The Day, October 28, 2001, abridged

Many tell Bohdan Stupka he should quit the theatre and cinema, and concentrate on his current status as Minister of Culture. Indeed, Mr. Stupka's current political status may be the actor's most difficult and ungrateful role to date. Much to the delight of his devotees, Bohdan Stupka remains true to his real calling. At present, he is at the peak of epic roles (e.g., Bohdan Khmelnytsky in Jerzy Hoffman's With Fire and Sword, Hetman Ivan Briukhovetsky in Mykola Zaseyev-Rudenko's Chorna Rada based on Panteleimon Kulish's novel of that name and emerging as an invigorating touch to the rather monotonous hetman saga. Another epic, Mazepa, is underway). In this Yuri Ilyenko's production, Bohdan Stupka again emerges as the key figure. Minister of Culture or not, he remains a brilliant actor.

The following are his monologues dealing with the actor's profession.

I Study my Characters in the Streets

I work hard on every role. I may have grasped it and identified with it in the first reading or rehearsal only a couple of times in my whole career. In fact, complete dramatic identification comes only when you find that plastique which is absolutely different from your own and which you consider the only right one for your dramatic character. A very long time ago, working on Ivan Franko's Stolen Happiness, I noted Valery Lobanovsky, the Kyiv Dynamo coach, sitting on the bench, watching the game and leaning back and forth. I borrowed that habit for my stage character, Mykola Zadorozhnyi, in his final scene with Mykhailo Hurman. As I walk the streets, I try to take a close look at people and then transform some of this onstage. Sometimes it is difficult to explain theoretically what gesture or facial expression makes the whole performance click.

Meeting painters and sculptors always leaves me really impressed. My professional memory keeps their voices and gestures, and helps me with my roles. I have never kept count of my theatrical or movie roles. The number doesn't matter, the road paved to a new portrayal is what does.

Every Scene is to Seem Like the Last

Once film director Yuriy Ilyenko (I made my debut in his White Bird with a Black Spot) asked me who I thought a movie actor is after all. I told him one had to feel toward the camera the way a man does toward his own true love. Yuriy thought this over and added that every scene had to be acted out as though it were the actor's last and most dramatic one of his life. Of course, this is easier said than done. An actor often has to play a love scene, confessing his love to a woman then absent on the set. Personally, I like face-to-face contact, so one can react and help their partner in front of the camera. On the other hand, the cast often gets together actors and actresses representing different schools. This is mutually enriching and gratifying. The cinema offers vast opportunities for creative improvisation. In Mykola Vavilov, I gave vent to my emotions so much the director, Oleksandr Proshkin, asked to please take it easy for my own sake.

I regard every film director as a co-author. Each has their own style and approach. With Sergei Bondarchuk and his Red Bells, I had to play Aleksandr Kerensky. We were shooting on location at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, where the Duma held sessions before the Russian Revolution. There was a huge mob scene, 200-250 extras. I was at the podium, delivering my speech. Then we had a smoke break, and Bondarchuk and I stepped outside. He wanted me to concentrate not on all that which was logical and traditional, but on the subconscious. Back on the lot, with all the extras summoned with shooting begun, all was quiet except the humming cameras. I started on my temperamental monologue (a long one) and then I felt a drop of perspiration roll down my nose. Damn, another retake, I thought, but at the very last moment I took that drop off my nose with my finger, while going on with the lines, "Those petty groups, those political parties..." and so on. Then I heard Bondarchuk's CUT! And I saw him wink and give me an approving signal. In fact, he said we would not have to work on the scene at the audio studio. It had been recorded live and well. Now that was what he must have meant by the subconscious.

The Bird of Inspiration

I have worked with Serhiy Danchenko, Artistic Director of the Ivan Franko Ukrainian Drama Theater for over thirty years. I am used to his tactful ways, slowly but surely guiding me along the right path, waiting for me to be ignited by that single spark of true inspiration. We each follow our separate way to success.

Take King Lear. I have acted it twice. First, at the Zankovets'ka Theatre in Lviv, 1969, acting as Edmund. I saw my character as an antipode to King Lear, whose sole purpose was power. I could not foresee that I would once appear on stage as King Lear myself. I am grateful to Serhiy Danchenko for taking an interest in this play and inviting me to play the title role. As rehearsals began, slowly, we gained momentum: script, music, costumes; everything could now be harmonised. Perhaps the first part of the play turned out somewhat drawn-out, but it ended with the tempest. Then ringing down the curtain, letting the audience leave and order refreshments in the lobby seemed very improper. And so the action lasted almost uninterrupted. I wanted to convey that pain in the man's heart without actually touching the place with my hand. It was a long search and then it dawned on me: the left hand in a fist, with gnarled fingers pressed white-tight. This was my portrayal of the King's throbbing heart.

Family Dynasty: a Sequel?

My wife Larysa (graduate of the Baku School of Choreography and a former soloist with Lviv and Kyiv ballet companies) has dedicated practically all her life to our son, shunning her career, although Yuri Grigorovich wanted her in his group. At home, I am no dictator and do what my wife says. We met when I was in the army. Then I got into the hospital and was pleasantly surprised to discover that she still remembered me. We got married March 25, 1967, and we have been together ever since. Our greatest joint assets are our son Ostap and grandchildren, Dmytro and Uliana. Ostap is also an actor with the Ivan Franko Theater, and with what I dare say is an established reputation. I am his tough critic. Dmytro is still in his teens, but also shows a great deal of performing enthusiasm; he has actually appeared onstage a couple of times. He is doing fine, but I would not make any predictions. It's too early. Acting is a very difficult profession; here you can never be sure you have grabbed the bull by the horns. You must always remain a student, always prepared for changes.