Журнал Andy Warhol's Interview Россия Interview № 1 | Page 276

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be described as a blend of compassion and pity.
Because how can you seriously take somebody
who liked saying “Bob, if you work hard, you will
become rich and famous and can have everything
you desire.” To which I would invariably respond
“Andy, you are rich and famous, but even you don’t
have everything you desire.”
ALIONA: You were publishing Interview mag-
azine almost single-handedly in the 1970s. Nowa-
days, there are dozens of people working in the
editorial offices, often producing the same end re-
sult. (Both laughing.) What was it that you were
doing right that others were doing wrong?
BOB: Not quite single-handedly. The magazine
was published by Andy Warhol, Fred Hughes and
several others. By the time I left in 1983, there
were already eight people in the editorial office,
plus three or four selling ad space. There were only
a few of us because at the beginning Interview
magazine was published with Andy’s personal
money. But, you know, small budgets have a big
advantage. Lack of money always pushed us to
look for ways out and think something up, to seek
out young talented people who were prepared to
do interviews for, say, $50 or take photos for $25. In
this way, we discovered a lot of new people, who
later made a name for themselves. By the way,
a great deal of projects, which initially received
a lot more substantial funding, are history now,
while Interview magazine is still in print.
ALIONA: How would you make the magazine
now?
BOB: Andy and Gerard Malanga conceived In-
terview as a magazine about movies, but gradually
it evolved into a publication writing about any-
thing which interested us. And today I would
make it in the same way: I would create each issue
as a perfect dinner party where each invited guest
is expected to surprise the rest of the gathering.
For example, a glamorous movie star on the cover,
then in between the covers one famous politician
to be immediately followed by two young models,
a couple of up-and-coming actors, one writer,
one artist, and one socialite from Park Avenue
or Paris. It all depends on the right mix of people
and the time when they make their appearance at
the “dinner party”, because the same characters
cannot hold interest all the time—you should write
about them only when it is most interesting to read
that stuff.
ALIONA: Is it true that you worked and par-
tied so hard that it led to a heart attack?
BOB: No, it never happened! When I was about
30, I started feeling a stitch in my side—they diag-
nosed me with hepatitis, not the viral, but pre-cir-
rhotic type. That’s how my poor liver reacted to
the amount of alcohol and cocaine I was consum-
ing. So I had to quit drinking and sniffing.
ALIONA: Are you a teetotaler then?
BOB: Yes, I am. For almost 17 years. So I can’t
imagine what I am going to do when I come to
visit you in Russia!
ALIONA: So, Andy never went to clubs at all?
BOB: I met him for the first time a few years
after Valerie Solanas had shot him, and Andy
was freaking out at every pedestrian whose behav-
ior seemed strange or dangerous to him. Once
in a while, we would drop in at some clubs, but he
felt uncomfortable among all those wasted young-
sters. He was never so much into drinking, so
he never lingered anywhere, never partied all
night long.
ALIONA: Bob, one of the Studio 54 habitues
once told me such a story: supposedly, somebody
would bring in a huge bouquet of roses and then
present each girl with a flower, which they smelled
and inhaled cocaine planted inside. Is it a true
story or an urban legend?
BOB (laughing): I have never heard this story
before. In reality it was all much more prosaic:
somebody you know would approach you and in-
vite you to go with him to the upper floor of the
club or to the basement to avoid long lines for the
toilet. Frankly speaking, despite all those blood-
curdling stories of drug abuse and debauchery, the
70s were pretty innocent times. Nobody knew that
you could get addicted to cocaine. It was believed
to be something like dope, stuff that allowed you
to have fun all night long without feeling tired. It is
another matter that after doing a few lines every-
body would rush to the bar and start guzzling. But
the people who used heroin did drop out of our
circle and were considered low-life junkies. And it
was only in the early 1980s, when I met with
friends who had developed strong cocaine addic-
tion, that I began to realize that it was not such an
innocent pastime.
In the 1970s, the Americans grew sick and tired
of politics, the Vietnam War, the Watergate scandal,
and just wanted to have fun, spend money, dance,
and make love. Girls started going out to the first
gay clubs because that was where the best disco
music was played, and young boys followed them.
That led to the creation of a democratic environ-
ment, where nobody cared about your sexual pref-
erences. AIDS did not yet exist and the baby boom
generation—the first truly progressive and free gen-
eration—was discovering all the pleasures of life.
OKSANA
AKINSHINA
p. 242
by GARIK SUKACHOV
The star of the film Vysotsky—Thank You for
Living talks about the return of the Soviet
Union—in film and in life.
Garik Sukachov has just flown in from Rostov-
on-Don where he was on tour. But the celebrat-
ed Russian rock star looks fresh and even festive:
grey jeans, white shirt, silver chains, bracelets and
rings with large stones. While waiting for Oksa-
na in a cafe in the center of Moscow, he sips an
Americano. Akinshina arrives almost on time, all
of 15 minutes late.
GARIK: Vladimir Vysotsky’s song Thank You
for Living is very cheerful. But I don’t know if your
film turned out that cheerful. However, for me
there was almost no intrigue in this. First, Nikita
Vysotsky (the musician’s son) is my close friend,
and second, I myself know a lot about the last
years of his father’s life. So Oksana, who exactly
are you playing in the film?
OKSANA: That’s a difficult question. I will ex-
plain why. It’s clear that I am not Marina Vladi.
During shooting we didn’t even say this woman’s
name out loud on the set. So let’s say that I’m
playing some composite sweetheart of Vysotsky’s.
She is 17–18 years old. And in the script her name
is Tatiana.
GARIK: In essence, everything you do on the
screen and I do on stage is pretending. But some-
times I suddently get the feeling that along with
our “pretending” there is utter reality. And in these
moments it is unbearable to act. When someone’s
words in a screenplay stop being words from some-
one else’s story and take on life. Just for a second,
but real life. Did you have any of these magical
moments?
OKSANA: Of course. I don’t get away from the
film set for very long. Even while working on a new
film, I still worry about the previous one. Dur-
ing overdubbing I cry and shake all over again. In
Vysotsky there was one scene, which, unfortunate-
ly, didn’t make it into the film. When I was doing
it, something incredible happened that had never
happened to me before: I was overwhelmed with
all kinds of emotions—I almost lost consciousness,
my body just wouldn’t listen to me. During filming
all kinds of magical things usually happen, strange
coincidences. Like we filmed the scene of Vladimir
Semyonovich’s death on the day of his actual death.
GARIK: I still remember when the mute trad-
ers roamed the commuter trains selling photo-
graphs. They had an assortment of porno cards
and photos of a then-young Alla Pugachova—and
always portraits of Vysotsky. The 70s were really
strange. On the one hand, they put out all these
terrible Soviet films, like The Prize and We the
Undersigned—absolute Communist propaganda
that the progressive youth hated. And, on the other
hand, it was an amazing time for literature, when
people collected entire libraries at home, standing
in long lines for subscriptions. If you didn’t have
money, you could collect various scrap paper for
a long time and then recylcle it and acquire six vol-
umes of Grin. And now?
OKSANA: Today the country is divided into,
let’s say, smart, keen people and those who echo
the political regime. The youth are reading less, al-
though there are still young intellectuals who want
to develop and grow. Maybe literature itself and the
attitude toward reading has changed, but it’s impos-
sible to say that we are now stupider than those who
lived in the 70s. There have always been lowlifes.
GARIK: What do you think, are contemporary
intellectuals moved by is Vysotsky’s work?
OKSANA: The intelligentsia now is very much
with the authorities. In the 70s, there was, at least,
an imaginary chance to escape politics. And now
there is no choice: it’s this way or not at all. But
passions are boiling now as they were then; our
times are similar. I really think that we are moving
backward toward the Soviet Union. At a fast pace.
GARIK: Well, no, Oksana, of course we are
not moving that way. First, “No man steps in
the same river twice.” Second, certain freedoms
have appeared that we simply didn’t have during
Vysotsky’s time. And how could they begin to take
away these freedoms from people...
OKSANA: The people will begin to leave.
GARIK: Where are you getting that? They will
begin to struggle!
OKSANA: Struggle? Hardly. It’s easier to leave
for a place where you can obtain even more free-
dom. That’s how it will happen. You’ll see. I’m not
saying that this will happen within a year or two.
But if society continues to move the way it is told
to, well then it’s clear.
GARIK: Yes, we’ve become quite the intelli-
gentsia in our talk. (Laughs.) But I hope we will
not have a murderous regime. By the way, why do
you think they decided to film Vysotsky right now?
Is there some kind of political motive?
OKSANA: I’m sure there is. The film turned
out to show that Soviet Union was good and cool.
So when I saw the final cut I cried. We had in fact
filmed an entirely different movie. And we made
it so that it would come out before the elections.
GARIK: That’s too bad. I would very much
like for the public not to turn away from this mov-
ie. Russian cinema has frequently been disappoint-
ing in the past few years.
OKSANA: Believe me, I have lived this film
and am still living it. It has become like my sec-
ond child. And I don’t think that it will be a bad
film. One must simply be smart and read between
the lines.
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