Evgeniy Aleksandrovich Evstigneev (1926–1992) — outstanding Soviet and Russian stage and screen actor, People's Artist of the USSR (1983).
Biography
Evgeniy Evstigneev was born in Nizhny Novgorod. To his mother — Maria Ivanovna — he was a late child: she was 32 when he came into the world. To his father — Aleksandr Mikhaylovich — he was not the firstborn: from a previous marriage the man already had a school-age son. Fate decreed that Evstigneev would become an actor — and it happened entirely by chance. In 1946, in his spare time from work, Evgeniy played drums in an orchestra at a cinema. He played with such virtuosity and abandon that he overshadowed all the other musicians and sent the audience into raptures. During one of these performances he was noticed by the rector of the Nizhny Novgorod Theatre School, Vitaliy Lebsky. After the orchestra had finished a number, Lebsky approached the musician and asked him: "Young man, would you like to become a dramatic actor?" To which Evstigneev replied ingenuously: "I don't know." — "Then here are my contact details, and I shall expect you," continued Lebsky, and handed the young man a slip of paper with the school's address.
When Evstigneev arrived at the given address two days later, Lebsky received him very warmly, suggested he learn a fable and sit an examination. A few days later Evgeniy was enrolled in the first year of the school. Having graduated from the Nizhny Novgorod Theatre School in 1951, Evstigneev was assigned to the Vladimir Regional Drama Theatre named after A. Lunacharsky.
Evstigneev was not entirely happy with his situation in Vladimir. Like any provincial, he secretly dreamed of performing on the capital's stages. However, the management of the Vladimir theatre would hear nothing of it and refused to let our hero go to Moscow. Evstigneev told the theatre that he urgently needed to visit his mother, and she, when an inquiry arrived from Vladimir, confirmed her son's story. And he seized his freedom. And immediately set off for Moscow. It was 1954.
He was admitted to the Moscow Art Theatre School-Studio virtually at his very first attempt — and straight into the second year.
In the middle of 1955, students of the fourth year of the Moscow Art Theatre School-Studio founded the "Studio of Young Actors," which a year later became the foundation of a new Moscow theatre — the Sovremennik. Evstigneev was among those students. In 1957 his personal life also changed: he finally married. His chosen one was his classmate from the Moscow Art Theatre School-Studio, the daughter of the celebrated cinematographer B. Volchek, Galina Volchek. Here is what she recalls of those days:
He spoke in such a way that some of his expressions could only be understood with the help of a special dictionary (for instance, "swept floor" in his usage meant a floor that had been swept, "whitened soup" meant soup with sour cream, "spirit soap" meant toilet soap, and so on). My chosen one also had a strange appearance: bald, with a long nail on his little finger, dressed in a Boston-cloth suit of lilac colour bought a size too large (in case the balding bridegroom might still grow), with a waistcoat over a "bobochka" — a short-sleeved summer knit shirt — and a crêpe de chine bow tie attached grandly at the collar above the zip. That was how Zhenya appeared at my home. At first Papa was disconcerted, having fallen under the influence of the nanny, who commented on my chosen one's appearance with the words: "Isn't he ashamed to go about bald — he might at least put on some sort of cap..." I for my part behaved independently and with youthful delight in my own inner rebellion against my parents' conventional thinking. But it was not only rebellion that drove me; I wanted to be with Zhenya also because I felt a whole complex of feelings towards him. I was drawn to his inner vulnerability. I experienced something in a sense maternal as well, because he had been torn from his parental home, from his mother whom he loved but who, by force of circumstance, had given him only what she could — while Zhenya's intellectual and spiritual potential was far richer. And the most important thing for me was that I immediately saw in him a great actor, and therefore a person of significance... In spite of all the talk, we got married. At first there was a psychologically difficult period in relations with my father, his new wife, and my nanny (we all lived together in the same flat). At a certain moment, when the atmosphere had already reached boiling point, I declared, with the maximalism characteristic of me: "We are leaving and will live separately!" And we left with almost nothing. For a time we even had to sleep at the railway station. We moved eight times, renting now one room, now another, until we were given a separate one-room flat. Because of this homeless existence we had neither furniture nor household belongings. In time, Papa came to love Zhenya, respected him and cast him in all his films, even if only in a small episode. And Zhenya turned out to be kindred in spirit and outlook to the nanny as well. Later she was never able to love my second husband; for her Zhenya always remained "one of us," while the other was "an outsider."
From this marriage, in 1961, a boy was born whom they named Denis (the young couple were at the time renting a room in a communal flat in a building on Gorky Street).
Work
Evstigneev played his first significant role at the Sovremennik in 1960, in the production of "The Naked King" based on the play by E. Shvarts. After that performance the actor playing the lead role — the King — woke up famous. True, this fame for the time being extended only among dedicated theatregoers.
In the late 1950s cinema also took notice of Evstigneev. He played his first film role in director Vladimir Petrov's "The Duel" (1957): it was the role of Peterson. This was followed by smaller roles in the films "Anyuta" and "Ballad of a Soldier" (both 1959), "Lyubushka," "Nine Days of One Year," "In a Difficult Hour" (all 1961), "Never," "Still Green" (1962), "The Sky is Conquered," "An Agent of the Cheka" (1963).
True nationwide fame came to Evstigneev in 1964 — with his role as Dynin in director E. Klimov's film "Welcome, or No Trespassing." The film would probably never have been released (an order banning its production had appeared in the very thick of filming) had N. S. Khrushchev not been removed from power that October. The picture contained unmistakable satirical allusions directed at him. That is what saved the film. And although it attracted only 13.4 million viewers at the box office, it was received with enthusiasm in filmmaking circles. Following this success, many directors began vying to invite Evstigneev to appear in their pictures. As a result, during 1965–1966 alone the actor appeared in nine films. The best of them were: "Fidelity" (1965), "A Vile Anecdote," "Watch Out for the Automobile," "The Elder Sister" (all 1966).
In the summer of 1964 Evstigneev's personal life changed dramatically: he and his wife separated. Moreover, the initiative for this break came from G. Volchek. What had happened? G. Volchek tells the story:
"When we parted, many people did not understand why or how it had come about, and tried to persuade both me and Zhenya to abandon that decision. But it happened. Zhenya behaved tactfully enough to preserve our relationship. But I myself broke it off. I packed his things and his food, invited to our hotel room (the Sovremennik was on tour in Saratov at the time) a woman whom I believed Zhenya had been seeing, and said: 'Now you won't have to deceive anyone.' Only twenty-five years later did he let slip, once, that I should not have done it that way."
Here is an account from the period when Evstigneev, his wife, and child had moved to a building on Sirenevyy Boulevard. The narrator is S. Zeltser:
"The flat is noisy, smoky, and very lively. With Liliya Dmitrievna — Evgeniy Aleksandrovich's wife — everything is always easy and natural. Beautiful, flirtatious, and disarmingly unselfish, ready to give away anything you might ask for."
In the late 1960s Evstigneev's creative life was filled to capacity. During the period from 1967 to 1970 he took on six new roles at the theatre (from Alexander II in "The People's Will" to Lunacharsky in "The Bolsheviks"). In cinema he played even more: seventeen roles. The most notable among them: "The Incredible Adventures of Italians in Russia" (the Lame Man), "Seventeen Moments of Spring" (Professor Pleishner, both 1973), "The Last Summer of Childhood" (Navrotsky, 1974), "A Story About an Unknown Actor" (Goryachev, 1976), "The Foundlings" (the watchman), "For Family Reasons" (the artist Nikolay, both 1977), "The Meeting Place Cannot Be Changed" (the thief Ruchechnikov, 1979).
Evstigneev's last role at the Sovremennik was Dorn in Chekhov's "The Seagull." That was in 1970. A year later he followed O. Efremov into the company of the Moscow Art Theatre. His first role on the new stage was Volodya in the production of "Valentin and Valentina" based on the play by M. Roshchin.
During the 1970s Evstigneev played 11 roles on the Moscow Art Theatre stage. Over that same decade he played 33 roles in cinema. To list them all would take too long, so I will name the most celebrated: the Lame Man — "The Incredible Adventures of Italians in Russia," Professor Pleishner — "Seventeen Moments of Spring" (both 1973), Navrotsky — "The Last Summer of Childhood" (1974), Goryachev — "A Story About an Unknown Actor" (1976), the watchman — "The Foundlings," the artist Nikolay — "For Family Reasons" (both 1977), the thief Ruchechnikov — "The Meeting Place Cannot Be Changed" (1979).
From the recollections of friends
What was Evstigneev like in ordinary life in those years? S. Zeltser recalls:
"Of all mass spectacles, Evgeniy Aleksandrovich singled out football. He followed the matches of the World Cup and the European Championship closely, and the Olympics. 'Shall we go and see Spartak play someone?' He preferred the ordinary stand to the press box. The crowd would greet his appearance in the stands with an approving murmur. The swearing would die down, people would straighten up, strike up conversation — without intrusive curiosity, with dignity and expertise they would pass remarks as the game unfolded, argue about situations arising on the pitch. They would offer sunflower seeds and whatever else God had sent, since the (dry) law had not yet arrived. The atmosphere of universal football brotherhood surrounded him. He was delighted to meet Starostin, Leontyev, Yashin, Logofet. He occasionally went to ice hockey with him. He would catch fire with the passion of the ice battles; he liked the game for its temperament and dynamism. But football remained his first and only love... Another love was jazz. He would listen for hours to Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Tom Jones, Frank Sinatra. He was fond of Ray Conniff's elegant style."
The 1980s were a difficult period in the actor's life. That decade began with misfortune: in December 1980 Evstigneev suffered a heart attack.
In 1983 Evstigneev was awarded the title of People's Artist of the USSR. The one who rejoiced most at this honour was our hero's mother — Maria Ivanovna Evstigneeva-Chernysheva. Yet when friends came to her son's home to congratulate him on the occasion, she asked them: "Just please don't praise him — it isn't necessary: he doesn't like it." Sadly, this was one of the last great joys of her life: a year later Maria Ivanovna died.
This was not the last misfortune to befall the actor's family. In 1986 his wife Liliya also died.
After so many calamities raining down upon him in such a short time, Evstigneev nevertheless did not break — and, what is more, found the strength to continue an active life, both creatively and personally. During the 1980s he appeared in 24 films, among them: "We Are from Jazz" and "The Demidovs" (both 1983), "And Life, and Tears, and Love..." (1984), "A Winter Evening in Gagra" (1985), "Midshipmen, Forward!" (1987), "City Zero" and "Heart of a Dog" (both 1988), and others.
In the theatre, however, things were not going nearly as well as in cinema. During the period from 1980 to 1988 he had only five new roles on the Moscow Art Theatre stage. After his second heart attack, which Evstigneev suffered in 1988, he asked the Moscow Art Theatre's chief director O. Efremov to let him spend a year finishing only existing productions without rehearsing anything new. However, O. Efremov reacted unexpectedly. "This is a theatre, a working enterprise — if things are too hard for you, then you should retire," he told Evstigneev. It is quite likely that he said this in haste, without thinking too carefully about the meaning of his words. Yet the actor was deeply stung by them. And he did in fact retire. He continued to perform in existing productions at the Moscow Art Theatre, but after that conversation with Efremov he never took on a single new role.
Yet the end of the 1980s was not remembered by Evstigneev only for sad events. During that period his personal life also changed: he married for the third time. What is more, his chosen one turned out to be 40 years his junior. Her name was Irina Tsivina, an actress at Konstantin Raikin's Satirikon Theatre.
Barely a year after their first meeting, Evstigneev and I. Tsivina married. This marriage breathed new life into him; he was quite transformed. He wanted once again to live, to work. At the turn of the 1990s he played Firs in "The Cherry Orchard" at the Anton Chekhov Theatre; in 1991, in Sergey Yursky's ARTel of ARTISTS, he played Glov in the production "Gamblers — XXI" (premiere in October). There was also a great deal of film work. In those years he appeared in: "Vanished Time," "10 Years Without the Right to Correspond" (both 1990), "The Hat," "The Pit," "Sons of Bitches" (all 1991), "Nocturnal Amusements" (in which he appeared alongside his young wife), "Rubinchik's Shop" (1992).
Evstigneev's last role in cinema was Tsar Ivan the Terrible in the film "Yermak" by V. Uskov and V. Krasnopolsky.
V. Krasnopolsky: "In the film 'Yermak' there are the words: 'Let the Stroganov merchants be ordered to prepare a new royal army for the campaign into Siberia.' That was his last scene. After those takes he came up to me and said that he had to go to England for an operation. And then literally ten days later we were told that he was gone. Had the remaining four scenes with him made it into the picture, the role of Ivan the Terrible would have been very rich and far more multifaceted..."
From the recollections of his wife Irina Tsivina
I. Tsivina: "He used to say: 'I have so much strength and energy, there is still so much I can do, but my heart, like the engine of an old car, can't keep up. All we need to do is repair the engine, and everything will be fine.' On the morning of March 4th we went to the clinic. He was to undergo tests, a small preliminary procedure — a coronary angiography — and stay at the clinic until morning, when the surgery would take place. While he was having his tests done, I went for a walk, and about two hours later I returned to his ward and sat down beside his bed. I decided to wait for Terry Lewis and the doctor from our embassy, who was to serve as interpreter. Terry Lewis and the embassy doctor came in. Lewis was holding a sheet of paper; he began to speak and draw, while the embassy doctor translated — very quickly, without pausing: 'I have reviewed your medical history. Tomorrow we will operate on you, but it is our practice to inform patients of the possible consequences of the procedure. Here is your heart' — he drew it — 'it has four vessels. Three of them are completely blocked, and the fourth is ninety percent blocked. Your heart is functioning only because one vessel has a ten percent opening. You will die regardless — whether you have the surgery or not!' That is precisely how the words sounded in translation. Yevgeniy Aleksandrovich went cold all over. I was holding his hand. I watched as he broke into a sweat and began to breathe heavily through his nose. Whenever he felt unwell, I always made him breathe through his nose, following the Buteyko method. I realized something was happening to him. Something was beginning to happen in his mind — he was frightened by that drawn heart. I began to speak to him, to comfort him, and at that moment some people, whom I had no time to get a proper look at, pulled me away from his hand and quickly led me somewhere. I managed to catch a glimpse of a straight line on the monitor showing the cardiogram, but I still did not understand anything, and I only became truly frightened when a nurse began to console me. The embassy doctor came: 'Clinical death has occurred. But please do not worry — he has been brought back from clinical death, he has regained consciousness.' I could hear commotion in the corridor — Yevgeniy Aleksandrovich was being rushed to surgery... I sat in that room for four hours. The embassy doctor kept running in with news: 'He is dying...' — 'He is alive.' I was already laughing hysterically at him: the whole thing seemed like some wild prank. I sat by the window looking across the inner courtyard at the windows of the intensive care unit, where Yevgeniy Aleksandrovich was supposed to be brought after the surgery. The door opened there a hundred times, people came and went, but he was never brought. Instead, the embassy doctor appeared again: — The operation is over; your husband is dying. The surgery was performed brilliantly, but a heart transplant is needed. — Then do it! — That is not possible; it has to be arranged in advance. That is why we have disconnected him from all the machines. — Who gave you the right?! I will call our friends in Australia, we will find a donor... Could you not keep him alive for at least a few days? — No, that had to be arranged in advance. Terry Lewis came in: 'I am compelled to inform you that your husband has passed away...' Half an hour later I was allowed to go in to him... He lay there remarkably beautiful. I embraced him and felt that he was warm... A person cannot be warm and dead... I begged him not to leave me — it seemed to go on for a very, very long time... I never stop searching for an explanation of his death. It was utterly illogical, absurd. After all, I saw it with my own eyes — a calm, cheerful man died immediately after someone drew his heart for him and said: this is how you may die. And I find only one answer: his extraordinary imagination. Just as he could conjure up any country after stepping outside for half an hour, so he imagined his own death... He entered it as he would have entered another role..."
After Death
Ye. Evstigneev was buried at Novodevichy Cemetery in Moscow.
Throughout his long creative life, Ye. Evstigneev played 55 roles in theatre and 104 roles in film.
In Nizhny Novgorod, for the City Day celebrations in September 2006, an unusual sculpture was unveiled — a seated figure of the actor Yevgeniy Evstigneev. The bronze statue stands at the entrance to Theatre Square. This remarkable composition creates the impression of a man — slightly tired, returned home from a long journey — who has sat down on a bench outside the theatre where his career began, set his cane and hat beside him, and will now, having caught his breath, reach into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. One is reminded of Evstigneev alive — as though he never went away at all.