Svetlana Poloymako Biography

In all likelihood, for his Russian-Georgian ear, this surname sounded strange. Police is ideally suited for the role of Marshal. Medium height, but stately; Age is fifty with a little years. The full dignity of the playing of the game, he looked like the majority of the actors of the Maly Theater in Moscow or Pushkinsky in Leningrad. His voice was like a Jericho pipe - low, hoarse, loud.

With such a voice, you can, without straining, punch the wall. Tovstonogov told various stories about him. Once the theater went on tour to the Crimea, and in Yalta or Gagrah the police, it is not known why, hastily drove the entire troupe from the platform; A police officer who hesitated somewhere, one-lodge remained on the platform. The military cordon surrounded the place of “action”, and there was no way to contact the lost actor.

Then everything happened very quickly. A steam locomotive with a single salon car drove up to the platform. One single man came out of him in overcoats and a cap with a visor and immediately headed for the exit. Several dozen enkavedeshniks poured behind him, maintaining the tribute. And in the center, between the salon car and the station doors, there was a police officer.

Stalin, slightly surprised, looked at him, but did not stop and left the station, and followed by the Encavedeshniki and the military. The saved police officer fell unconscious into the hands of his comrades. Police Dogsboro. A photo from the BDT Museum after more than twenty years, when we started rehearsals, Police already had a strong position, on his account there were many perfectly played roles.

As befits a famous artist, he led a measured lifestyle. At the rehearsal, he always appeared on time, carefully shaved, smelling of cologne. For lunch, Poloyomako went home, where his wife prepared him a full of fried potatoes and an appropriate portion of vodka. His colleagues said something about liters and kilograms. And Poloymako believed that there was nothing better in the world.

Having a little a bit, he came to the performance or evening rehearsal, with new forces. After the performance, he was in a hurry home again, for dinner. I don’t know what menu he had in the evening, but, apparently, it was not very different from dining; Even if there were changes in the sediment, then, as his colleagues claimed, the drinks remained unchanged.

So they claimed, proving the healing effect of vodka on the human body, unlike a variety of cognacs, liquors and wine. The first rehearsal with a police officer in the lobby of the theater did not foresee anything good.

The artist looked important in front of him, without showing even attempts to make contact or understand my words. I thought that the whole thing is in my Russian language, which many were chuckled with. Therefore, I used only those words that usually gave the result. For example, I noticed that instead of delving into complex explanations, it is better to talk with “hands”.

Some people will probably explain it with the poverty of my language, others will consider it an idiot, but for me the main thing was that such a language was working. But with the police, "did not work." I realized that a few more such silent rehearsals - and the catastrophe is inevitable. He will refuse the role. And there is no other Hindenburg in the theater. Then we conducted a situational rehearsal, and I said that nothing better came to my mind, how to offer him to sit on a chair, like Kutuzov on a horse.

And so that he behaves like Kutuzov. From that moment I did not need to tell him anything at all. A police officer was better than I knew how Kutuzov was moving and how I said, and I realized that there is no difference between Hindenburg and Kutuzov when they both use the text of Brecht. Since then, Poloimako even fell in love with me and one day he invited me to his home for lunch: “The wife will prepare fried potatoes and give vodka; Then we will sleep and together we will go to the evening rehearsal.

” I did not know for sure whether the kilogram of potatoes and half a liter of vodka would be given on the nose-in this case I would take a chance-or in the liter, which seemed plausible, so I refused. The artist was not offended and further improved his Kutuzov; At the premiere, he played him at least as convincingly as his competitor from the Berlin Theater.

Alas, at the third performance of Police, instead of, as it was in the script, to leave the stage to the left, moves to the right. When he was “called to order”, it turned out that he could not distinguish “right” from “left”, did not know where he was playing. He even forgot his name. Stay in the hospital strengthened his physical forces, but did not return the strength of reason.

The family took him to the country, away from people, to impenetrable forests. Even the mail came there only in two weeks. There, Poloymako lived, doomed to the custody of his wife and the old housekeeper. He still did not know who he was and what his name was. The only entertainment was a walk in a dense forest in the company of a ten -year -old grandson. Once he returned from the forest drunk.

They sent the messengers, but there was not a single living soul per kilometers, except for forest animals.And only the interrogation with the bias of the boy revealed that the recovery, deprived of any opportunity to navigate, any mental abilities, nevertheless, concluded an agreement with the postman, and he left a bottle of vodka in the appointed place, in the hollow of the old oak.

It was the last bright event in the life of Police. Soon after, he died. His colleagues, who told me this sad story of the last months, sympathized with all the beloved and respected Police; But they were especially surprised, as they said, the mysterious force, which, depriving a person of all his instincts, left him, however, the only and most welcome for him. Of course, behind a pile of vodka.

This year, looking at the program of the performance, which Belomov brought from Moscow to Vienna, I found the name of Police in it. And, it is not known why, he experienced relief. Non Omnis Moriar "No, I won’t die." September G.