Part- 1
MOSCOW , Aug 19, 2020 (BSS/TASS) – On Pinocchio, the Blue-Haired Fairy and the Harlequin, the housing
question, good luck and desktop signs
-You don’t look like Mangiafuoco at all, Sir!
And do you think I should?
– Well, how else can it be when there are so many Pinocchios, Blue-Haired
Fairies and Harlequins around? A whip surely comes in handy…
I can be tough at times, I’m told. I’ll even concede that this is really
so, since I cannot see myself through other people’s eyes. Nevertheless, in
any situation, I prefer to talk to people, to persuade others, and not issue
orders. Everybody who comes to my office must be sure that I will first
listen to what I’m being told and present my own counterarguments only after
that. The ideal situation is where the person in front of me not only agrees
with my opinion, but also entirely shares it. That’s the easiest way of
implementing any decisions that have been made. I’m the
chief traffic controller, if you wish. I govern and direct, while it’s
other people’s job to go and have things done.
In fairness, I must admit that I’m not personally acquainted with many of
the Bolshoi’s employees. Not everyone here on our team are what you describe
as Pinocchios, Blue-Haired Fairies and Harlequins. The Boris Pokrovsky
Chamber Theater joined us starting from this season, so now I have 3,200
people under my command. I do know all leading opera and ballet performers,
some of the musicians in the orchestra, some choir singers and extras, the
heads of the engineering and other services, but I’m physically unable to
remember all people by name.
Incidentally, my job does not imply this. I never get in touch with most
staffers in my everyday work. Makhar Vaziyev is responsible for the ballet
company. Tugan Sokhiyev – the chief conductor – takes care of everything
concerning music. I completely trust this “Ossetian Mafia”, as I sometimes
jokingly call them. I don’t meddle in their affairs unless there is an urgent
need.
– And when is your personal participation definitely required?
What I’ve just said a minute ago does not contradict the hard fact that
the realm of my responsibility encompasses everything related to the Bolshoi
Theater. After all, I was the one who invited Vaziyev and Sokhiyev to the
company. If they fail in some respect, their boss will be always to blame.
Do you have a ruling trio or a one-man command system?
We make decisions together, because this is the only way it works.
Dictating is not the best means of administration, and it is utterly
impermissible when it comes to the arts.
There are certain things that constitute a CEO’s exclusive purview. In
global terms, my job is to create a comfortable setting for the company’s
normal operation, inside the theater’s building and elsewhere. This includes
a lot of things which are too numerous to count, even settling what might
seem to be purely personal, domestic affairs.
– Including the housing question? Are you saying proper accommodation is
not a headache for the Bolshoi’s artists anymore?
Right, everything is in perfect order. We have plans for putting up
another apartment building for our employees on cooperative terms. The
finishing touches are being put on a hostel for young artists. The theater’s
old workshops are behind the Federation Council’s building. We’ll move our
print shop there, too.
We provide corporate housing for some employees who work for us on
contract. On Kuznetsky Most Street, we will open a four-storey apartment
building for guest artists invited to participate in the Bolshoi’s
productions, and the rooms will have all the essentials and conveniences,
even kitchenware. You will agree that it is far more convenient to live in an
apartment than in a hotel, given that the level of comfort is the same.
Some of our artists prefer to buy apartments that are ready for immediate
occupancy, for which they take out commercial loans from a bank. In that
case, the theater undertakes paying the interest on such loans, in full. Our
sponsors reserve a certain sum for this purpose every year.
– And what if there are far more applicants than the theater can afford at
the moment?
As soon as the annual allowance is spent, we put it on hold and say: “Dear
all! You will be able to take out a loan next year!” So, everybody waits
calmly for their turn. The waiting list is not
very long. In fact, I would even say, it is short. In any case, all of the
leading soloists have had a chance to use this opportunity already.
– Was the program launched while you were at the helm?
Yes, it all began several years ago.
– Is this benefit available to the boss?
Of course, not. I’ve never used such bonuses in my life. The director
should not be entitled to any privileges in such matters. It is a matter of
principle.
The three-room apartment we’ve earned over the decades is quite enough for
my wife Irina and me. Our son, Andrei, lives separately in an apartment he
inherited from his grandfather.
In a word, our housing issues were settled once and for all long ago. I
did that on my own. I’m in the Bolshoi to do my job right. Nothing else
should be allowed to intervene. Take a look at my colleagues. In ballet, for
instance. Makhar Vaziyev works from early morning till late evening.
Sometimes I invite him to keep me company to go to see the first showing in
some other theater. It’s always interesting to see what your colleagues are
up to. In reply, I always hear: “I’m busy giving a performance tonight.” I’ll
say: “You give a performance every day.” But you can’t throw Makhar off
course. “No, no. We have a new substitute this time. I’m obliged to see it
myself.” This is his real attitude to his duties. He is certain that it
cannot be otherwise. Tugan Sokhiyev is no different from the chief
choreographer in this sense. The theater needs such devoted enthusiasts.
I’ve been very fortunate throughout my lifetime. Whatever theater company
I joined, I found myself in a truly creative environment. It’s been this way
since my work at the Young
Spectator’s Theater in Kirov, when Alexei Borodin was in charge. Now he
runs the Russian Academic Youth Theater (RAYT) in Moscow.
– You are neighbors, aren’t you?
We have been for many years. From time to time, we get together. Each time
we can only grin at the thought we don’t have to go very far to see each
other. The RAYT building is just a couple of hundred meters away from the
Bolshoi on the same square. I’m very lucky to have such wonderful people
around me, and the relationship within the company is excellent.
– But you prefer to keep the “Take care of me! Nobody can fill my shoes!”
sign on your desk anyway. I saw it in the same place in the summer of 2013,
when you’d just moved into the office of the Bolshoi’s CEO.
It’s a good luck charm. I brought this sign with me from the Stanislavski
and Nemirovich-Danchenko Moscow Academic Music Theater. I had a habit of
inspecting all of the theater’s rooms once every three months. I’d poke my
nose into every corner, just to see for myself if everything was in perfect
order. One day, when I visited the chief of the theater’s workshops, this
sign caught my eye. I grinned: “Man, that’s what I call cheeky. Don’t you
know that I’m your boss and that I’m still alive?” He waved his hands
dismissively: “Please, have it as a token of remembrance.” So, I took it and
picked out a prominent place for it so everybody could see it.
Everybody knows it is a joke. I think I have enough self-irony for an
adequate opinion of my own personality. This sign is at least 15 years old.
– Is there anything else the Bolshoi’s boss is unable to afford?
Let me think… Lots of things! If I begin to count them on my fingers,
they would not suffice. The first thing that comes to mind is I have no spare
time at all. Work devours it all. Fortunately, my wife works quite nearby.
– Oh, yes. Irina leads the Bolshoi’s strategic planning section. Do you
come to work together?
Normally, I’m the first to arrive. In this respect, Irina’s schedule is
far laxer. She is not obliged to stay in her office all day long. We seldom
see each other during the day. We even have lunch separately, at different
times. However, we share a common cause. This is extremely important.-
– Haven’t you been castigated for nepotism?
You bet! Is there a detractor who would pass up the chance to take a swipe
at me? Our family ties are brought up at every available chance or for no
reason at all. I can’t stop anyone from chattering. I just don’t pay
attention. Irina is a top-notch professional. She led the international
relations office at the Stanislavsky Theater. She is well-known around the
world. When we met, she knew a whole lot more about the musical theater than
I did. Irina is a self-made person and she certainly does not need my
patronage or protection. Ours is certainly not the type of situation where a
husband secures a lucrative spot for his spouse. It’s the other way around. I
would’ve looked silly and strange, had I not used the potential of a
specialist close at hand, and under the same roof. In the world of artistic,
creative professions, family tandems and duos are a widespread phenomenon,
not to mention dynasties.
It’s an entirely different matter that spouses should not be financially
dependent on each other. In this respect, there can be no mutuality between
them. Irina is responsible entirely for artistic matters. She plans future
repertoires. Her proposals are then forwarded to the chiefs of the opera
and ballet companies and they decide all the rest. She is accountable only
for her business trips, so there isn’t anything to find fault with, even if
you try real hard.
But let me finish the question about the things and liberties the Bolshoi’s
director is unable to afford.
Quite often, I’m unable to speak my mind, to express my own opinion,
because I exist in a very complex environment. I always dodge answering my
colleagues’ questions of what I think about some artist or stage production.
I have no such opportunity.
– And do you feel an urge to say something?
Of course, I do! I’m a human being. I can see and hear many things. I draw
certain conclusions but just stay mum. I like some productions and dislike
others. I might not share and accept certain things that happen in the
Bolshoi, but the CEO is not in the position to speak about that in public.
It’s the law of genre and professional ethics.
For the same reason I am unable to reply to critics. Even to those who
attack me personally. Sometimes, I am seriously tempted to tell them: “What
you write and say is not true.” Nonetheless, I keep my emotions under control
and restrain from entering into arguments, even though I can strike back very
hard. Don’t you worry.
– Why hold your emotions back when you feel you are right?
Let me tell you this. Usually, it is worth arguing with such people about
what you do, and not what you say. No discussion about the arts has ever
resolved artistic issues. For me it is far more important to prove my point
in actual practice instead of trying to settle scores verbally.
Incidentally, when disinformation does not concern me personally, but is
aimed at the theater and inflicts moral damage to it, then I always respond
with strong comments and demand apologies. If a mass media outlet
acknowledges one’s mistake and puts forward its apologies, then I regard the
incident as settled. Occasionally, some people prefer to insist. In this
case, I am prepared to take any retaliatory steps, even as far as going to
court, because, let me say it again, there is the honor of the Bolshoi
Theater at stake and nobody will ever get away with harming it.
– Have there been any precedents of such lawsuits?
Our opponents were smart enough not to go too far. They knew very well
they would lose and at the very last minute, they backtracked…
-Have you ever felt like giving an opponent a good punch, I mean
literally?
Sure! The Bolshoi Theater is an excellent brand name for self-promotion,
and some people sometimes get really mean, if you don’t mind my saying so.
There are also those who may try to achieve self-acclaim at our expense using
some nasty tricks, marring our productions and spreading rumors and gossip…
If they are to be believed, it might seem that everything here is terrible,
even disastrous!
Regrettably, a great many people are stricken with jealousy. Some of them
worked here before, but at a certain point, they had to leave, yet they did
not find any good fortune elsewhere. It is always far easier to blame one’s
own failures and problems on others and to settle scores with the self-
sufficient and the successful. God will judge them. But it’s an open secret
that sometimes I have the strongest wish to retaliate.
Part 2
0n Heaven on Earth, childhood friends, Mom, and artistic luminaries Georgy
Tovstonogov and Maya Plisetskaya
– When was the last time you had to fight?
Your question made me pause to think and I suddenly realized I’ve never
had a fist fight at all. Never ever! Even when I was a boy. I never had this
type of experience in my life.
– Nevertheless, the town of Kirov in the initial postwar years was
certainly not Heaven on Earth.
You’ve got it all wrong. It was paradise for me. I left it many, many
years ago, but my hometown will always remain within me. In Kirov, I felt
warm and comfortable. The people there are kind and considerate. In remote
Russian provinces, it’s normal.
I’m still on friendly terms with my old buddies from my hometown. We have
so much to share in the past, although our lives have long drifted way apart.
When I was a boy, I had three friends. One would end up becoming a habitual
criminal to spend most of his life in jail. While walking along a Kirov
street one day I heard somebody call out my name. I turned around to see a
hobo in shabby clothes. I did not recognize this individual. I thought that
he must’ve mistaken me for somebody else and kept on walking. Then he called
me again: “Hey, old buddy, don’t you remember me? It’s me, Mike!” I took a
closer look at him, with his swollen face common among heavy drinkers and was
stunned. Life was certainly tough on him, but this time I had no doubt who it
was, he was an old friend of mine who went astray when he was 14. He was
foolish enough to agree to act as a lookout for the older boys while they
were stealing something. He was caught, tried, and sent to jail. From that
moment on, his life went downhill.
– And the two other friends?
One became a truck driver and I lost contact with him. Russia is a vast
country. While a third friend of mine, who is also named Vladimir, was my
neighbor in a communal apartment. He’d always dreamed of becoming a police
detective and he achieved his goal in life. He had moved up the career ladder
attaining the rank of major, but he was not destined to live long. He died
long ago. His younger sister broke the tragic news to me in a letter.
– You were the fourth and youngest child in the family, weren’t you?
That’s true, I had two sisters and a brother. Svetlana, the elder sister,
is now 86. She is a medic by profession. Margarita worked in the construction
industry. Both are now retired. And my brother Lev is no longer with us.
– Whenever an interviewer asks you about your family, you always speak
about your mother, who had to bring up her children on her own, but you never
mention your father.
I don’t remember him at all. He died when I was 18 months old.
– Did you experience an inferiority complex as a fatherless child?
I had nothing to compare my life to. During the postwar years, many kids
grew up in single-parent families. Someone might have developed an
inferiority complex if everybody around had been in a better position.
However, all of us were raised in approximately the same environment,
which can by no means be called comfortable. I only know that our mother
did almost nothing in terms of our education. She had no time for that. She
was an extremely reserved person, and never bothered to talk with us about
life one on one. No baby talk, no wiping our nose, and no hugging. She was a
very strict woman.
I always remember her working. My mother could afford the luxury of taking
her time only after going into retirement. She often said she felt very happy
in her old age, while the rest of her life was very hard.
I did my best to help her. After eighth grade, I dropped out of regular
secondary school to earn a living. I went to night school. My mother, elder
sisters and brother were examples to follow. I never saw them sitting idle
doing nothing. So, I couldn’t stay idle, either.
– How long did you live in the communal apartment?
All throughout my childhood years, the five of us lived in 16 square
meters. We managed somehow, you know.
I visited Kirov just recently and while going past our old house I decided
to pop in.
I walked up the stairway to our floor and rang the doorbell. I explained
to the current tenants that I’d lived in that apartment many years ago and
asked them for permission to see our room. In those days, our apartment
looked enormous to me, with a vast kitchen and a long corridor.
This time, I saw a tiny stairway landing and a very small room. I stood
there for some time looking around in amazement, unable to comprehend how
we’d managed to live there, eat meals, get ready for school or even sleep…
– Yesterday, when I was young…
Precisely! This is what I’m telling you. My childhood in Kirov was like
paradise to me. Besides, I was a very popular personality in my hometown. A
local celebrity. The era of television had just begun. Programs from Moscow
had not begun to be rebroadcast yet, so all the residents watched only the
local channel. I was invited to participate in some TV features to play
children’s roles. Among them, I played a teenage anti-Nazi resistance
activist, being interrogated by police, to a school hooligan and loser in a
comedy show.
In a word, my popularity in Kirov in those days was hard to underestimate.
I was a real TV star!
– How did you do in school?
Well it varied. Up to a certain point, I’d remained an ordinary middle-of-
the-road student, with both excellent and bad marks. The bad marks made my
mother very upset. Each time I got one she’d say: “You are a man. You’ll have
to earn a living. Why don’t you study well enough?”
– Would she give you spanking from time to time?
Never. A slight tap upside the head at the most.
I recall the moment when something totally unexpected happened to me. In
sixth grade, I was sent to Artek, the children’s recreation camp in Crimea on
the Black Sea. Not because I was a bright student, but because I was
fatherless and from a family with many children. The spring term at the
health resort lasted for two months. We were obliged to attend classes but
never asked to do homework. Secondly, the curriculum was ahead of all other
schools, so I returned to Kirov in May with all my annual progress marks
stated in my report card. It was at that point that something happened to me
and I totally changed my attitude to studying. I finished eighth grade (then
called incomplete secondary education) with quite decent marks.
After spending two more years at night school and getting my secondary
education certificate, I was enrolled in the Kirov Theatrical School, the one
and only group of future actors. My teachers liked me and I always got
excellent marks when it came to acting skills. I had no problems with
studying, but at the same time I knew perfectly well that I lacked the talent
of a real actor and impersonator. With a high degree of probability, I was
doomed to the career of a second-rate actor in a provincial theater. The
prospects did not look very encouraging, to say the least.
At the end of the second year I went to Leningrad to apply for a stage
director’s department. To my own surprise I easily coped with the entrance
exam at the Institute of Theatrical Art and Cinematography. That year, the
legendary artistic director of the Bolshoi Drama Theater BDT, Georgy
Tovstonogov, and co-instructor Arkady Katsman were selecting trainees for
their class.
– Were you aware of who Georgy Tovstonogov was?
Are you kidding? In Kirov, I had no chance of going to see his works, of
course, but I kept a close watch on what was happening in the world of
theater in general.
– Was Tovstonogov condescending enough to train his students personally?
He was. Moreover, we were allowed to attend rehearsals and see the grand
master at work. It is hard for me to judge his teaching talents, but he
certainly shared with us the basics of the profession. He used to say: “I’m
unable to share my talent, but I will certainly teach you the craft. The rest
is up to you.”
I dove into the studying process head on. Incidentally, this explains why
I had to leave the student dormitory. After six weeks there I suddenly
realized that I was not at all prepared to exist amid the never-ending get-
togethers and partying. I’m like a lonely tree, and not any of those that
grow in a dense forest. I don’t like shindigs. I need my private space.
I rented rooms in different parts of the city. One year, I was extremely
fortunate to rent a great three-room apartment in the city center overlooking
the Peter and Paul Fortress for next to nothing. The owners moved to Yalta
for the autumn, winter and spring. To earn enough to pay the housing rent I
worked as a part-time postman. I had to get up at five in the morning, which
was real torture, and then spent two hours delivering dailies and mail for
which I was paid 15 rubles a month, which was just enough to pay for the
apartment.
-Once you said that at the first opportunity you hopped on a train to
Moscow to roam city theaters.
It was of great help in terms of learning the ABCs of my profession. It
was a rule to make such trips a couple of weekends every month. I never
bought tickets, I’d just give the third-class carriage attendant a three-
ruble note and she would let me take a free ride on the luggage shelf. I used
to leave on Friday evening and catch a return train late Sunday evening after
seeing a couple of stage productions. In Moscow, I stopped for the night at a
student hostel or at a friend’s place.
To get into the theater I showed my student ID. They would always let me
in for free as one of Tovstonogov’s disciples. His name opened doors, it was
like saying “Open Sesame”. Never failed. Yuri Lyubimov’s Taganka Theater was
possibly the sole exception. It had to be stormed, because the crowd of those
eager to get in was always larger than the number of seats. I cannot say I
was always lucky, but I did manage to see all of Taganka’s hits of those
days. Scene from the play “Alive” by Yuri Lyubimov on the stage of Taganka
theater, 1989 (c) Viktor Velikzhanin/TASS In the Sovremennik Theater, I had
the chance to see The Naked King, Forever Alive, and Ordinary Story. I was
instantly amazed at how untheatrical that theater was. Everything was
extremely simple and intentionally casual. No trace of academism. I loved
Anatoly Efros’s stage versions of My Poor Marat, Don Juan, Three Sisters, and
On the Wedding Day. Those were fantastic works!
Just as Andrei Goncharov’s The Visit of the Old Lady and Physicists and
Lyricists. And in Valentin Pluchek’s Satire Theater, I adored Andrei Mironov,
Anatoly Papanov and Tatiana Peltser, all of them brilliant actors …
– Were you acquainted with any of them then?
By no means! I was a student, and they were stars. They were infinitely
far away. Getting into the theater to see them on stage was all I could dream
of.
– I know you keep old theater programs.
They are not just tokens that help turn the pages of time. They were my
notepads as well. I often used them to jot down thoughts. When I retire and
start writing my memoirs, those programs will be of great help. So, I still
keep them at home on a remote shelf.
– Are you serious? Not about memoirs, of course, but about your retirement
plans?
I’ll have to go some day. I won’t be here forever… As for other people’s
memoirs, I like to read them, but I always feel awkward when I come across
such parallels as “Yours truly and the greats”, or “Yours truly and the
arts.” It’s very hard to remain balanced when writing about one’s own
accomplishments. Very few have been successful in this respect. The way I see
it, it is always worth telling people not so much about oneself, but about
the happiness and joy you experienced in life, and at the thought you were a
contemporary and an acquaintance of other outstanding personalities. That’s
what is really worth sharing with your readership. That’s theory, though. I’m
not writing anything yet or even making plans to write something. I’m too
pressed for time. But I won’t throw the old theater programs away, either. I
prefer to keep them just in case.
– I wonder if you went to the Bolshoi often in your student years.
Very seldom. Honestly, in those days I did not quite understand the opera
or ballet. One morning I went to see Don Quixote. The only place I could find
was on the top gallery. I had to literally stand on one foot. The ballet had
looked dull and boring up until Maya Plisetskaya appeared on stage.
Everything instantly sprang to life!
A short while before her death, I told Plisetskaya that my sole memory of
that ballet was when she played Kitri. We were having dinner at the Bolshoi
restaurant and discussing preparations for her 90th anniversary.
I came to love the opera and ballet much later, when I was no longer a
student. My fondness of certain artists played a certain role. I often went
to see Vladimir Vasiliev and Yekaterina Maksimova. I also enjoyed the voices
of outstanding opera singers – disciples of the great stage director Boris
Pokrovsky.
– But another great stage director – Tovstonogov – did not let you finish
your studies. In fact, he dismissed you. Why?
I lacked experience in life. Staging a play is a job for mature people,
and I was a youngster from a provincial town. When the profession began to be
studied in depth, it turned out that my knowledge of the basics left much to
be desired. I flunked an exam and had to leave. I felt awfully upset. It
seemed that the whole world had turned upside down in an instant. In due
time, life would put me back on track.
– You finished your education at the Saint-Petersburg State University of
Culture and Arts, right?
Quite right. I applied to the stage directors’ department and was
admitted. Naturally, it was an educational establishment with a lesser
status. It trained stage directors for amateur theaters, not professionals.
– Was it possible for you to avoid military service?
I did not want to. I served one year in the Soviet military contingent in
East Germany. It was a classified military unit in the woods. Strangers were
not allowed to approach it closer than five kilometers. I served as a nurse.
There I gained some very useful experience, by the way.
– So you can provide first aid, if necessary?
I think I’ve lost the knack, but I still can tell between aspirin and
analgin…
Part 3 On a theater producer’s job, a French peepshow, Nureyev,
Serebrennikov and Filin
– Did you return to Kirov after you were discharged from the army?
I went to the local Young Spectators Theater to introduce myself to its
chief stage director Alexei Borodin, whom I’d never met before. I told him I
was looking for a stage director’s job. He replied the theater had enough
competent stage directors, but he was ready to offer me a managerial
position. At first, I felt disappointed, but then I gave the proposal a
second thought and agreed to become company manager. A year later, the
theater’s previous CEO received a promotion. Borodin persuaded me into taking
the vacancy. At 26 years of age, I became the Soviet Union’s youngest theater
boss. In 1981, I moved to Moscow. For some time, I held the post of secretary
in the Theatrical Workers’ Union and then of Mikhail Ulyanov’s first deputy.
I was one of those who founded the Golden Mask theater festival.
Then I was invited into the Stanislavsky Theater, although I was not
looking for a job at that time. My career proceeded steadily and along a
logical course. The Bolshoi Theater is in fact the fourth employer in my 45-
year-long career. Nobody will dare call me a drifter.
– Don’t you experience any phantom pains at the thought that you haven’t
become a stage director?
Now I take it easy. I did feel something like that in the past. I’m
certain that I might have been successful in this profession. However,
there’s no use deliberating over it now.
– But there were no obstacles to trying yourself out as a stage director
in the Stanislavsky Theater or in the Bolshoi, were they?
Attempts to kill two birds with one stone never bring about anything good.
I do know that some CEOs who have experimented as stage directors. My
impression is none of them were very professional. I cannot afford this.
And I can think of no positive examples of such job combinations. You’ve
got to dedicate yourself entirely to the work you are commissioned to do. A
stage director is to start each rehearsal with a clear mind. For that reason,
he has to be relieved of all other chores.
On the other hand, being a CEO is not just an administrative and financial
position. I’m responsible not for the sewage pipes and electric bulbs, but
for what is happening on stage. What material is to be selected for any sort
of stage production, who to entrust this duty to. How to organize the work to
achieve the desired effect. These are the producer’s responsibilities.
– Do you take the liberty of attending run-throughs or dress rehearsals to
have a say?
I never dictate or impose anything on others. If something has to be
corrected, I invite the stage director into my office for a one-on-one
meeting to tell him what I think of any decision.
– And what if the stage director is reluctant to listen to or agree with
what you are saying?
It’s up to him. He pays for the end product with his name on the
billboard. If I realize that professionally an utter failure is looming on
the horizon, then I do intervene, of course, and not just watch and wait.
– Have you ever canceled productions before the first showing?
Never ever. I did remove certain scenes from some stage productions,
though. In the early 2000s, French directors had been invited to stage
Charles Gounod’s Faust in the
Theater. It turned out that they wished to transform the Walpurgis Night
into a peepshow. I’m not saying that this genre is cheap as such. A situation
comedy requires great skill, too. In the
1970s, a group of friends in Paris took me to a night club with a
striptease show. I was amazed to see a well-staged piece and excellent light.
The accuracy of the mise-en-scenes was wonderful. It was a great show, with
the tiniest detail taken care of!
The French partners’ vision of that scene in Faust looked disgusting. Poor
actors made some awkward movements and gestures with sex toys, trying to
perform something. They felt shy and ashamed of themselves, their appearance
and the audience in the hall. I did my best trying to persuade the French
stage director to rework the scene. He replied with a stubborn NO.
A culture attache from the embassy came to look into the dispute. I
explained to that lady what it was all about and warned that I had enough
power to ban the scene and would not hesitate to use it. The stage director’s
group got angry and left for France. The French ambassador, who had promised
to attend the first performance, failed to show up. A slight international
squabble followed.
– Was there any risk it might hurt you on the rebound?
By no means. It’s not what one might call censorship or a ban prompted by
ideological reasons. The scene looked awful from an artistic viewpoint.
– The time is ripe to ask you about Nureyev.
This question has haunted me for the past 18 months… At the beginning of
the season, we held a news conference devoted to the theater’s plans. A
reporter from the television channel Dozhd approached me to shower me with
questions about the Nureyev ballet. I felt compelled to jab back and ask:
“Don’t you have some other subject to discuss?”
– And still…
The ballet is all right. It has materialized and remains on our
billboards.
I’m far more concerned about the future of Kirill Serebrennikov, Sofia
Apfelbaum, Yuri Itin and Alexei Malobrodsky. All of them are my good friends.
Regrettably, we can no longer separate the legal proceedings from the Nureyev
ballet affair.
You know, I try to never tell lies. Sometimes it is hard to resist the
temptation, but I do my best. Any lie will be exposed sooner or later. I can
tell you how it all happened.
Makhar Vaziyev and I were unanimous that the ballet was half-baked and it
was too early to present it to the public at large. One of the run-throughs
in the summer of 2017 was disastrous. Everything was falling apart. It is not
an ordinary ballet after all. It features a choir, opera soloists, a large
group of guest extras and drama actors. The show involved 300 performers,
numerous changes of scenery and colossal preparatory work. It was pretty
clear to Vaziyev and myself that the ballet was not ripe yet. In the
meantime, I was strongly advised not to postpone the first showing so as to
avoid coming under a firestorm of criticism. I realized how difficult the
situation was but I could not afford to let a semi-finished product appear on
stage.
I summoned Kirill Serebrennikov and Yuri Posokhov, the choreographer, and
asked them not to go off the deep end and to proceed with rehearsals as usual
with the aim of treating the audience to a finished show. Clearly, both guys
were not very happy about my idea. They looked dismayed, but Posokhov
eventually said: “I agree, the ballet is not ready yet.” Serebrennikov
sounded less articulate: “If that is the theater’s opinion, I’ll obey.” I put
a bottle of good cognac on the table and we clinched a deal.
Everything seemed to have been settled, but some strange things began to
happen virtually in no time. Yuri refused to go and meet the actors. Kirill
pretended that there had been no verbal arrangement between us. It did not
last long, but the wheels had already started turning and the news soon broke
across all media outlets before long.
I’d had no doubts the ballet would be finalized. Nobody had the intention
of cancelling it. We called a special news conference. Kirill was absent
again. I tried to answer all questions myself. Naturally, most of those
present did not believe me. Various conspiracy theories popped up. Culture
Minister Vladimir Medinsky and church bans were rumored to have been
involved. Denying that was useless. Staying patient was all that we could do.
I read so many interesting things about myself then!
– Like what?
Don’t make me retell that nonsense, please… Just believe me, I learned
many interesting things about myself that I’d never known.
At our last meeting with Kirill and Yuri we agreed that we would videotape
the ballet’s run-through from beginning to end. Which we did.
– Was that recording eventually uploaded to YouTube?
No, no. Somebody uploaded part of a technical rehearsal. The actor was
dancing in flesh-colored tights. Somebody thought he was naked but there is
no such scene in the ballet. And the full-length photo of naked Nureyev was
made the moment the projector was being tuned up. In reality the picture
appears for a tiny fraction of a second.
In a word, a massive attack followed. On top of it all, Kirill was
detained and then put under house arrest… I’d requested to let him conduct
rehearsals. They refused. Then we met in the building of the Investigative
Committee and I obtained Serebrennikov’s permission to release the ballet
without the stage director’s supervision…
In the meantime, the public remained suspicious I’d censor Nureyev and cut
out the most important scenes. I advised the critics to go and talk to
Posokhov, the choreographer, his assistants and also the artists and ask what
exactly I’d cut out. It turned out that everything remained the way it had
been during the run-through that Serebrennikov had conducted himself. The
video of that rehearsal is the best proof of that.
After the opening night, more suspicion cropped up. The ballet was shown
once to let the pandemonium die down, but it will be canceled inconspicuously
with one hundred percent certainty!
In the meantime, the ballet is still running. So that’s the end of the
story.
– Advertising is the engine of commerce. Now it is a hit and its success
is more than guaranteed.
The price that was paid was too high and heavy. The ballet Nureyev was a
hard-earned success for all. Rolls of thunder can still be heard. The media
in the West keeps claiming with persistency worthy of a better cause that the
ballet was released under public pressure, and that the Bolshoi’s management
panicked and caved in. Nobody takes the trouble to explain, though, who made
us feel so scared.
Of course, these are major reputational losses for a theater that is one
of the country’s top brand names. And for me as its CEO.
– You must’ve felt greatly upset.
It couldn’t be otherwise. Who likes being gossiped about? I think I’ve
never done anything reprehensible. I’ve been certain all along that I stayed
on the right side of life and I did what I thought to be right and proper
only to begin to be accused of something indecent. Of course, it was
unpleasant and made me feel hurt. But that’s the cost of my job at the
Bolshoi Theater.
Everything that happens here draws special attention. Should the same
thing occur some other place, people would forget it in a week’s time at the
most. But here, everyone has a longer memory.
– In fact, that was the only scandal that unfolded in the open. As for all
other disputes, you managed to settle them somehow and keep them in the
family.
Many sore points had been eliminated before I took over.
– Really? Wasn’t it you who had to deal with the Sergei Filin affair?
Certain tensions around Filin remained but the scandal was already
subsiding.
Finding a common language with a team of coworkers requires great skill.
It is very wrong to lock yourself in your office and think that your
decisions will be clear to all. You’ve got to explain your moves. We have no
chance to gather 3,200 people in one room. We’ll need the Kremlin Palace for
that. Therefore, I held many meetings with different groups, one by one, and
answered their questions. The questions were different. Some asked me about
the canteen and others, about purchasing new musical instruments, vacations,
wages and so on and so forth.
– But in the end, you signed a collective bargaining agreement that
incorporates all aspects of labor relations, didn’t you?
The first one expired in 2017. The agreement was then prolonged for
another three years.
Media relations is another important aspect of my job. Questions are to be
answered, and not shirked. When information is scarce, speculations and
rumors instantly take its place.
– I really like the way you skipped the Filin question.
Nothing of the sort. What is it you would like to know? Sergei remains
with us. He is in charge of the youth choreographic team. When his contract
as the ballet company’s chief was about to expire, I called him up to explain
frankly why he would not retain his position.
– Why?
That vicious attack changed him greatly. Something had happened to him. He
was no longer in command of the ballet company. I felt terrified at the sight
of what was happening on stage. The absence of a leader, control and
discipline was breeding chaos. I knew perfectly well that the problem had to
be addressed, because otherwise one of the world’s best ballet companies
would be lost. This is precisely what I told Sergei then. He had to agree
with my arguments, because a large portion of the blame rests squarely on
him. Just as on any administrator.
I agree, it was a very harsh decision, but in that situation it was
crucial.
– Nothing personal, you say? In March 2011, Filin defected from the
Stanislavsky Theater to the Bolshoi, thus letting you down.
It’s a matter of personal qualities. It is true that Filin’s decision to
quit added a lot to our problems, but for me it is surely not a reason to
avenge and settle scores many years later. That’s out of the question! All
sorts of problems can occur in life. I never mix my job with anything else.
True, emotions will be emotions, there is no way of getting away from them,
but they should not be allowed to gain the upper hand over reason. As soon as
people begin to find out who said what then you’ve got to brace for major
trouble.
Let me say once again that I’ve never had a grudge against Filin for his
decision to leave the Stanislavsky Theater. What was really regrettable is
that first he worked hard to create the theater and its ballet company and
then started ruining it by enticing its artists to defect to the Bolshoi,
although we’d agreed that he would never do that.
You will agree that this is a very different sort of grievance.
This is how someone displayed his real worth. It was unpleasant, there’s
no denying that, but what can I do? We managed. The Stanislavsky Theater kept
working as normal. Everything was well.
Part 4 On the Golden Mask, the Year of Theater, cloning, ticket scalpers
and the Sword of Damocles
– How often do you have to resort to the “God will judge him” saying?
Regularly. I believe this is the best alternative. It’s wrong to try to
demand explanations or put forward grievances. This is a very unproductive
pursuit. It’s far better to do one’s job. I’m prepared to make peace with the
most controversial personalities provided they are professional and
effective.
– Who have you learned that rule from?
From all people I’ve met in life. Some here and some there. First, from my
mother, and then from my brother and sisters. I was lucky to have so many
good teachers. I cannot complain. Alexei Borodin shared a great deal with me.
That being said, take the invaluable experience I gained while working side
by side with Mikhail Ulyanov in the Theatrical Workers’ Union. A wonderful
Siberian chap he was, a real man and a born intellectual. The theatrical
world tremendously respected him. Perhaps, Kirill Lavrov was the only other
actor who was so greatly revered. In the acting community this sort of
attitude is very rare.
– Incidentally, what do you think of the possibility that the Golden Mask
festival may soon have a rival?
I believe it is a bad idea, and not just because two awards will compete
with each other. In the film industry, for instance, there can be a dozen
awards like the Nike, Eagle or Oscar. First, film copies are distributed
among the Academy members. Then they watch the videos in the privacy of their
homes and later formulate their opinions.
The world of theater is very different. First, a large organizational
infrastructure must be created. Somebody is expected to tour Russia, select
worthy stage productions and then bring them to Moscow for a highly
respectable jury to see. It is a far more expensive affair involving a
colossal number of people! Those who think that it will be very easy get the
system of a new theatrical award going are very wrong. It is a daunting task!
A quarter of a century ago, I was among the Golden Mask’s co-founders and
arranged the first two ceremonies. I know very well what I’m talking about.
It takes tremendous preparatory work.
Any award’s chief mission is not to distribute benefits, but to hold an
annual theatrical festival featuring dozens of performing companies from
different parts of the nation. Such an event is unparalleled elsewhere in the
world. It’s unique.
Instead of wasting money on another award in our line of business, it
would be far better to increase the funding of provincial theaters, which
suffer from chronic underfunding. This kind of assistance would be tangible,
indeed.
– Are you alarmed by the Ministry of Culture’s exit from the list of
Golden Mask organizers?
I see no problems here. At first, when we established the award, the
Ministry of Culture had nothing to do with it. It was a professional prize of
the Theatrical Workers’ Union. Financial turmoil soon followed and the Union
required government support. Under Culture Minister Mikhail Shvydkoi a
decision was made to help the Golden Mask with financial infusions. Now,
under Culture Minister Vladimir Medinsky it was decided to leave the list of
co-founders. We’ve been promised, though, that funding will continue. So, in
this respect everything looks OK.
It is a totally different question that an alternative award may drive a
wedge into the fragile world of theater. An either-or dilemma should be
avoided by all means. If there is something about the Golden Mask you don’t
like, then start an open debate, but don’t put spokes stealthily in the
wheel. Whatever problems and drawbacks the Golden Mask may have, it is one of
the few institutions that cement Russia’s theatrical world today…
– What expectations do you have for the Year of Theater? I would like to
see far less pompous and glamorous events. We need concrete steps and the
authorities’ attention. And, of course, our spectators must have a festive
feeling. Otherwise this $22.5 million affair won’t be worth a dime.
– Do you have time to keep track of what your colleagues across the nation
have been doing? I seldom find the time even for foreign trips. My contacts
with theaters are confined to Moscow and St. Petersburg.
– But you surely accompany the Bolshoi on its key tours, don’t you? I do
my best not to miss the opening ceremonies.
– Do you see any changes in attitudes to everything Russian? For the
worse? I would not say so. It is true that in the United States two years ago
a group of picketers was waving Ukrainian flags and chanting slogans, but
this did us no harm. Just recently we went to Italy. No excesses whatsoever.
Everything turned out fine. In recent years, only a couple of stage directors
refused to work for us for political reasons.
– Such as? Alvis Hermanis and the La Monnaie theater of Brussels were to
stage Jenufa. Hermanis eventually changed his mind and we aborted the project
altogether. It was rather an exception, though. Requests for Bolshoi tours
keep pouring in. Quite often we have to turn them down, because we are unable
to do so many tours a year. Otherwise, the theater will be absent from Moscow
and Russia all the time.
– What are your principles in selecting tour routes?
Artistic interests come first. It is prestigious to perform in London’s
Covent Garden, Milan’s La Scala and the Philharmonie de Paris, where our
company will go in March this year. We attach priority to world cultural
centers, where the Bolshoi is loved and expected. We did excellent tours of
China, South Korea and Japan…
Also, we’ve begun to tour Russia at last. The shortage of auditoriums
capable of accommodating us with our scenery are a real problem. We are very
sorry, but we will not go to Nizhniy Novgorod in the foreseeable future,
because no suitable building is available there. The same applies to many
other places. We’ve just got an invitation to Yakutia. We’d like to accept,
but there is no place for us to act. In Chelyabinsk, we managed to perform La
Boheme.
– What if you follow in the Mariinsky Theater’s footsteps and split the
company in two? One will be performing here and the other elsewhere
simultaneously?
The Bolshoi Theater will not do that. When we go on a tour, it is an
obligation for us to show a production of the same quality that can be seen
in Moscow. It is a matter of principle. Our ballet never dances to
soundtracks. It invariably performs to the accompaniment of the Bolshoi
Orchestra playing live. It is also a matter of artistic and human ethics. It
is impermissible to do things for which we might feel ashamed.
Svetlana Zakharova cannot be cloned or replicated. And we have no other
ballerina like her.
Once we are aware of how important the tours are, we are obliged to engage
top stars, because the Bolshoi is associated with their names. True, some
novice may go on a tour instead of Artyom Ovcharenko or Vladislav Lantarov,
but such a compromise would spell the loss of quality, which we find utterly
unacceptable. It is impossible to breed clones in a theater like ours. The
name will be still there, but the essence that makes the theater what it is
will be gone.
That’s my personal viewpoint, though, and nobody is obliged to agree with
it, of course.
– As far as I understand, you are not a great enthusiast of live
broadcasts of theatrical productions, although for some theaters, such as the
Metropolitan Opera, it is widely spread practice.
I wouldn’t say that I’m strongly against it. My attitude is rather
delicate and cautious. I guess that this is not about the art of theater as
such. It is something else. The chemistry that develops between the audience
and the artists on stage cannot be conveyed by means of a flat screen.
You’ve mentioned the Met. Several years ago, its seat occupancy rate was
close to 90%. Now it’s been down to 60%. Our counterparts at one of the
world’s leading musical centers are aware of the existing problems better
than I am. Should you ask me, though, I would say that live broadcasts are to
blame for this decline to a certain degree.
It is very wrong to make one branch of artistic endeavor subordinate to
another. Losses will be imminent.
I am not calling in question culture promotion campaigns. It will be just
wonderful, if a Bolshoi production is shown on cinema screens in provincial
towns in Siberia or the Urals. But let us be frank and say outright: this is
not theater…
– But going to the Bolshoi in Moscow is still a problem, as before.
Tickets are hard to come by and the prices are expensive.
We’ve refrained from raising ticket prices for a long time now. The best
ticket to our best productions, costs 15,000 rubles ($225) at the most. You
can compare this with 2016 or 2015 prices. No increase at all. I’m talking
about tickets to the Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Giselle, and Nureyev. Several
operas as well.
Our pricing policy is very flexible. For some productions, tickets cost
3,000 rubles at the most.
– And yet ticket scalpers have found ingenious ways to fish in muddy
waters. Are the latest amendments to the law on culture capable of
contributing to fighting such swindlers?
It goes without saying that the resale of tickets will be outlawed. The
sole exception will be made for our counteragents, with whom we make a deal
that they have the right to sell, but without exceeding the maximum sum. When
the amendments take effect, we will be able to demand all unauthorized sites
that ticket profiteers are in the habit of using be closed down without court
orders. This will be of great help.
Also, it will be far easier to deal with those who sell tickets for cash
on the streets. Currently, there is no way of calling such ticket scalpers to
order. If questioned by police, they reply calmly that their plans for the
evening had changed, so they are selling the tickets at their real value. It
takes a witness to prove that the real price charged is above the one stated
on the ticket. We are looking forward to the adoption of the new law.
– How often do you see Bolshoi productions yourself?
Practically every day. But not from beginning to end. I may pop in for ten
minutes or for one act. Yesterday, I was to a concert at the Beethoven Hall
and then went to listen to the finale of the Barber of Seville. Premier
showings continue. It was important for me to congratulate the standbys and
to see the audience’s reaction to the alternative performers.
– The Bolshoi’s Board of Trustees was revamped in 2018. Civil servants have
been replaced by businessmen. Who is easier to work with?
My personal convenience does not matter. Different ideas were discussed of
how to better the Board’s operation. In the end a decision was made to cut
the list by half and to leave only those who really give money to the
theater, thus enabling them to use the funds the way they deem right and to
distribute funds among the projects we propose.
– I hear people say admission to the Board of Trustees costs 350,000 euro.
It’s a secret. The trustees decided to classify this information.
Naturally, I cannot make comments. In one instance, I disclosed information
about sponsors’ contributions to the media. I’d meant well, and I did that
despite the special clause on confidentiality in my contract. I was strongly
reprimanded and from that moment on I prefer to toe the line. If some people
wish to disclose how much they donate to the theater – they are free to do
so, it’s there right. As for me, I keep quiet.
I can disclose the total sum, if you wish. We get a little more than four
billion rubles (roughly $60 million) in government subsidies. Another 500
million rubles ($7.5 million) comes from the sponsors. It’s a lot!
– The one who pays runs the show. What are the sponsors’ privileges?
It is strictly described in the contract. Including the right to get
invitations to first night performances and to all the theater’s major
events.
– One box each?
No, the boxes have to be paid for separately. All rules are very strict
and compliance with them is closely monitored. Once you have used the agreed
quota, you may ask for something else. The situation permitting, we agree to
meet such requests, if not, we cannot help. It’s very strict.
– And how about promoting a soloist to the position of prima ballerina?
Putting in a word for someone with important connections?
Ha-ha! I’d like to look at the one who might dare approach me with such a
question!
– I can’t believe there’ve been no such attempts. Not a single one,
believe me. It’s absolutely out of the question.
– Does the name Shuvalov ring a bell with you? Naturally. So what?
– Igor Shuvalov’s daughter is in the Bolshoi company. Yes, that young lady
graduated from a choreographic school. Does she have any title roles?
– Not yet. Then there is nothing to talk about. We’ll discuss this when
she proves she is worthy of a prominent role. Being a relative of a high-
ranking official is certainly not a crime.
– It is hard to say NO to such people. Shuvalov is not my boss. And he has
never asked me for anything.
– For some reason, Valery Todorovsky’s film The Bolshoi comes to mind…
I’ll try to drive the point home. We don’t live in a vacuum… I can tell you
frankly that at first some people did make phone calls to address me with …
Not requests, but with questions. Say, wouldn’t you take a look at this or
that female vocalist? Would she suit you as a soloist? I always replied that
arranging an audition would be no problem, but if we don’t like what we see,
we’ll say so right away. Nothing is worse than a person who got hired using
connections and who tries to do something, which this individual has no
talent for. This may damage the person’s life beyond repair. If they lack the
talent to sing and dance, it will never pop up on command. And then everybody
around will see that the ambitious hopeful is occupying somebody else’s
place.
I cannot let such things happen, because I’m responsible for quality. It is
far better to turn someone down right away so as not to create problems for
anybody and not to ruin other people’s lives.
– Incidentally, did you like that film by Todorovsky Jr.? It is not a
ballet or opera, so you don’t have to hide your personal attitude.
The Bolshoi, just as all other films by Valery Todorovsky, contains very
accurate realities of that time and spicy details, but… I liked the story
he presented to us on screen in all respects but one. And it is a problem of
the film director, not the scriptwriter. The way I see it, he made one
fundamental professional mistake. The ballet talent of the main character was
not obvious. I cannot feel it. At a certain point, the backbone of the whole
plot begins to collapse. I told Valery so. He should’ve found the right
actress first and begin to make the film only after that. Or drop the idea
altogether…
– Were you paid for letting the filmmakers use the Bolshoi brand?
Yes, we were, but money isn’t everything. Many are eager to film episodes
on site. I find piles of requests from film directors on my desk nearly every
day. We reject most of them.
– Why?
We have our own work to do. Rehearsals and other preparations. Our scenery
has to be assembled properly. Strangers are a great hindrance. We cannot
afford to turn the Bolshoi into somebody else’s film set. You’ve got to be
able to say no.
– Have you mastered the skill of refusal?
Long ago. I still get phone calls with the standard question if I can
arrange a spare ticket. One needs an invitation to the Nutcracker, and
another, to Giselle. I have to explain to them that there are strict rules
indicating who is entitled to free seats. As for all others, please turn to
the box office. The CEO’s box can accommodate no more than eight guests at a
time. I always decide myself who is to be invited there.
Even Bolshoi employees are sometimes denied a chance to see some
production or other.
– Did you arrange a New Year’s Eve party for the Bolshoi personnel?
It’s our custom to make a funny clip to look back on the results of each
season with a pinch of irony. It opens each general meeting of the company
before the new season. This happens in the autumn, though, not in December.
We never arrange anything special on New Year’s Eve. The last days of each
year are a high season for us. Four performances a day. In the old building
and on the new stage. The Nutcracker is number one treat.
– So, your subordinates never see you in Grandfather Frost’s disguise?
Why don’t you make up your mind at last whose image suits me better – that
of Mangafuoco or Grandfather Frost?
The last time I wore Grandfather Frost’s red-colored coat and a fur hat was
in my student years. The garment was hanging on me as if I were a slender
mannequin. I was terribly thin then. A fleshless phantom. I had to go from
one New Year party to another to earn a living.
You know, I like to clown around, make gags and listen to and tell funny
jokes. It’s not the ability to puff yourself up that determines one’s status.
My job implies great responsibility. It is of national importance, if you
wish.
– Do you ever feel like the Sword of Damocles is hanging over you?
My answer is this. It is very bad when important decisions concerning the
theater’s future begin to be made at some high offices on the basis of
somebody’s subjective opinion. Personal likes and dislikes are a very
dangerous thing. In this respect, the Bolshoi is in the forefront. It is
visited not just by senior officials, but also by their wives, who are not
very familiar with how it all works inside. Moreover, many actors are on
friendly terms with many of the world’s movers and shakers and occasionally
they may try to use this resource to build careers. Nothing can be more
harmful that insistent recommendations and orders from on high.
I’m not talking about myself in this particular case. I’m in the 72nd year
of my life. I’ve lived long enough and I dare hope I’ve been useful to the
Russian theater. I think I’ve achieved something. In particular, in the
Stanislavsky company. I’d keep quiet about the Bolshoi for now. The time is
not ripe yet. In this respect, I don’t care at all about my own future.
– Really?
You can have my word for it. What I mean is this when I joined the
Bolshoi, I asked many people to follow me. That’s where my responsibility
begins. I persuaded those people to move. Tugan Sokhiyev left the Berlin
Philharmonic Orchestra, and Makhar Vaziyev parted with La Scala’s ballet
company. My friend and current deputy, Dmitry Kiyanenko, has to shuttle
between Moscow and London, where his family lives. I’ve put together a whole
team. Some of its members have persuaded other people to follow them, too,
you see? There has emerged a company of close associates who think alike and
who have agreed to do all they can for the Bolshoi’s sake. Each time some
clouds appear on the horizon, my first thought is not about myself but about
those whom I’ve invited.
I’m utterly indifferent about my own fate. I’ll surely find some
occupation for myself so as not to idle my days away after retirement. We’ve
drafted the Bolshoi’s plans for the coming three years. I’ve signed contracts
and assumed certain obligations. I must keep my word. And if everything is
suddenly changed in an administrative way, then…
My contract expires in August 2022. I will turn 75 by then. My proposal is
this: let’s make a decision on my successor’s candidacy in a year – year and
a half from now…
– Do you have any likely candidates to propose?
Certainly. And not just one, but two or three. I will disclose them to
those who are responsible for making decisions. It is not a successor, but
the question of continuity at stake. It’s quite common practice throughout
the world! A new director will take over Vienna’s Staatsoper in 2021. There
are two more seasons ahead, but the selected successor is already working,
looking into the details of his job, shaping the repertoire and holding talks
with me! He has brought with him a team of aides, although formally he has no
position in the opera theater yet. This is the civilized way, in which I
invite everybody to follow. It took me nearly two years to settle in at the
Bolshoi. Any successor should not be forced to waste time on getting settled
in, but rather be allowed to get ready beforehand. I won’t be clinging to my
chair. When I feel it’s time for me to leave, I’ll get up and go.
– Will you take the “Nobody can fill my shoes!” sign with you?
Surely. But my greatest concern is what I’ll leave behind for posterity.
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