Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Yevstigneyev (1926–1992) was an outstanding Soviet and Russian stage and film actor, People's Artist of the USSR (1983).[1]

Biography

Evgeniy Evstigneev was born in Nizhny Novgorod.[1][2] For his mother — Maria Ivanovna — he was a late child: she was 32 years old when he was born. For his father — Alexander Mikhailovich — he was not a firstborn: from a first marriage his father already had a schoolboy son. Fate decreed that Evstigneev would become an actor. And it happened completely by chance. In 1946, Evgeniy played percussion in a movie-theater orchestra in his free time. He played so virtuosically and with such abandon that his playing overshadowed all the other orchestra members and delighted the audience. During one such performance he was noticed by Vitaly Lebsky, the director of the Gorky Theater School.[3] After the orchestra finished another piece, he walked up to the musician and asked him: "Young man, would you like to become a dramatic actor?" To which Evstigneev replied naively: "I don't know." — "Then here is my contact information, and I'll be expecting you," Lebsky continued, and handed the young man a slip of paper with the school's address.

When Evstigneev came to the given address two days later, Lebsky greeted him very warmly and suggested that he learn a fable and recite it as an exam. A few days later Evgeniy was admitted to the first year of the school. After graduating from the theater school in 1951, Evstigneev was assigned to the A. Lunacharsky Vladimir Regional Drama Theater.[1][4]

Evstigneev was not very happy with his position in Vladimir. Like any provincial, deep down he dreamed of a stage in the capital. However, the management of the Vladimir theater would not hear of it and would not let our hero go to Moscow. Evstigneev told the theater that he urgently needed to visit his mother, and when an inquiry came to her from Vladimir, she confirmed her son's words. And he broke free. And immediately set off for Moscow. It was 1954.

He was accepted into the Moscow Art Theater School-Studio practically on his first attempt, and straight into the second year at that.

In mid-1955, fourth-year students of the Moscow Art Theater School-Studio created the "Studio of Young Actors," which a year later became the basis for a new theater in the capital — the Sovremennik. Evstigneev was among those students. In 1957, Evgeniy's personal life changed as well: he finally got married. His chosen one was his classmate at the Moscow Art Theater School-Studio, Galina Volchek, the daughter of the well-known cinematographer B. Volchek. Here is what she recalls about those days:

He spoke in such a way that some of his turns of phrase could only be understood with the help of a special dictionary (for example, a "swept floor" in his understanding 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 looked strange: bald, with a long nail on his little finger, dressed in a lilac boston-wool suit a size too big (in case the balding groom were to grow taller), with a vest over a "bobochka" — a short-sleeved summer knitted shirt — and a crepe de chine bow tie majestically fastened at the collar over the zipper.

That was how Zhenya appeared at my home. At first Dad was in a state of confusion, because he had come under the influence of the nanny, who commented on my chosen one's appearance with the words: "Isn't he ashamed to walk around bald? He could at least put on some little cap..." I behaved independently and, as young people do, rejoiced in my inner protest against my parents' stereotyped thinking. But I was driven not only by protest; I wanted to be near Zhenya also because I felt a whole complex of feelings for him.

I was drawn to his inner vulnerability. I felt something of a maternal feeling, too, because he had been cut off from his parents' home, from his mother, whom he loved but who, owing to circumstances, had given him only what she could give, 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 personality... Despite all the talk, we got married. At first there was a psychologically difficult period in my relations with my father, his new wife, and my nanny (we all lived together in one apartment). At some point, when the atmosphere had heated up to the limit, I declared, with my characteristic maximalism: "We're leaving and will live separately!" And we left, practically for the street.

For a time we even had to spend nights at the railway station. We moved eight times, renting one room after another, until we got a separate one-room apartment. Because of this homeless life we had neither furniture nor belongings. In time Dad came to love Zhenya, respected him, and cast him in all of his films, if only in a small episode. And Zhenya turned out to be close to the nanny in spirit and in his perception of life, too. Later she never managed to come to love my second husband; to her Zhenya always remained "one of us," while the other was "an outsider."

In this marriage, in 1961, a boy was born, whom they named Denis (the young couple were then renting a small room in a communal apartment in a building on Gorky Street).


Career

Evstigneev played his first significant role at the Sovremennik in 1960, in the production of "The Naked King" based on the play by Y. Schwartz. After this production, Evstigneev, who played the title role — the king — woke up famous. True, this fame spread for the time being only among avid theatergoers.

In the late 1950s, cinema also took notice of Evstigneev. He played his first film role in director Vladimir Petrov's "The Duel" (1957): the role of Peterson.[1] Small roles in the following films came next: "Anyuta," "Ballad of a Soldier" (both 1959), "Lyubushka," "Nine Days of One Year," "In a Difficult Hour" (all 1961), "Never," "Young and Green" (1962), "The Sky Obeys Them," "A Chekist" (1963).

Real nationwide fame came to Evstigneev in 1964, after his role as Dynin in director E. Klimov's film "Welcome, or No Trespassing." The film would probably never have been released (a ban on filming it appeared while shooting was still in full swing) if N. S. Khrushchev had not been removed in October of that year. The film contained obvious hints of satire aimed at him. This is what saved the film. And although it drew only 13.4 million viewers in theaters, it was received with delight among filmmakers. After this success, many directors began competing to invite Evstigneev to appear in their films. As a result, during 1965–1966 the actor appeared in as many as nine films. I will name the best of them: "Fidelity" (1965), "A Nasty Story," "Beware of the Car," "The Elder Sister" (all 1966).

In the summer of 1964, Evstigneev's personal life changed dramatically: he separated from his wife. Moreover, the initiative for the break came from G. Volchek. What exactly happened then? G. Volchek tells it:

"When we split up, many people did not understand why or for what reason it had happened, and urged me and Zhenya to give up such a decision. But it happened. Zhenya behaved tactfully enough to preserve our relationship. But I was the one who broke it off. I gathered up his things and food, called the woman Zhenya, as it seemed to me, was seeing to our hotel room (Sovremennik was on tour in Saratov at the time), 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 a story from the period when Evstigneev, his wife, and their child moved into a house on Sirenevy Boulevard. The narrator is S. Zeltser:

"The house is noisy, smoky, and very interesting. With Liliya Dmitrievna, Evgeniy Aleksandrovich's wife, everything is always easy and simple. Beautiful, flirtatious, and disarmingly selfless, she is ready to give away anything you ask for."

In the late 1960s, Evstigneev's creative life was packed to the limit. Between 1967 and 1970, he took on six new roles at the theater (from Alexander II in "The Narodovoltsy" to Lunacharsky in "The Bolsheviks"). In film there were even more roles: seventeen. I will name the best known of them: "The Golden Calf" (Koreiko) and "A Stroke of Luck" (Ivan Stepanovich), both in 1968; "Strange People" (the brother) and "Tchaikovsky" (Herman Laroche), both in 1969; "Flight" (Korzukhin) and "The Old Robbers" (Vorobyov), both in 1970.

Evstigneev's last role at Sovremennik was Dorn in Chekhov's "The Seagull." That was in 1970. A year later, following O. Efremov, he moved to the troupe of the Moscow Art Theater. His first role on the new stage was Volodya in the production of "Valentin and Valentina," based on the play by M. Roshchin.

In the 1970s, Evstigneev played 11 roles on the stage of the Moscow Art Theatre (MKhAT). Over the same decade, he played 33 roles in film. Listing them all would take a long time, so I will name the best known: the Lame One in "The Unbelievable Adventures of Italians in Russia," Professor Pleishner in "Seventeen Moments of Spring" (both 1973), Navrotsky in "The Last Summer of Childhood" (1974), Goryachev in "The Tale of an Unknown Actor" (1976), the watchman in "Subrostki" ("The Fledglings"), the artist Nikolay in "Due to Family Circumstances" (both 1977), and the thief Ruchechnikov in "The Meeting Place Cannot Be Changed" (1979).




From the recollections of friends

What was Evstigneev like in everyday life in those years? S. Zeltser tells us:

"Of all mass spectacles, Evgeniy Aleksandrovich singled out football. He closely followed the World Cup and European Championship matches and the Olympics. 'Shall we go see Spartak with somebody?' He preferred an ordinary stand to the press box. The crowd greeted his appearance in the stand with an approving hum. The swearing died down, people drew closer and struck up conversation, and without intrusive curiosity, with dignity and expertise, offered remarks as the game went on and argued over situations arising on the field. They treated him to sunflower seeds and whatever else God had sent, since the (dry) law had not yet arrived. An atmosphere of universal football brotherhood surrounded him.

He took an interest in getting to know Starostin, Leontyev, Yashin, and Logofet. Occasionally he went with him to hockey. He was fired up by the excitement of the clashes on the ice; the game appealed to him with its temperament and dynamics. But football remained his first and only love... Another love was jazz. For hours he listened to Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Tom Jones, and Frank Sinatra. He liked the elegant manner of Ray Conniff."

The 1980s were a difficult period in the actor's life. The decade began with misfortune: in December 1980, Evstigneev had a heart attack.

In 1983, Evstigneev was awarded the title of People's Artist of the USSR. The person happiest about this honor was our hero's mother, Maria Ivanovna Evstigneeva-Chernysheva. However, when friends came to her son's home to congratulate him on the occasion, she asked them: "Just don't praise him, please: he doesn't like it." Unfortunately, this was one of the last great joys of her life: a year later Maria Ivanovna died.

It was not the last misfortune in the actor's family. In 1986 his wife, Lilia, died as well.

After so many misfortunes that had fallen on him in such a short time, Evstigneev still did not break and, what is more, found within himself the strength for a continued active life, both creative and personal. In the 1980s he appeared in 24 films, among them: "We Are from Jazz," "The Demidovs" (both 1983), "Life, and Tears, and Love..." (1984), "Winter Evening in Gagra" (1985), "Guardsmen-Midshipmen, Forward!" (1987), "City of Zero," and "Heart of a Dog" (both 1988), among others.

True, unlike in film, things in the theater did not go so well for him. Between 1980 and 1988 he played only five new roles on the stage of the Moscow Art Theater (MKhAT). After his second heart attack, which struck Evstigneev in 1988, he asked MKhAT's chief director, O. Yefremov, to let him spend a year performing only the old productions and not to rehearse anything new. Yefremov, however, reacted unexpectedly. "We're a theater, a production house. If it's hard for you, you should retire," he told Evstigneev. It is quite likely that he said this in haste, without thinking much about the meaning of his words. Yet the actor was deeply hurt. And he really did retire. He continued to play his old roles on the MKhAT stage, but after that conversation with Yefremov he never played a single new one.

Still, the late 1980s were remembered by Evstigneev not only for sad events. In that period his personal life changed as well: he married for the third time. His chosen one turned out to be 40 years younger than he was. Her name was Irina Tsivina, an actress of Konstantin Raikin's Satiricon Theater.

Literally a year after they first met, Evstigneev and I. Tsivina married. This marriage breathed new vitality into him; he was literally transformed. He wanted to live and work again. At the turn of the 1990s he played Firs in "The Cherry Orchard" at the Anton Chekhov Theater, and in 1991, at Sergey Yursky's ARTel of ARTISTS, he played Glov in the production "Players-XXI" (premiere in October). There was plenty of work in cinema as well. In those years his credits included roles in the films "Time Gone By" and "10 Years Without the Right to Correspond" (both 1990), "The Cap," "The Pit," and "Sons of Bitches" (all 1991), "Night Games" (in which he appeared with his young wife), and "Rubinchik's Shop" (1992).

Evstigneev's last film role 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: 'The Stroganov merchants are to be ordered to prepare the tsar's new army for the march to Siberia.' That is his last shot. After the filming he came up to me and said that he had to go to England for an operation. And 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 many-sided..."


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 pull. All it needs is for the engine to be repaired, and everything will be fine.' On the morning of March 4 we went to the clinic.[3] He was to have an examination and a small preliminary procedure, a coronary angiography, and then stay at the clinic until morning, when the operation would be performed. While they ran his tests, I went for a walk, and about two hours later I returned to his room and sat down by his bed.

I decided to wait for Terry Lewis and a doctor from our embassy, who was to interpret. Terry Lewis and the embassy doctor came in. Lewis had a sheet of paper in his hands; he began to speak and draw, and the embassy doctor translated, very fast, without pauses: 'I have reviewed your medical history, we will operate on you tomorrow, but it is our practice to warn the patient about the possible consequences of the operation.

Here is your heart,' he drew it, 'and it has four vessels. Three of them are blocked, and the fourth is ninety percent blocked. Your heart works only because one vessel has a ten percent opening. You will die in any case, whether you have the operation or not!' In translation the words sounded literally like that. Evgeniy Aleksandrovich went cold all over. I was holding his hand. I saw him break out in a sweat and begin breathing heavily through his nose. Whenever he felt unwell, I always made him breathe through his nose, following Buteyko. I realized that something had happened to him. Something was happening in his mind; he was frightened by that drawn heart. I began talking to him, trying to comfort him, and at that moment some people, whom I did not manage to get a good look at, tore me away from his hand and quickly led me off somewhere.

I managed to notice a flat line on the screen where the cardiogram was running, but I still understood nothing, and I became truly frightened only when a nurse began to comfort me. The embassy doctor came: 'Clinical death has occurred. But don't worry, they brought him back from clinical death, he has regained consciousness.' I heard commotion in the corridor: Evgeniy Aleksandrovich was being rushed to surgery... For four hours I sat in that room. The embassy doctor kept running in with news: 'He is dying...', 'He is alive.' I was already laughing hysterically at him: it all looked like some wild practical joke. I sat by the window and looked across the inner courtyard at the windows of the intensive care unit, where Evgeniy Aleksandrovich was to be brought after the operation. The door there opened a hundred times, people came and went, but he was never brought in.

Instead the embassy doctor appeared again: 'The operation is over, your husband is dying. The operation was performed brilliantly, but a heart transplant is needed.' 'Then do it!' 'We can't, that 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 keep him going for at least a few days?' 'No, that should have been arranged in advance.' Terry Lewis came in: 'I am obliged to inform you that your husband has passed away...' Half an hour later I was allowed to go in to him... He lay there, astonishingly 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 went on, it seems, for a very, very long time...

I never stop searching for an explanation of his death. It was utterly illogical, absurd. I saw it with my own eyes: a calm, cheerful man died immediately after his heart was drawn for him and he was told: this is how you could die. And I find only one answer: his brilliant imagination. Just as he could picture any country after stepping outside for half an hour, so he pictured his own death... He entered into it as into one more role..."

After his death

E. Evstigneev was buried at Novodevichy Cemetery in Moscow.[1]

Over his long creative life, E. Evstigneev played 55 roles in the theater and 104 roles in film.

In Nizhny Novgorod, an unusual sculpture was installed in September 2006 for City Day: the actor Evgeniy Evstigneev, seated on a bench.[5] The bronze sculpture of the actor stands at the entrance to the Nizhny Novgorod Drama Theater. This remarkable composition creates the impression of a man, slightly weary, who has come home from distant travels and sat down on a bench beside his hometown theater, where his career began; he has set his cane and hat down next to him and, once he has caught his breath, is about to take a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. One recalls the living Evstigneev, as if he had never gone anywhere.

Links

For the centenary of the actor's birth, an image of him appeared on the wall of a building next to the Moscow theater to which Evstigneev devoted part of his life. The governor of Nizhny Novgorod Region, Gleb Nikitin, marked the 100th anniversary of Evstigneev's birth, calling him one of his favorite actors and noting that for Nizhny Novgorod residents he remains, above all, a fellow countryman.[6]

When Evstigneev was being approved for the role of camp commandant Dynin, the film studio leadership feared that the actor would give the character too satirical a quality and pushed for his replacement; director Elem Klimov managed to defend Evstigneev's candidacy.[8]

The role of Vorobyov in Eldar Ryazanov's comedy "Old Robbers" (1972) was written specially for Evstigneev; in all, the actor appeared in four of Ryazanov's films. Their first joint work was the film "Beware of the Car," during the shooting of which the director, by his own admission, fully appreciated the actor's stature for the first time.[8]

The actor devised Pleishner's unusual gait himself, while the telegrams on behalf of the character were written by a special stand-in, the artist Feliks Rostotsky, because Evstigneev's own handwriting was illegible.[8]

In a viewer poll compiled by the "Mosfilm. Golden Collection" TV channel for the actor's 100th anniversary, first place by a wide margin went to Professor Preobrazhensky from the adaptation of Mikhail Bulgakov's novella "Heart of a Dog" (1988); 43% of the 3,195 poll participants voted for this role. Director Vladimir Bortko noted that the character created by Evstigneev differed markedly from his previous work in film and theater.[8]

Sources

  1. 7days.ru — In a viewer poll compiled by the "Mosfilm. Golden Collection" TV channel for the actor's 100th anniversary, first place by a wide margin went to Professor Preobrazhensky
  1. Zhivyom v Nizhnem — For the 100th anniversary of Evstigneev's birth, a mural dedicated to him appeared in Moscow, next to the Sovremennik Theater.
  1. Newsroom24 — Nizhny Novgorod Region Governor Gleb Nikitin marked the centenary of Evstigneev's birth, calling him one of his favorite actors and noting that he came to love
  1. opentextnn.ru — Open Text — B. S. Izvekov and A. V. Kessel. Memorial Plaques of Nizhny Novgorod: Evstigneev E. A. (1926—1992), Krasnaya Etna Plant and the Theater School on Varvarskaya Street (archive)
  2. Nizhny Novgorod Information Agency — Nizhny Novgorod Residents Will Prepare a Complete Genealogy of Evgeniy Evstigneev for His 100th Anniversary, March 10, 2026 (archive)
  3. Nizhegorodskaya Pravda — The Actor's Heart: Evgeniy Evstigneev Played His Own Death, October 8, 2021 (archive)
  4. minkult.nobl.ru — Ministry of Culture of Nizhny Novgorod Region — profile of the Evstigneev Nizhny Novgorod Theater School
  5. Nizhegorodskaya Pravda — The Fashionista, the Policeman, and the Goat: The Most Unusual Monuments of Nizhny Novgorod, December 10, 2020 (archive)