Tuminas, the “transit passenger”

Back in the mid-1990s, the theater-goers from Kyiv, Moscow, and the world’s other capitals were fascinated by the magic of Lermontov’s Masquerade, produced by Rimas Tuminas at his home theater in Vilnius. Invitations from other theaters started pouring in, yet he kept quietly making one production after another, which immediately became theater best sellers.

Galina Volchek was the first to lure him away to Moscow’s Sovremennik theater. There Tuminas produced We Play Schiller, a play which has filled houses all over the world for years now.

Later, in accordance with the will of Mikhail Ulianov, he was invited to become the director of the beheaded Yevgenii Vakhtangov theater. The theater was in uproar, the older generation made a stand for its “principles,” yet Tuminas went on working as if nothing had happened, producing new plays every several months, to the utter joy of grateful spectators.

His main interest lies with classical theater. So now his theater brought Tuminas’ last year’s production, Uncle Vania after Anton Chekhov. This director has a fantastic feeling for interpreting classical texts: they are never out of touch in his performances.

The expressive, yet clear set design by his constant partner Adomas Janovskis is in unison with the director’s concept. It facilitates the star-studded cast’s (Sergei Makovetsky, Liudmila Maksakova, Vladimir Simonov, Vladimir Vdovichenkov et al.) organic existence in Chekhov’s atmosphere.

Fortunately, I saw Uncle Vania’s Moscow run-through, so I was able to ask Tuminas for an interview after he had launched his performance in Kyiv.

Rimas, I have seen almost all of your productions, both in Lithuania and in Moscow. I am fascinated by everything you do. Once, when you were producing We Play Schiller as guest director, you told me in an interview that in Moscow you felt like a transit passenger. Today you are the principal director of the Vakhtangov Theater, a theater with a wealth of traditions, a complicated, Moscow-type organism. Have you gotten rid of that “transit passenger” feeling?

“No, I haven’t stopped feeling like this, thanks God! You always have to exert, to make an effort in order to stay on board the train. Or in order not to stop the train. There are two options: you can get off, go to a restaurant, forget it all and never come back. The other one is that you have the power to stop the train. It is very hard to avoid the temptation to do so, once you have all the power. You want to remain a passenger.”

However, a passenger can pull the emergency brake even without giving orders to the engineer, can’t they?

“This is perhaps what threatens us. Next year, the theater will celebrate its 90th anniversary – and here anything can be used, even the emergency brake. And yet I perceive the train as motion. To move is the main thing for me. Going through some temporary zones, yet remaining loyal to the classics. What I mean is not the interpretation, decoding, or scene solution. No, this is the school which every individual has to go through as they become professional.

“You want to search for man on this train, in this motion, in these classics. With his own history and fate. A partner who is in motion as well, flying ahead, through time and events. All human beings are passengers, if you will forgive me this platitude. When I produce a play, I don’t look for characters, I just reject such a notion. It is so easy for an actor to hide behind a character. He fairly well realizes what the director wants of him, and comes up with trite groundwork. It’s beyond the actor’s control, and it begs to be released. That is a hell of a temptation, when it asks to be used.

“We often console ourselves, like, okay, I’ve grasped the nature of the conflict. Come on – what new ‘nature of the conflict’ can you discover! It’s a petty joy, but you have to be unbiased and self-critical to understand that there is no new nature. It doesn’t mean, however, that the conflict as such does not exist. We come into this world in conflict, and it is in conflict that we leave it. We are not the creators of conflict, but rather the carriers. We host this germ.”

Do you mean that our lives are so complicated because we are infected?

“Yes, even on a daily basis. You wake up in the morning at odds with the alarm clock, with the need to get up, and then you’re at odds with the toothbrush, and with the coffee that’s boiled over, and so on, and so forth. This has been going on since your childhood – that’s where it comes from. And it is so poignant!”

So the idea of life as a railroad station helps you preserve the poignancy of sensation?

“Yes, I’ve been ‘rushed’ ever since I was a kid. It so happened that we never lived longer than a year or two in one place, and then we again were on the move, of our own accord or because we just had to. Sometimes we moved with our humble possessions. At some point I began to see the familiar furniture from a different perspective. We normally have everything neatly arranged along the walls. It looks okay, even pretty. And then, when it gets packed into a van, you see how old and shabby it actually is.

“This is exactly where theater starts: you want to see what hides behind the person-plot. It is the rehearsal period, the time when we are allowed to learn. It seems to me that the shallowness of perception, the reluctance to look ‘behind,’ is like ignorance. And yet it has captured us and almost become the norm. We, both directors and actors, are never rushed. 80 percent of the time we spend at the theater is given to rehearsals, and only 20 percent is before the audience. We are happy people – we have been granted the opportunity of searching and learning – moreover, we even get paid for this!”

Whom did you leave in charge of your home theater (which I think you miss, since you have transferred Masquerade onto the Vakhtangov stage)?

“Let’s start from the end. The history of Masquerade’s ‘transfer’ might become a parable or a legend some twenty years from now. In 1997, we were playing the Vilnius Masquerade at the Vakhtangov Theater. This is when Ulianov found me after the performance. Without even saying hello he stretched out his arm and cried, ‘I need this, yes, yes, yes, I do need this!’

“It wasn’t until later that I got to know that a performance was produced at this theater in 1941. On June 21 there was a run-through ‘for the homies,’ and the next day the war broke out, the performance was canceled, and it was never to be produced on stage again. Legend has it that the deceased actress Kazantseva, who played Nina, was Aram Khachaturian’s muse. It is for her that he wrote his famous waltz. Later, this waltz was sometimes played at the Vakhtangov Theater, but usually the one from Princess Turandot dominated.

“Ulianov had an idea that we should come twice each season and perform this play for several days. However, financial, visa-related, and other problems got in our way. By the way, I wish all the ‘borderline’ laws and regulations were made void when it comes to culture. They do not just prevent developing cultural bonds, they break the normal order of things and sometimes result in speculation. I hope there are leaders who understand the importance of the cultural exchange mission and who will amend this legislation.

“As frequent crossing of the border became impossible, I was asked to ‘transfer’ this production to Moscow. We stuck to the same structure, although with a different cast. The times had changed, and so has our story. This is how Khachaturian’s famous waltz came back to the Vakhtangov Theater.

“Now about the Vilnius theater. I agreed to accept the Vakhtangov offer because I hope, believe, and see that a whole constellation of young, talented directors has appeared in recent times. I taught a course on theater directing, in addition to a course on acting. Five or six persons have come to work at the theater, and they are doing great, I’ve been thinking about yielding the administrative responsibilities to them. They have a different perspective and way of thinking and we, the older generation, should make way to them.

“Meanwhile, I continue rehearsing a play based on a young Lithuanian playwright’s work about Adam Mickiewicz, and I’m going to Vilnius after June 12. There are wonderful characters there: Chopin, Balzac, and George Sand. I have never tried such a genre before. It’s interesting both for me and the actors.”

What is everyday life like for such a bright personality, chief director of two very different theaters?

“You know, sometimes I even wish I could feel that I’m ‘special,’ but there is nothing of the kind. I sometimes wonder what kind of rank I would be holding now if I were in the military. Believe me, I wouln’t be a marshal or a general – rather a colonel or lieutenant colonel. That’s how I live. The theater rents me an apartment. My only requirement is that it is not far from the theater, so I don’t waste any time in traffic jams. I love driving, and I know several routes – to the Vakhtangov Theater, to Sovremennik where I also produce some performances, to the food stores, and to the airport.”

Although you did mention the modern Lithuanian drama, both theaters mainly concentrate on the classics. Have you undertaken the mission of bringing culture to our philistine world?

“It is ourselves who actually lowered the standards. It happened in the early 1990s. We willingly assumed the roles of ‘advanced’ bawlers: we yelled out what we believed to be the truth, we stripped naked, we used profanities, and splashed our characters with water. We went about it even more ardently than Taganka did in its time. We accused – but naturally, not those who ought to have faced such accusations. And the spectator had to bear all of it, scared and confused.

“I think I was able to avoid squaring accounts with something or someone. This is not the theater’s objective, it has nothing to do with art. Leave it to the mass media, to journalists.

“Then, everyone was plunged into comedy, as the public had to be entertained. Meanwhile, the only thing that had to be done was to search for harmony – as always. So that among such beauty one might feel, albeit for a moment, that immortality does exist. By the way, our theater’s performances do show that the classics can be as much of a box-office hit as any low-grade humor.

“Now I’m even contemplating comedy, because earlier, when I was sent lots of comedies from all over the world, I would strike a wounded pose: how dare you offer me such flippant stuff, me, a tragedian!”

...And not without some sarcasm. Is this what attracts you in Chekhov?

“Yes, Chekhov lets me have it. He’s got enough sarcasm, although for some reason we tend to think that it is all for love, pity, some common ‘universal soul,’ which he continually worried about. No, he was quite a tough man, and I would very much like to get to know the ‘real’ Chekov.”

Like any artist, Chekhov was incredibly lonely. Is a lonely person prone to cruelty, even if it’s for the sake of self-defense?

“Well, I’d call it a normal state. Loneliness isn’t anything like a separate theme in literature or theater. If the producing director states the theme of solitude as the main goal, it means that the production is empty. I agree with Marquez when he says that for a human soul, solitude is the default state.”

Social realism, which for many decades pervaded our former common country, perpetuated the classic Anton Pavlovich Chekhov as the “forerunner of the brave new world.” Your Chekhov of today – what is he about?

“About nature and childhood. In this continuum, the exact timing does not matter. Of course we will hear the rumble of the early 20th century in the background, and we can ‘taste’ the epoch – but that’s where it ends. Then, you merely have to hear the voices. Just don’t you only think that I’m referring to hallucinations of some kind. Everything grows older, and dies, yet the sound of the long gone voices lingers.

“It is a very strange thing, when I miss those who are dead, miss their lives. This dialog with those unfulfilled lives is very important for me, I have to give them a chance to speak. This is a kind of mysticism!”

But why, to look at the issue from the perspective of ordinary folk, are people so eager to pass their failures and broken dreams on to their children?

“This is a tragic mistake. How much evil has been done under this disguise! No one should be forced, and one should not rely on the future. It’s a here-and-now, try-and-do-it thing. However, therein lies the rub. There are extremely few professionals nowadays, just ample bawlers. With all these hosts of head managers, institutions supported from the state budget, CEOs and presidents, it seems that we should be living very well. Instead, we are living as we used to live before, while they are having a ball.”

What shall we expect for the anniversary of the theater whose personal brand for years was Princess Turandot?

“Princess Turandot revealed the theater’s grave inner problems, and it might have become the reason for the breaking up of the company, which I hope to avoid. I understand their desire to have this performance in their repertoire forever. It should remain there forever, as a school of mastery. I can understand the older masters, Yulia Borisova, Liudmila Maksakova, Vasilii Lanovoi, Yurii Yakovlev, Viacheslav Shalevich – it is their youth, their lives. But you cannot repeat a story. Instead, you can tell another one – for example, a tragedy. Robert Sturua or myself, we are both ready to stage it.”

Do you realize how ambitious you are?

“But Ruben Simonov did not revive Vakhtangov’s performance in his time, either! He produced, and very aptly at that, his own story. It has had its own life. Do we have to do it now? No, I don’t think so. Nothing forces us to do so. With all the hardships in our life, we aren’t experiencing any general, common anxiety urging us to take off and soar high, like some birds, over human troubles. Unlike ‘free artists,’ we fly because of pain.

“Instead, I suggested something different: to arrange all of our wonderful, great actors in one performance. It is not designed as a concert or soiree. We might just stage such heroes of world drama who normally never come in touch with one another, but who are united by a certain common location, say, a railroad station or a port.

“For example, Lanovoi disembarks and plays what he has never played in his life, Peer Gynt who has just come back home after long travels. Or Borisova, in her romantic ardor and beauty, so badly missed by the theater of today. Moliere, Bulgakov, or anyone can appear in the continuum of such a play.”

But who will write such a play?

“I will do it, and I ask for these actors’ help, let them remember whom they have never played but have always wanted to and could play. Yakovlev might appear in the finale. Such a performance is not just one-night event, it should remain on the repertoire.

“As for Princess Turandot, it might be performed on the first night opening of the new stage which is currently being built, the so-called Ulianov hall. And let each new generation of Shchukin students go through this master class. But the texts of the improvisations have to be changed anyway. In previous years, the public would respond to each cue perceiving the hidden meanings in it. Today, we have ridiculed and derided everything imaginable, and I don’t know what can attract the public’s interest. Maybe, some fresh jokes, but they are not numerous today. We are not wearing masks anymore, and it is not so easy to jest. If Turandot has to be performed today, then it can only be in the way Fellini did it in his 8 1/2.”

Politics has a leading if not dominated place in our lives today. Doesn’t it distract you?

“I follow the current political developments, and it does get in the way. It is high time the presidents and governments switched to a normal mode of work, inconspicuous, but only perceptible by way of our rising living standards. There are so many interesting, gifted people around: scientists, philosophers... They should be in the media’s limelight, both printed and electronic.

“It is their intellectual heritage that must be made public, instead of where so-and-so went or what so-and-so said when meeting ordinary citizens. It is high time they yielded to culture, and it will be to everyone’s benefit. An average citizen has to be certain of two things: that he is mortal (he has to put his actions to test by this knowledge) and that he has to pay taxes.”

Do you normally invite many young directors to your theater?

“It turned out that I am an usurper. I’m producing one performance after another, but this required attacking the theater. I keep provoking the theater and myself with new challenges. But I do look for young directors, and invite them. A theater has to have its studio, and the young need a leader. The great stage is a beast which is always hungry. I cannot embrace the unembraceable.”

What else have you got up your sleeve?

“I’m starting work, ahead of schedule, on a play by a French playwright Salisbury The Wind in the Poplars. There are only three characters – alas, as there are so many brilliant actors. They will be played by Sergey Makovetsky, Maksim Sukhanov, and a guest star Sergei Garmash, and alongside with him, our wonderful Vladimir Simonov.

“Besides, we are going to work on Schiller’s Intrigue and Love and Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor. We also contemplate Shakespeare’s Richard III and Ibsen’s Peer Gynt. It happens sometimes that a chance, an idea, or a dream suggest a new work. So, if they do, that’s what I’ll choose.”