“I often dream of Lviv, and I always wake up happy”
What’s the use of preparing for an interview if you are sure there will be an almost nonstop monologue whose topic will not depend on your long list of questions but on the master’s mood and his accounts of the people he met or saw today, and whether someone, God forbid, spoiled his day? Since we were in the magnificent mirrored hall of the Potocki Palace, i.e., in Lviv, the city where Roman Viktiuk was born and raised, it could be foreseen that he would be in a gracious mood. But if you also consider that this city was kind to him but sometimes rode roughshod over him, you could also expect all kinds of grudges and criticism.
We spoke on the eve of Viktiuk’s jubilee. It is hard to believe he is really turning 70, because there is not a wrinkle on his face. I tried hard with my feminine spite to find signs of aging in him. But it was we, journalists, who were more tired, while he amazed us with his energy. He paced up and down the hall, sipped coffee, or strode to the table for a cognac. He bounded down the hall like a boy. He was in a festive and humorous mood. But you could never be sure that a second later he wouldn’t toss out “Are you stupid!?” and stop talking to you. Every now and then he would interrupt the conversation. Viktiuk has so many friends and fans in Lviv that he can smile and shake hands almost non-stop.
Countless times Viktiuk was hugging somebody or, to be more exact, somebody was hugging him, and the interview would be interrupted. It is next to impossible to maintain the attention span of such an ebullient person. But why not be patient and run after him, with voice-recorder in hand? After all, you don’t come across a Lviv-born world celebrity every day.
In 1991, after staging productions in various cities, Viktiuk founded his own theater in Moscow, mostly staffed by Ukrainians, where he could let his talent unfold completely. But he never set a rigid limit on his creative quests (more than 120 productions) — neither when he was staging productions in Sweden, Finland, and the US, or when he was working in Italy, Greece, Israel, or Yugoslavia. Viktiuk is the only non-Italian theater producer to be awarded the Italian Drama Institute’s international prize for the best production of contemporary plays (1997). He also won the Center of European Dramaturgy’s Marathea Prize. Since 1997 the Ukrainian League of Theatrical Personalities has championed Viktiuk as a candidate for the title of People’s Artist of Ukraine.
BACK TO CHILDHOOD
As soon as Viktiuk entered the Potocki Palace, he asked, “Do you know what was here before?” “A wedding palace,” we answered. “And before that? It was the House of Pioneers, where I attended several interest clubs. First, I would drop in for five minutes to the airplane modeling club, but this didn’t seem interesting. I had always longed for the theater. So I founded my own theater on 18 Marketplace Square, on the second floor, where I could produce whatever pleased me, including The Queen of Spades, Silva, and Countess Maritsa. Children would come rushing from all over Marketplace Square because it was so interesting. Although I did not have a musical ear, I would compose melodies and rhythms. How inspiringly we played!
As the years passed, the children grew up. Now, when I come to Tel-Aviv or some other city, I see them behind the scenes, and they throw themselves into my arms in droves and cry happily over the memories that suddenly engulf them.
“In my view, human memory resembles library shelves on which somebody has mixed up the books. There may be complete works of certain authors here, but the books are in such disorder that you can’t find anything at first. All you have to do is take a book off the shelf and look up the title page in search of the author.
“There is nothing accidental in human destiny. Nor is Lviv accidental in my life. It made an imprint on my mind with its unconventional esthetics. In my life I have hardly loved anything more — except, of course, for the theater — than the facades and porticos of my native city. Looking at these classical and eclectic things executed in the most amazing styles, I would learn about world history much more than by reading a book. I remember gazing at those buildings on my way to school and indulging in unbelievable fantasies: I had not been anywhere outside Lviv, so I conjured up Italy, Greece, Poland, and other countries. Then, years later, I found various nooks in Rome, Athens, or Cracow; I see Lviv in foreign cities and return to my childhood.
“Lviv was becoming a kind of set design for me, against which I was rehearsing a production. The actors, costumes, and the atmosphere on stage would change, but the day of the premiere never arrived.”
“WHAT WONDERFUL VOICES WE HAVE IN UKRAINE!”
Mr. Viktiuk. Working on the stages of various countries, you call yourself Ukrainian and Greek Catholic by faith.
“I am Ukrainian and proud of it! I remember Oleh Yefremov asking me to think about what to stage in honor of the 50 th anniversary of the USSR. I immediately suggested Ivan Franko’s Stolen Happiness. And do you know what kind of billboard we made? ‘To the 50 th Anniversary of the USSR — Stolen Happiness.’ It was still hanging in the afternoon but in the evening, when the Politburo was supposed to arrive, it had already been papered over.
“I had excellent relations with the Canadian ambassador’s wife; her parents were from Lviv, so naturally we spoke in the Galician dialect. Once I asked her to bring a recorded Greek Catholic service, which was taboo at the time. I remember women standing on Arbat Street, who had come especially to Moscow to explain the difference between Orthodoxy and the Uniate Church. The passers-by paid no attention to those strange old women and their problems. So this tape was playing during the entire show. Sometimes it was so loud that Yefremov asked, ‘Can you turn it down?’ Then the deputy minister of culture, a Ukrainian, came to vet the production and said, ‘Roman, what choir is that?’ I blurted out without batting an eyelash, ‘From Chernivtsi.’ ‘What wonderful voices we have in Ukraine,’ said the deputy minister.
“One day after a show I was told: ‘Someone is waiting for you at the entrance.’ I came out and saw a man of about 80 or 85 years old with beautiful eyes. He gave me a stern look and asked, ‘Are you aware of what you just did?’ ‘I am,’ said I. He kissed my hand and went off.
“When Stolen Happiness was being recorded on the Central Radio, this was the first time the whole country heard the Greek Catholic service. The only thing that I requested was that all letters about the music in this production be handed to me personally. By the way, there was not a single letter saying, ‘Look, what a scoundrel: he used a Greek Catholic service in the show!’
“This production had long run until the excellent actor Georgii Burkov died. Audiences gave a rousing welcome to Stolen Happiness. The Moscow Art Theater, a well-financed establishment, sent a courier to the Carpathians to purchase clothing and furniture for the production. The result was very colorful.”
A WIDE-OPEN DOOR
Can you imagine how many people could have suffered for this stunt?
“I can! And how many times they tried to tempt me with country houses, apartments, money, and titles — but they failed every time! ‘A Ukrainian child indeed, even better than a Jewish one!’ How many roads of the world pass through here, five or so? There were people of different nationalities living in our building, so I knew several languages, including, of course, Polish and Hebrew. Our door was open from dawn to dusk. Incidentally, there were no latches at the time — we had nothing to hide. You know, it was impossible to change this rule even when the residents of Lviv were being deported to Siberia. Neighbors knew who was cooking what on all three floors. My mother was always feeding somebody.”
Do you lock your doors now?
“Times have changed. I live in the very center of Moscow, and the tabloid press has written that I keep Renoirs and paintings by Degas in my apartment and that I am a fat cat. I never argue with them, but believe me I don’t live in luxury. I was once interviewed in North America (I was staying at the home of the world-famous ballerina Natalia Makarova, who has everything). I would walk among the expensive furniture and climb a luxurious staircase to the second floor, a doorman opened the door for me, and the media was filming all this. This is the source of the rumors about my fabulous wealth. The specter of a rich theater producer still haunts me. They even wrote that I have 336 suits! Well, I can lend some of them. Look, this is a ring that Versace gave me. It is a unique piece of jewelry, and I am proud of it.”
You always say with pride that you were born in Lviv. What do you not like about this city today?
“The cobblestones that once felt this city’s pain and joy were removed long ago. Civilization has torn away all the veils of pain that should have been left. Today the falsely-painted buildings cannot recreate the energy that pulsated earlier (at least in the past 300 years). Take the building where I live: there used to be a coffee shop that Ivan Franko and other writers would patronize. This house is on 7 Halytska Street. It is still standing intact. The Soviet government put up huge letters on its Gothic roof — they shone in red neon at night and read ‘Glory to the CPSU!’ This ‘Glory to the CPSU’ made such yawning holes in the Gothic structure that our ceiling is still leaking. When it rains, the roof leaks. It’s awful! Although I knew all the mayors, I never dared to ask them for help. They have done no renovations or repainting for years.
“And the reconstruction on the eve of the city’s 750th anniversary? It was political skullduggery rather than reconstruction. For example, if you stand facing City Hall, the left side and the center is painted, but the right side is not. Window-dressing pure and simple! The politicians were probably being taken to view it from one side only. And if you walk another 200 meters, you will see a huge heap of cobblestones lying next to the Puppet Theater. It’s still there.”
They must have been pressed for time.
“Not just pressed for time. They found out about the itinerary of the ‘dear guests’ and stopped working because they would not see this. There are plenty of examples like this. Window dressing is a horrible thing! It was OK with the Lviv Opera House: when the president of Ukraine, his wife, and other VIPs were entering the building, they could not see the Zankovetska Drama Theater. It looks so shabby and run down! It is in such terrible condition that my heart bleeds. It is close by, and this should not be happening. What comforts me is that people, with their inherently childlike, Lviv-style, and cheerful nature, did not attention to such details. They sang and were glad to live in Lviv, which they simply love both on holidays and in their daily routine.
“You know, Bosenko, a superb actress from the Zankovetska Theater, recently died at the age of 94. She was the wife of the famous Borys Tiahno, who used to be the theater’s chief producer and an associate of Les Kurbas, but she could not be buried at Lychakiv Cemetery next to her husband. Some funds were required, but the money was not found, and the actress was buried at Briukhovychi. Only one actress from this theater attended the funeral, and not a single newspaper printed an obituary! This happened on the eve of the city’s 750th anniversary celebrations, and Bosenko had been promoting the glory of Lviv all her life. Will anybody find a path to her grave now? If I had been in the city, I would have gone to the authorities myself or offered some of my own money.
“I managed to see the ballet The Creation of the World at the Lviv Opera, timed to the death anniversary of Yevhen Lysyk, an artist of genius. The wife of the dancer Herman Yusupov, who excelled in this production, has re-staged this ballet. The dancers were nice young people. Incidentally, there is an excellent ballet school in Lviv. I was happy to see this ballet, as though 30 years had not passed. These children, who are 19 and 20 years old, dance splendidly. But, unfortunately, nobody is going to care about the young generation that has arrived, and the better they feel on stage, the more obstacles they will have to surmount. So may God give the theater director enough strength to promote the growth of stars as much as possible!
“I am sure there will be a renaissance in Lviv. It will occur thanks to those whom I am teaching in Moscow. They are eager to come back and help Lviv revive as a cultural mecca. This is bound to happen in spite of all our political and economic problems. We must pray for this. But, unfortunately, not everyone is destined to live to see this.”
