An Actor for Whom Feeling Comes First - The St. Petersburg Times. General news from St. Petersburg Times

#756, Tuesday, March 26, 2002

An Actor for Whom Feeling Comes First

He's played film versions of Chekhov, Hitler and Lenin, but Leonid Mozgovoi's most challenging role has yet to hit the cinema. In his most recent film by famed director Alexander Sokurov, Mozgovoi, 60, plays a spy who silently follows Marquise de Custine throughout the Hermitage. The film, "The Russian Ark," will premiere this May at the Cannes Film Festival.

In the meantime, the man who has been described as Sokurov's favorite actor, continues to entertain audiences with his intimate one-man shows. Mozgovoi recently spoke to The St. Petersburg Times' Galina Stolyarova about his collaboration with Sokurov and his work as an independent artist.

Q: Your new role in "The Russian Ark" is quite a departure from your previous film roles. If in "Stone" (1992), "Molokh" (1999), and "Taurus" (2000) you play people making history as Chekhov, Hitler, and Lenin, respectively, this time your character says almost nothing while spying on a figure from history - Marquis de Custine, the French aristocrat famous for his scandalous memoirs of life in Russia.

A: It doesn't matter to me that the role has almost no lines. I remember Stanislavsky's famous words - there are no small roles, only small actors - and I agree with that.

The film was shot in the Hermitage in one straight 90-minute take. It won't be edited; the idea is for audiences to watch the film as if in one breath. With the "The Russian Ark," Sokurov turned a cold static museum into a warm Winter Palace full of life.

Q: You have been described as Sokurov's favorite actor. Why are you so close?

A: We met by sheer accident. A friend of mine who happened to know that Sokurov was looking for an actor to play Chekhov in "Stone" arranged a meeting. We talked for about two hours about theater, cinema, life. Shortly after the first five minutes of our conversation I understood that he would cast me. I read the decision in his eyes, even though he only told me that at the very end of the conversation.

I admire Sokurov's intelligence, his gentle manners and understanding of the human soul. He is a true philosopher. Over the 10 years I have worked with him, I have never heard - not even once - him raise his voice to anybody.

It is important for me to be able to trust my director. A violinist has his violin, but I am my own violin and the director is my tuning fork. I simply can't work with people whom I don't trust.

Q: Which of your characters was the most difficult to play?

A: Perhaps Lenin. When I was young, my generation didn't have God. We had Lenin. And to be quite honest, I don't entirely believe people of my generation who go to church. In Soviet times there were very few genuinely religious families in Russia. And while I never took part in destroying churches, I was an active member of the Komsomol. It wasn't until the 1960s - when we learned who really was responsible for throwing Russia into the abyss - that my perception of Lenin changed.

Q: You played Lenin as he was dying. What was it like for you to play the dictator at his weakest moment?

A: When I was working on the character of Hitler and later of Lenin, the first thing I told myself was that I am portraying the human sides of these people. In "Taurus" I played the tragedy of a dying man. Lenin couldn't even spell his name out of children's alphabet blocks in his final days.

All of us - consciously or unconsciously - have done harm to other people. We were being unfair. Almost everyone knows what guilt and shame feel like, and so do I. And I called upon these very feelings when I was working on the role of Lenin to help myself to plunge into the character.

Personally, I sympathize with Lenin during his last days. When I watched "Taurus" for the first time, I felt so much pain.

Q: There is a popular belief in the world of theater that actors do their best when they play themselves. Do you share this view?

A: No, I disagree! But it is perhaps the very plight of Russian cinema these days ....

What I particularly like about my film roles is that I am unrecognizable. Of course, what actor needs first is to fully understand himself, but the very next necessary step is to fully understand your character and to see how different you are from your character. One of the major exercises for actors is to watch other people and absorb their manners and movements and expressions. My professor, Boris Zon, used to say about that: start from yourself but go as far as you can! This is what I am always trying to do.

Q: What does it take to be an actor?

A: Perhaps it sounds brutal, but I can't think of a more vivid illustration: If you let a person walk along a bridge over a precipice full of burning lava far down, and as he is walking tell him to jump down, a true actor would follow your words, a bad actor wouldn't.

If I had to give a complete definition of the actor's job, I'd probably say that it means to produce the right emotion at the right moment in the right place.

Q: Do you believe that art - and cinema in particular - can bring out human qualities, help making people better or worse?

A: Yes, most certainly. Many people tend to follow examples they see. They take the patterns from other people, from books they read and from films they watch. Film-directors who deny it, just want to escape responsibility.

As regards television, its influence on human brain has an enormous potential that still needs to be studied. When I talked to Sokurov about it, he said that only about 2 percent or 3 percent of the principles of cinema have been understood, and therefore it is dangerous to trust filmmaking to immoral people. I share his concern.

And, talking about patterns, shortly after the Sept. 11 disaster, it turned out that there was a computer game with pilots hitting skyscrapers. ...

Q: Your repertoire includes 15 one-person shows. What is it about being alone on stage you find so appealing?

A: I am not a member of a particular theatrical troupe, and I've never regretted that. Theater is inside me, and I have been free to choose my repertoire. I have been giving literary evening, reading poetry and prose from stage. Even during the Soviet era, I enjoyed more freedom that many of my colleagues who worked in theaters. I wasn't forced to compile the programs based on works by Leonid Brezhnev. The most patriotic thing I ever read on stage was Yevgeny Yevtushenko's "Ball on Red Square."

I received a very good training from Professor Boris Zon at the St. Petersburg Theatrical Academy. The school is as important for the actor as it is for a musician. It can't be underestimated. School gives liberty.

It is quite a painful question. I have never had a chance to become part of a truly good theatrical company. God only knows would it have worked or not. On the other hand, I dread thinking of the intrigues behind the scenes that eat the art up.

Artistically, I am independent, and this is crucial for me. I never considered myself a dissident, but liberty has always been essential.

Q: Your "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man" - a one-person show based on Dostoyevsky's short story of the same name - is performed in the attic of an old St. Petersburg apartment. This is, perhaps, your most atmospheric staging. How did you choose it?

A: I believe that everything in life happens by chance. Originally we started rehearsing this monologue in the House of Scientists, but it just didn't work in that environment. At the time I had no place to live, so I was looking for an apartment. As luck would have it, I came across that attic apartment. When I first saw it I joked that it would be quite the place to perform the Dream. We started to rehearse, and since then I have performed it more than 400 times there.

What I value about this show is to be in such close contact with the audiences. Eighteen viewers in one room with a low ceiling; the audience is an arm's length away - we can feel each other's breath. Sometimes I address them, look them in the eye - but not everyone can bear that!

Q: I understand there are plans to film "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man" for television. Do you believe that such an intimate show would work on television?

A: Of course, the television version will be different, but I hope it will have its own impact. I very much welcome the idea and just hope that the enthusiasm for the project won't vanish halfway through the process.

The fact that this production has managed to survive is a miracle. There are no posters or ads for it, but every time I perform it the attic is full and there are always people on the waiting list for future shows.

Q: What is the greatest compliment you ever received?

A: Once I got a phone call from a woman who came to see "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man." "My husband committed suicide a year ago," she said. "If he saw this production he wouldn't have."

Her words meant more to me than any film or theatrical award ever could.