his favorite story about how he really saved the city. With his death, with the monument in Odessa. The girls die from respect. Suddenly there is a knock on the door. The administrator enters.
- So, so. You will need to move from your suite to another room.
- Why?
- A delegation of German trade unions from the GDR is coming.
Grisha is outraged:
- I'm Pozhenyan! I am the hero of Odessa!
- Don’t be a bully, I don’t know anything, get out of here.
Well, in general, Grisha began calling various authorities. And it was about eight o’clock in the evening, everything was closed, all institutions.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Grisha doesn’t give up.
- If you behave like a hooligan, I will evict you altogether. This is the Intourist Hotel, you signed a paper that you will vacate the room upon request.
So they thrashed him. It is amazing how in our country any foreigner turned out to be more important than anyone living in it. Even if he is a war hero. It's the same today. Again there is a feeling that the main people are foreigners, and we are, as it were, second class. Only foreign currency is accepted; Russian money is not considered currency. And it has always been like this. Here's the story. They evicted him. Things were thrown into a single room. And he lived in a suite. And the suites are only for foreigners. He finally understood why he defeated the Germans...

Disfigured “rogue”

...About the same time we began making the film “The Last Crook.” There was such a director, Ian Ebner, young, very talented, he had just graduated from the Higher Directing Courses. This was his first work, and Misha Kalik, who was friends with him, was the artistic director of the film. It was filmed in Riga. A musical film where everything was decided on the music and plastic acting of Nikolai Gubenko. Three songs were needed for the film. I thought it would be great if Vysotsky wrote poems for them. I called him, he agreed. He came to my house, Misha Kalik and Jan Ebner also came. We communicated wonderfully, fooled around, it was a lot of fun. I played something, Volodya sang. After some time, we left for filming in Sochi. There is a lot of music in the film, and it was filmed under a film phonograph. Vysotsky came there, he brought poems that were included in the film. The poems are wonderful. He spent only two days with us - it was at the height of the theater season, either in October or November. In Sochi I wrote music based on his poems. Unfortunately, the picture caused a strange reaction from the authorities, and above all in Riga itself. In my opinion, they wanted to be holier than the Pope. The first terrible reaction came precisely from the management of the Riga Film Studio, which created a wave. The demands for alterations began. The picture was simply disfigured - things were endlessly cut out and re-edited. And almost nothing remains of what was done at the first re-recording, which I attended.
So the picture came out about thirty years after it was filmed. True, the songs were not touched. It would be nice to say that Volodya Vysotsky and I were driven. But that was not the case. The overall directorial intent and the quality of the film itself suffered. And the experience was very interesting. In general, the idea of ​​the film is quite strange: the last swindler goes free. Although all talented ideas are strange at first. Or they seem that way. And then they become normal. The same “abnormal” idea for those times arose from Vadim Korostylev, a wonderful playwright, and director Pavel Arsenov. Vadim wrote a script based on Gozzi’s fairy tale, and he and Pasha suggested that I make a film opera. We started working, it was very interesting precisely because it was not a musical, but an opera. Not long before that, Demi’s film “The Umbrellas of Cherbourg” came out, and we wanted to do something similar. Where there would be a minimum of text and a maximum of music.
Just at the same time I was working on my first opera “Who are you?”, and we used the entire course of Boris Pokrovsky from GITIS, who took part in its production, on the set of “The Deer King”. They sang all the choral things. Of course, the film was shot in such a way that everything was recorded first, and then there was filming. It was then that Pugacheva, a young, unknown girl of about eighteen, first appeared. She seemed to me very talented, flexible and agile. Just a child. She was easy and pleasant to work with. She recorded the entire part of the main character, Angela. The film starred famous actors - Tabakov, Efremov, Yursky, Yakovlev. They sang themselves. It was very interesting. By the way, I had to tinker with Oleg Efremov the longest - the intonation let me down. Valentina Malyavina starred as Angela; she was the only one who did not sing herself. Pugacheva sang for her.
When the picture came out, it received a barrage of criticism. The director was accused of using theatrical techniques and being uncinematic. The picture really didn't come out completely. But for completely different reasons. On the contrary, I believe that theatrical techniques in cinema are from the future of cinema. The film has amazing costumes - costume designer Natalya Schneider. They are completely unusual. As is the aesthetics of the film as a whole. The charming conventions coming from the film opera genre dictated its poetics. And she is in the picture. The picture didn’t work out because Pavel Arsenov’s wife, Valentina Malyavina, quarreled with her husband over something and didn’t come to the final shooting and refused to finish it at all. Therefore, the film simply does not have an ending. The finale, to which everything led - both in music and in drama, where King Diramo and First Minister Tartaglia appear, where the dramatic knot should be untied - was not filmed. And instead of this huge finale, the song “It Was a Long Time ago” was written, which is performed by Oleg Efremov, a good wizard, as if on behalf of the author. It's a pity, because the picture could be very interesting. But overall I love her very much. The film was filmed in Yalta. After all, at that time the Yalta studio was a branch of the Gorky studio, and almost all the films that were shot at the Gorky studio were filmed in Crimea.

Me at all
does not exist…

I have always been extremely interested in cinema. I loved this atmosphere, in cinema I could perform various creative experiments, and this turned into a kind of fuel for working in other genres. And finally, cinema and television films reached an incomparably larger number of spectators than all concert halls combined. In general, I am convinced that if Mozart lived today, he would certainly write music for films. I was accepted into the Union of Composers the year I graduated from the institute, and a year later - into the Union of Cinematographers, immediately after the release of the film “Man Follows the Sun.” So there were no problems with my status - it was determined. (After all, back then it was impossible not to work anywhere if you were not a member of a creative union.) I really was a free artist. And it never even occurred to me to go to work in some institution. This question simply did not arise for me.
I've never had a lot of money. But I had enough to live on. I got divorced quite quickly, leaving my wife the apartment I had recently received on Profsoyuznaya, and left with my suitcase almost on the street. Spent the night with Misha Kalik. Then my friends helped me rent an apartment. Or rather, a room in an apartment on Sadovaya, in the building of the Bolshoi Theater. I had a wonderful life there. The landlady simply adored me. Her husband was an administrator at the Bolshoi Theater. He was imprisoned. And one room, a large one, was free. I lived there for seven years until I got a two-room co-op apartment in the building where I live now. I really didn’t want to leave this house on Sadovaya. I always have difficulty getting used to a new place. I was never rich also because I didn’t write hits. Those songs that would be sung in restaurants. And I’ve never written songs. Only for movies.
The only time I wrote something that was sung, as they say, in a “mass style”, I did it on a dare. When my colleagues began to egg me on - that, they say, I’m not doing this not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. And for the film “Big Ore” I wrote the song “Don’t be sad.” It was really sung on all corners. But I almost never did this again. And the eternal problem of my colleagues - going to work and sitting in the editorial office of a publishing house, radio or television, and sitting for many hours - did not confront me. It is clear that after such a hard day, few people could write music. Life protected me from this.
I also could not live the way other young composers lived who entered the Union and wanted to engage only in creativity. They were very involved with the Union - receiving orders for symphonic, quartet and other music, distributing its performance. All this was simply directly related to the attitude of the authorities of the Composers’ Union towards you. After all, in the boards of the ministries of culture, where works were purchased, and in the artistic councils of radio and television, the same senior officials, secretaries of the Union, sat, and becoming disliked by them practically meant the impossibility of receiving an order. By the will of fate, I was freed from this and could write the music I wanted. And I always did only what I wanted to do.
This was independence. I cannot say that I had a rebellion against what was considered the “mainstream” - songs about the party, about Lenin. No, I didn’t have a political protest - I was just deeply uninterested in it. I didn't, that's all. I was interested in something else. One of my first vocal cycles - based on poems by medieval Japanese poets, “Watercolors” - was published, and I received a sharp rebuke from the then official critic Innokenty Popov. I even remember the phrase that marked the appearance of this cycle. The article said nothing about music. Popov wrote in the newspaper “Soviet Art”: “Imagine, a young composer, a student, sits down and thinks about what to write about. And do you think he writes about our heroic guys who saved the country during the war? Maybe he writes about those wonderful people of ours who work in factories, who harvest fields on tractors, giving the country bread, about Komsomol members? No, he sits down and writes a cycle of vocal compositions based on poetry - who do you think? Medieval Japanese poets." Later, when I met him, I asked why he wrote that way. He answered simply: “And you know, to be honest, I haven’t heard this music. I just had to write.”
But for some reason it had no effect on me at all. It was just funny to me because the premise itself was stupid. It’s not that I struggled, not wanting to write music about the party or Lenin; by the way, I never wrote anything like that in my life - neither a cantata, nor an oratorio, nor a symphony - not like many of my colleagues - they wrote about one thing, but they called it differently. It didn't even occur to me. Yes, no one forced me. I have never been offered anything like this. Alya Pakhmutova once told me: “Mikael, how happy you are. You can only write about love.” But then no one forced anyone to do anything. And I assume that the vast majority of my colleagues did not have anything imposed on them either. They willingly did it themselves, because it meant trips, benefits, it meant positions in the Union, and I didn’t have all this.
For the first time I was invited to join the secretariat of the Union of Composers of Russia by Rodion Shchedrin when he became its chairman. This was in the late seventies, when I was approaching fifty. To say that I was pressured politically would not be true. By the way, they later said that they forced me to join the party. But I know for sure that there was a waiting list at the Composers’ Union. A line of people wanting to join the party. And it is true. And there is no need to lie. In the Union there was a political hour every Thursday, in the Great Hall of the House of Composers. And everyone came there, because it was believed that it was impossible not to come. It could have gone sideways. As I heard, they scolded me greatly for this and took note of it. They might not have signed the testimonial for departure or something else. In my entire life I have never been there. And no one ever dared to ask why I wasn’t there. Maybe someone was asked. Me - no. But such an atmosphere was created around me as if I did not exist at all. There is no such person. That was the answer. Not that they crushed me, killed me, but until about the end of the seventies I did not exist. I did not participate in the endless, dimensionless Moscow Autumn festivals, or in the Union’s concerts. Much later, they began to invite me to some outdoor events, for example, in Omsk or Rostov. But then I was already well known.
The popularity that I had, I received not thanks to, but despite the activities of the Union. It was a kind of suffocation through a pillow, not obvious. It was a completely different line than, say, with Schnittke. Scandals, screams, organization of official and public opinion. I didn't have it. The country already knew me, they loved me, recognized me, listened to my music, performed it. There was no Glinka competition where my romances based on the poems of Martynov and Akhmadulina would not be performed. They didn’t contact me publicly, but they kindly pretended that I wasn’t there. And that suited me quite well. I lived my own separate life. Then I traveled a lot with concerts. They started inviting me quite early. This had nothing to do with the Composers' Union. Let's say they called from Leningrad, where I loved to travel and visited there quite often. The bet was sixteen fifty. They paid for my ticket and hotel accommodation. And for the concert I received three rates. My trip cost me one hundred and fifty rubles. This was more than I could get - with full houses, sold out houses, where people stood in the aisles. A bet is a bet - no more and no less. It was.
There are two wonderful halls in Leningrad where I performed regularly - the Glinka Chapel Hall and the Leningradsky Concert Hall. They called me from there, and I said that I couldn’t come now: I don’t have anything. I'll come in the fall, when I get money for the film. The concerts were unusual. My music was performed. At different times with different performers. Once it was Elena Kamburova, then the soloist of the Bolshoi Theater Nina Lebedeva. The concerts were strange in that in an ordinary chamber concert the author does not speak, he comes out in a tuxedo, he plays and accompanies. I didn’t have a tuxedo then, I was in a black suit, I accompanied, then answered notes, accompanied again, answered notes again. This form of meeting is like educational concerts. I talked about poetry, about why I write on poems by Voznesensky, Martynov, Vinokurov, Shakespeare.

I always blurted out
What did you want

I always blurted out what I wanted, said what I thought, what I thought was necessary. And I was absolutely free. Purely political questions were not usually asked. No one was interested in this, and neither was I. But my assessments of what was happening to culture were, as a rule, negative. It seemed to me that the main thing in these concerts was the feeling that I was needed. I still have it, I remember it, and it is very dear to me. When I remember this, but more often than not you forget, I think that maybe these years were not in vain. Although, if you look at what is happening to the country today, comparing it with what happened then, you understand: all this was in vain. Because nothing has changed. And then I brought suitcases of notes from Leningrad, Kyiv, and wherever else I brought them! I remember concerts in Donetsk, in the halls and in front of miners. I even went down into the mine with them and forever retained this feeling of a hot underground hell. A feeling of unbearable heat when there is cold and slush on the surface. And respect for incredibly hard work.
The concerts in Leningrad ended for me in 1978. Then two terrible things coincided. I spoke at Leningrad University and spoke very sharply about Zhuraitis’s article in Pravda, which was unfair and rude to Lyubimov, Schnittke, and Rozhdestvensky. We were talking about the production of “The Queen of Spades” in Paris. There was a crazy excitement at the concert. The hall has two thousand seats, the crowd is monstrous. It so happened that two people were crushed by the doors. Thank God, in the end everything worked out, but a huge scandal broke out. In this scandal, everything was mixed up - the stampede, the riots, as if I had organized them, and my sharp rebuke to the Pravda newspaper. I was supposed to have other concerts in Leningrad. But the secretary of the Leningrad Regional Committee, Romanov, banned them by personal order. There were no calls from Leningrad for almost a year. Then they started calling again. They offered to arrange my performances. But every time everything broke down, broke down. In short, the Leningrad authorities blocked my path.
In general, I loved traveling, it was interesting for me. Sitting at home and working - and then I was already more and more isolated from our former companies and the former cheerful and dissolute way of life - I forgot that someone needed me. This is forgotten. It is impossible to believe in this if you do not speak in public. Now I don’t like to perform and I don’t perform. I began to be afraid of the public after the story with “Moments of Spring”. The new job, as always, began with a phone call. Tatiana Lioznova called. I asked to read the script for the film “Seventeen Moments of Spring.” I thought that we were talking about another spy film (and I was then working with Veniamin Dorman on the first episode of his “The Resident”). It wasn’t very interesting to me, and, frankly speaking, I was undecided whether to do it or not. But when I read the script, I realized that there was great opportunity for music. And he began to look for the key to the solution. If I don't find my solution, I refuse. How he refused to do “Dead Season” with Savva Kulish. And, by the way, he recommended that he contact Andrei Volkonsky. Now I regret that I did not accept Savva’s offer - the film turned out wonderful.
In the pictures: Tatyana Lioznova and Vyacheslav Tikhonov on the set of the film “Seventeen Moments of Spring”; maestro Aram Khachaturian and Mikael Tariverdiev; Vera Tariverdieva;

The ending follows

I don’t know why I’m writing here, because I’m not worthy of even a drop of sympathy, because I myself am the culprit of all my problems. There is hatred inside me that destroys me. Looking at the photos of my former classmates where they are abroad, I am overcome by burning envy. They are successful, beautiful, they have many fans. And I’m scary, I look lost, stupid, I have a lot of complexes, because of this I sit at home, on the neck of my parents. This depresses me terribly. I hate myself for my worthlessness. I can't cope with this until I change my appearance, and I don't have the money for that. I have no money because I don't work. But I don’t work because I have a lot of complexes and my employer and colleagues see it, so all my work is limited to a maximum of a week. It's a vicious circle. Once I had the imprudence to get into a swamp called esotericism. Astral travel, lucid dreams, etc., are the only things I found solace in. It just didn't make me feel any better. it got even worse. I want to get out of all this crap that is happening in my life, but there is no light in it and is not in sight. Therefore, I want to die, this thought does not let me go and seems to be the only reasonable way out...
Support the site:

night wanderer, age: 20/12/21/2012

Responses:

Hello, Night Wanderer. Do not lose
good spirits, because all the suffering that
people are experiencing now, they already exist
several thousand years and there are ways
overcoming. You talk about good looks,
about money... It’s all something that comes. All people
are born unattractive babies,
none of us are born with wads of money in our
hands, etc. But all people are born with a soul.
Make your soul beautiful. It's a lantern
emits a glow not from glass, but from electric light
discharge, which is located in the very center
lantern
Why think about death? After all, the way out may be
occupation, albeit not with outstanding deeds, but with deeds
honest and kind. And here it doesn’t matter what kind of
your appearance, what complexes, but what’s important is only
what kind of heart do you have? The Russian people need you,
NS! Join a volunteer organization and
devote yourself to noble causes, visit
holy places, go to church, turn to
psychologist to get advice that will help with
fight against complexes. Great things await you
there is no time to indulge in despondency. Children in orphanages
waiting for you to come and warm them with your kind
smiling, terminally ill with cancer
waiting for you to become a blood donor, freezing
homeless people dream that you will help them
a glass of hot tea. Don't give up, I pray, and
remember - The lantern emits radiance not from glass, but
electric discharge, which is located in
in the very center of the lantern, the sun glows like a shell
thanks to the hottest core inside it,
The Night Wanderer dazzles with her positive
energy of everyone around thanks to his kind
heart, thanks to your kind soul)

Vsevolod, age: 22/12/22/2012

Beautiful pictures = they are beautiful pictures and nothing more. Therefore, what you see in the photographs are only moments, perhaps successful, perhaps lucky, or maybe added smiles to look better than you are, and just to leave good things in your memory. And in between there is a lot of good and not so good things, and trials and errors and more trials, and only sometimes luck.
Envy is a very nasty feeling, it crawls like a worm and eats its owner every day. A person who does not know how to rejoice in someone else’s success, someone else’s happiness is doomed to failure. Even if he tries his best and sometimes seems happy to the whole world, his pet worm always remains with him. (What a beautiful piece of shit I bought, yes, but Svetka’s is better...) And they are happy, it turns out, only they can be in the company of people like them, who will whine, “but your house is warm, but mine is again the batteries are cold", "all the colors suit you, but only dark ones suit me,"

Well, why did you feel good about astral travel? Maybe you forgot to invite your “friends” there - envy and anger. Most likely. After all, they are too heavy and are not suitable for astral travel. Well, put your “favorites” in some nightstand and hang a lock on it and let no one open it for six months or a year. And in a year, when they turn into small green slugs without food and your care, just throw them out.

Irida, age: 46 / 12/22/2012

These are the consequences of studying esotericism. Hurry up, run to church, repent, ask for protection. This is common. Read the book "Unholy Saints", everything is described there at the very beginning.

Felicia, age: 50 / 12/22/2012

You say that you yourself are the culprit of your problems - so this is already the path to solving them.
Now, if you had said “this is krama”, “fate”, “stars”, “circumstances” - then what can we do.
But you are the author of your decisions. And, fortunately, you know about this.
1) Don’t look at photos of your classmates, why should you torment yourself? I myself sometimes fall for this bait, pick up some nasty thought that flies into my head, and begin to suck it with gusto. I'm driving myself into hysterics. But why is this? Forget about their existence and their success, don’t get hung up on it, don’t allow yourself to hate and envy.
2) You are not scary, you have a normal appearance. No, I haven’t seen you, but I’ve seen so many people who have complexes because of their appearance - they all made stupid slander about themselves. The quite slender tried to lose weight, the pretty ones tried to hide their cuteness with plaster...
3) Your appearance, whatever it may be, is not the cause of your problems, and even if you changed it, your problems would not be solved. Well, in fact, there are not many professions where appearance is needed.
4) There are no worthless people; God and each other need everyone.
5) Complexes must be dealt with like a runny nose. It's a nuisance, but not fatal. I’m terrified of making phone calls, it’s such a funny complex, or rather a phobia. And it’s okay, I live, and you will live and rejoice.
6) You are not stupid, just not everyone can be a genius. A great mind, as you know, often produces only problems.

Elena, age: 32 / 12/22/2012

Stop thinking that your ex is out there somewhere
classmates, they are successful abroad, maybe this
everyone is a mask of success, but inside they are very unhappy
people, who knows... I'm also looking at some
acquaintances and what about families. Well, they have children, work
career, and I told myself if I want it will be so
how I want you and I have one
advantage. The main thing is the feeling of freedom.
inside and in character, from here arises - mine
happiness.

Vika, age: 28/12/23/2012

Change your appearance, henna costs 15 rubles,
dye your hair, I think I have scissors
Houses. If you don't like your figure, lose weight
There are plenty of exercises on the Internet. go
work for cheap work,
earn money for clothes. here you are already
beautiful, make sure you like it
to yourself! don't stand still

Nika, age: 20/12/26/2012

Dear girl, I also have a lot of complexes, so you are not alone.
What to do?! You can, without sparing money, go shopping to buy yourself some beautiful shoes or a handbag, go to the hairdresser and get transformed, then men will be drawn to you. And while you think that you are scary, everyone around you will think the same way, but you must first change something in your life and feel like a confident and beautiful woman, then everything will definitely work out, try it!

Nastya, age: 18 / 01/25/2013

Complexes arise due to the fact that there is nothing to do. They write to you to lose weight, so run in the morning for an hour or so by 5. No one will see you this early and you will stay
unnoticed. Finding a job is not a problem if you have a head on your shoulders, on the Internet, for example. Do gymnastics, sports, keep yourself busy and don’t think about
In order to die, you were given life, do everything to love it and your problems and complexes will go away!

Venus, age: 27 / 07/10/2013

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Friends! Please note: in order to correctly correct the lyrics of the song, you need to highlight at least two words

There may still be inaccuracies in these song lyrics.
Do you see the mistake? Write in the comments!

[Verse 1, Pharaoh]:
Respect the squad, don't bring whores to the base.
We came and I saw you hiding whores.
The bags are full. I'm leaving the war. "Pharaoh is not the same..."
Yes, how can you, bitch, whine!

I always smoke blunt. What the fuck? Fuck you!
Young mobile phone, I call if you need a plug.
There are a lot of whores, we need a warehouse. Fuck them, we need a plan.
Like those xanny rock stars? Icey neck, fucking stunt.

I fly up to your bitch and she's ready, bro.
There were so many situations, each time he let it into her mouth.
But I won't be back again, you can rest assured, bro.
If it's not about money, then you can fuck off, bro!

I have a lot to do - very, very, very much to do!
I have a lot to do - very, very, very much to do!

I have a lot to do! A lot of work.
I have a lot to do! A lot of work.
I have a lot to do! A lot of work.

[Verse 2, Thirty-nine and Pharaoh]:
I have a lot to do
But I haven't sobered up yet.
The phone never stops ringing (never).
I wake up - a bunch of bodies (ni**as).

There is some kind of chalk (some kind) on the table.
Every day is like chaos (oh yeah!)
I shift and start,
After all, there is a lot to do today.

My work is not your concern (yay)!
How much did you raise (how much?)
Yes, you haven’t seen that much (cheap sucker).
How much do I need? (How many?)
I don’t know yet (I don’t know myself).
But I'm sure the question
We will never run out of this one!

[Chorus, Pharaoh and Thirty-Ninth]:
I have a lot to do - very, very, very much to do!
I have a lot to do - very, very, very much to do!
I have a lot to do - very, very, very much to do!
Do not waste my time! I have many demands on my time!

I have a lot to do! A lot of work.
I have a lot to do! A lot of work.
I have a lot to do! A lot of work.
I have a lot to do! A lot of work.

About the song Pharaoh - Lots of things to do

• Gleb’s latest post on Instagram Stories, quote: “As always, the dazzling Siemens, wearing a The Doors merch T-shirt with the image of its frontman - a true legend and one of the rock gods of the last century, Jim Morrison, shares with us his joy about the much-coveted purchase of grills, and also a piece of his new composition." PHARAOH.

  July 8th is exactly that wonderful day for the fan base when Pharaoh released the highly anticipated experimental album "Pink Phloyd", which Gleb first talked about a few years ago. The title of the album is similar to the name of the cult British rock band Pink Floyd, famous for its philosophical lyrics, acoustic experiments, innovations in album design and grandiose shows. In this way, the Artist shows his current musical feeling in its modern form. The track list of the record included 15 new tracks, on guest verses in which you can hear Boulevard Depo, Mnogoznaal, the Chemodan, Morty Mort, 39 instrumentals recorded with the highest quality.

Additional Information

Lyrics of the song Pharaoh - Lots of things to do.
Lyricist: Pharaoh with the participation of THIRTY-NINE.
Prod. By ColdSiemens.
Release label: Dead Dynasty.
Album "Pink Phloyd".
Album cover: PRPL - designer of Dead Dynasty.
Official release date: July, 2017.

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