Menshikov rarely gives interviews; he obeys Orthodox devotions and hides his vices. Nowadays all these qualities are rarity.

Menshikov rarely gives interviews; he obeys Orthodox devotions and hides his vices. Nowadays all these qualities are rarity.
A hero, cherished by an author's imagination, he should appear in the end of a complex sentence, as if in the end of a corridor, come up to a mirror, enter and exit it, and keep on walking along his illusive and fatal road - either alone or together with a partner-reflection. Oleg Menshikov. Our answer to Hollywood. His films won three Oscar nominations ("Burnt By The Sun", "Prisoner Of The Mountains" and "East-West"), and once the precious symbol was received. This summer our hero is likely to get his third State Prize in the Kremlin (for the luckless "The Barber Of Siberia", that would have received an Oscar award if it was not for the cruel fate of the film).
He lives on the "N" street, rides in a jeep "Mercedes" with a driver, has a roomy office with a hall for rehearsals on the "N" boulevard. Tickets for "Woe From Wit" - the performance he staged and where he plays the leading role - are very expensive and still are sold out in a blink of an eye. He looks great, is always very well dressed, surrounded by loyal friends. He is loved with a delirious, boundless love, as a real star should be loved.
Master of disappearance
A suspicious view, isn't it? And it's not just because the man can't be measured with the visible signs of success, and "there is always a room for grief between the cup and the lips", as Alfred de Musset wrote. I am familiar with his art, besides I know him in person a bit. But if someone asks me what kind of person Menshikov is, I'll answer honestly, "I don't know!"
Take, for instance, his interviews. Despite the rumours about the lack of any, there are some now and then. He answers questions. He says words, quite coherent logically. But still nothing can be remembered afterwards, there is no impression left. Actually, it seems that there was no conversation at all.
Menshikov built high walls around himself, behind which there is a magic forest. A mysterious mirror, set into his mind, zealously guards its master and reflects back all the streams of energy directed at him. There are things to guard here. Menshikov's fateful gift - that is his talent - is more interesting and extensive than its owner is. This gift, born from spirit of music, lives behind words, between words, beyond words and can't be taken at a word. While partying with friends, Menshikov always sits to the piano or switches on karaoke and sings with an obvious pleasure. At moments like those he feels right at home.
A successful hero
Menshikov was born and brought up in a peaceful family. He didn't have any visible problems in his life except for stomach ulcer and being hospitalized because of that. Nevertheless, many years he's been portraying only tragic losers, luckless people with broken lives, shattered nerves, rickety mind - those who were unloved, betrayed and abandoned.
Only in the latest films there appeared some relatives (such as his mother, wife), and before that his characters were desperately lonely. Embraced with adoration and worshipping, he played outcast Chatsky; and when the actor was at his best, the audience cried with him in the finale of the performance.
Menshikov and "Titanic"
He never lived in poverty (as he says, when he was short of money, he borrowed some - so there were people to borrow from) in a direct and figurative sense - that is, he never needed anything and anyone. People appeared, came, offered, drove away, awarded, presented gifts all by themselves. Once in "Theatrical Company 814" we discussed jokingly what each of us would do if we found ourselves on "Titanic". Galina Dubovskaya, Menshikov's co-director, supposed, "Well, there are three variants. He would either cry and despond, or fall into absolute prostration, or order and command. Or probably all of that by turns."
I chirked up and said, "Nothing of the sort! He would never even notice any catastrophe. Someone would come up to him and say, 'Oleg Evgenyevich, would you be so kind to go to a boat, we have a tiny problem here'. They would take him to that boat. And only in the sea he would finally notice the problem was actually big."
He laughed for a long time. Then he said, "Absolutely true."
Redgrave's Russian love
People, who find themselves in the magic circle of this destiny, should fulfill their purpose and then make sail resignedly. Everything happens of their free will - no one invites them in and no one makes them stay when they are leaving. Here is an episode that took place during the last year Moscow film festival. There is a banquet in the Hermitage garden. Menshikov held the opening ceremony with an ideal model's dandified artistry. Now he sits at the table, drinks, eats, chats, eagerly greets people, smiles a dazzling smile of a born superiority; his peace is protected by two bodyguards though.
The conversation turns to Vanessa Redgrave who arrived in Moscow the other day - a famous actress who once was amazed by Menshikov's Caligula to such extent that she took him to London to act in the performance "When She Danced". Menshikov spent a year in London where he played Esenin with Redgrave-Duncan and received the Olivier Prize. Now as soon as she came to Moscow, Redgrave told the press how much she valued that unique Russian actor. "That's so touching," - says the unique actor and turns to the left. - "By the way, where is Vanessa Redgrave?" - Then he turns to the right, - "Have you seen Vanessa Redgrave? No?" No, they haven't. The conversation switches to another topic. But it's clear that if Redgrave goes by at the moment, a charming baritone will be heard, "My God, Vanessa!" And if she doesn't, well, nevermind then.
Useless romanticism
Russian society broken into pieces in the 90s brought many stubborn individualists to life - and Menshikov is their hero, of course, but the hero idealized and romanticized. Take, for instance, his latest work - Alexey Golovin from the film "East-West". A man made a tragic mistake - returned to Slalin's Russia and put himself and his family in hell. Everything he does in the film is far from being moral - he renounces, lies, and betrays in order to save his wife and son from hell. Strangely, it doesn't influence his soul and personality. He stays as nice and wonderful as he was in the very beginning. The deeds go their way and the man goes his way.
Just like that, Chatsky's right to judge, mock and ruin lives of others can't be called in question. He is a poet, a creature of a higher sort; he lives his own passions and dreams. He is right; and the world that frightenedly repulsed him is wrong.
Half a million dollars
Once there was a conversation about an actor who appeared on television supporting a politician. "He is weird," - said Menshikov. - "The point is he did it for free. I can understand it if you appear and then get an envelope with $25 thousand". "Would you do it? For 25 thousand?" - "Nooo." "What about 50 thousand?" - "Nooo." "How much then? 100 thousand? 200 thousand?" - "Well… Half a million, probably. Of course, only if it didn't contradict my convictions." The man values himself alright - he would do it for half a million and only if it didn't conflict with his views.
I read in a newspaper that Menshikov never told about his personal life, because he was hiding his vices, and I thought - 'my oh my, what a good guy'. Now that people don't hide their vices - moreover, they write books about them and are proud because of it, - to hide vices is noble. As for his vices, I can't help you here (I mean, I can't tell you if there are any or not); my message is about a different thing. It is about a man's unwillingness to be worthless and cheap. It is also a part of Menshikov's "message to contemporaries" and they feel it very well. The time of Russia's active turning to the world praised this actor - with a face appropriate for any European or American film; a proud individualist who martially keeps his dignity and talent and is sure that life pays for a man the price he quotes himself. In a way, it is "a Russian dream".
Waiting for a car
The theatre team of "Woe From Wit" celebrated the Dragon's Year on the "N" boulevard. They ran to buy vodka three times. They reformed the Moscow dramatic art, buried critics. Menshikov appealed to me so that I together with a group of worthy colleagues forbid talentless people to write about art. I believe, I promised. "Oleg, your car is here. The driver is asking what he should do". - "Tell him to warm up the car".
An hour later. Everyone started reciting Russian poetry. Poems by Gumilyov were especially good. The cigarettes were over, so they ran to a shop again. "Oleg, the driver is asking what he should do." - "The driver? Well, warm up the car". One more hour later. The time came for Kalman and Offenbach. Then there was some singing from "Silva". Vodka was over again, but new people arrived with gifts. "Oleg, the driver is asking what about the car?" Oleg, "What about the car? The car… Let it be warmed up," - and after a pause he continued pensively, - "After all, that's my car".
That's his car and his life. He manages everything all by himself, and contemporaries, who respect him, begin to understand a little about values of a separate human existence. I won't say that there is no sadness in this separateness, which is very interesting to the others. With all my admiration for his art, for me Menshikov is a stranger from another Galaxy. And most of his characters are also such strangers who pierce the space like meteors on their way from nowhere to nowhere.
A boring book
Last year a boring book about him was published. Forcing his way through a 400-paged inflated writing, a reader finds out that the hero of the book didn't talk to its author. The hero didn't even read it. "Yes, I had a look, it was written on the cover 'Oleg Menshikov, the Honoured artist of Russia'… I am not an honoured artist of Russia, it's a lie. So, I assume, other things are the same". He doesn't have an official honorary title because of bureaucratic absurdities (he doesn't work in a stationary theatre, so there is no one to "promote" him). Once he snorted, "Well, who cares… Let they be ashamed".
There is a clear, perfect and very long lifeline on his hand. He obeys Orthodox devotions. He is a man of an iron will. He is irritable, nervously active to the highest extent. He loves hotels… That's the end, the corridor is over, our hero is entering his suite. The door is closed. Do not disturb.