Seeking the Truth: Nikita Mikhalkov and the Russian Dilemma

Seeking the Truth:

Nikita Mikhalkov and the Russian Dilemma

Vladimir Osherov

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 Vladimir Osherov

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"I wish to share the truth; it’s unknown to me at this point, but I will continue seeking it."

From Fellini’s film 8¹/²

Contents

Introduction

Nikitophobia

Who the Hell is Nikita Mikhalkov?

"Give me Stalin’s Head!"

Part I. 1945–1970

Kyrghyzstan, 1962

Family History, Ancestors

Revolution and War

"The Anthem Project"

The Mikhalkovs and the Konchalovskys

Parents, Nannies, Childcare

Pal Daddy

Christians and Communists

Schooltime

The Two Brothers

Fun Behind the Iron Curtain

More Fun

Beginning a Career in Acting

Professional Training

First Marriage

Divorce

VGIK – the Russian Film School

Directing: First Steps

"Quiet Day At War’s End"

Making Movies in the USSR: Brief Introduction

Beginnings of the Mikhalkov Style

Part II. 1971–1977

Volodarsky

Writing Red Gold

Search for a Crew

Vodka and the Arts

Bumpy Road to Marriage

Joining the Marines

Far Away From Home

Back to Work

Pàsha

On Set

Borrowing and Applying

Production Woes

Ambiguities

Historical Authenticity and Buffoonery

Soviet Censorship

Origins of Discontent

"Unexpected Sorrows" – the Khamdamov Story

"Slave Of Love" – Indian Movie?

Learning From Silent Movies

"Slave Of Love": Stylizing & Improvising

Pacing & Photography

Russian Nostalgia

The Unknown Chekhov

Pre–Production Ahead of the Script

Miracles Continue

Hunt for a Style

Characters and Actors

Best Shoot of a Lifetime

Diplomacy on the Film Set

The Story

Playing to the Light

Nice to Have Friends Among Censors

A Russky Film with a European Flavor

Part III. 1978–1984

"Oblomovshchina"

Soviet Typecasting

Filming Non–Stop

Life in a Communal Apartment

Defining the term Soviet

A Period Movie?

Oblomov Again

The Positive Side of Oblomovshchina

Russian Dualism

The Lure of Freedom

How Much Freedom Do We Need?

In Hindsight

Nonna Mordyukova

Love and Hate

Town Versus Country

Old–Fashioned Social Realism

Finally, Censorship Problems

Playing Scoundrels

Christian Overtones in Communism

She and He

Moving Towards a Split

Why Splits Occur?

In the Aftermath

Delving into Russia’s History

Part IV. 1985–2000

Marcello Mastroianni

The V Congress

Radical Changes

Chernukha

International Crew and Cast

More of Nikitophobia

Friends Leaving

Business as Usual

Synopsis For a Script

Russian–Mongolian Clowning

More and More Public Activity

Children

Burnt by the Sun: Soviet Life in the 1930s

Nikitophobia Spreads

Political Zigzags

A Mega–Project, At Last

Production

Triumph or Defeat?

Initial Response

Humor and Authenticity

Presentation of Reality

Cinema and Politics

Part V. 2000–…

Living With the Market

The State Counselor

Diversions

East and West

"We All Are Soviet people"

Work Has Begun A Different War Movie

"Twelve"

The Russian Psyche and the Law

Some Positive News

Back to Burnt By The Sun

God’s Providence

A New Revision of Russian History?

Why Did It Bomb?

Pro et Contra

Following Churchill’s Advice

Struggles Continue

What Movies Are They Showing in Russia?

More Discord

Telling the Truth

Putin and Nikitophobia

The Matrix

Notes and Sources

Introduction

In 2008, when I decided to write a book on Nikita Mikhalkov, I called him. Initially, he was resistant to the idea but I was finally able to convince him to let me move forward with the project. At the time, there were already several Mikhalkov biographies in print: in English, Italian, and Russian. On several occasions, I visited his Burnt By The Sun – 2 set, and we spoke briefly on some topics. I came away from the set, seeing Nikita in full control as before. In my mind, I’d been witness to a great movie in the making.

Having a large number of specific questions, I was hoping to conduct a lengthy interview with Nikita – away from the set. I called him several times to arrange a meeting but this never happened: he was too busy. I sent letters with questions that were delivered to his office, and several emails. There was no response, although, from mutual friends, I knew that he was aware of my ongoing work. In the course of my research, I had interviewed some important filmmakers who were close to Mikhalkov: the late screenwriter Eduard Volodarsky (1941–2012), production designer/writer/actor Aleksandr Adabashyan, the late Anatoly Yermilov, Nikita’s long–time second unit director (died 2010), and other crew members. Through the years, I had many conversations with my late close friend, cinematographer Pavel Lebeshev who shot Nikita’ s best movies. I am deeply indebted to all those who I have spoken to in relation to this project.

Then, finally, in 2011, Mikhalkov published Talking Straight, an impressive collection of his interviews and speeches, starting with 1964. It is a large volume, 800 pages long, and there I have finally found many answers to most of my questions, coming directly from the horse’s mouth – for which I am very grateful.

Although this may sound as an exagerration, I have chosen Nikita Mikhalkov as the central figure of this project because he, perhaps better than anybody else in modern Russia illustrates all the dramas and complexities that dominated Russian culture during the last one hundred years, long before Mikhalkov was born.

In this book, I have tried to combine a purely biographical narrative with sharing my own film production experiences. Specifically, to offer some observations on the interaction within a film crew and on how this may affect the final product. I have also found it necessary to share my views on certain aspects of Russian and Soviet history and culture.

I could never have written this book without the participation of Marina Sonkina, Skip Surguine, William Gelbart, Misha Suslov, Yasha Bronstein, and Valery Kosorukov. I am deeply grateful for the many suggestions and criticisms they made after reading the manuscript.

My special thanks – to Anatoly Yermilov, Yelena Lazareva, Yuri Sokol, and Aleksandr Adabashyan for their advice and for generously supplying me with many illustrations from their personal archives. For copyright permissions, I am also deeply indebted to Mosfilm Studios, to Three –T Productions, and to Andrei Konchalovsky’s personal website.

Nikitophobia

We, Russians, love films. We love comedy and musicals. We love action/adventure. We even love horror movies. But a film of any significance has to carry a message. That is how most Russians used to think or feel, anyway. That’s how Russian literature, theatre, and films have been developing and became what they are now (or were until recently). A means of moral instruction, of civic education – apart from entertainment.

In Russian culture, there is also a perpetual quest for truth. To discover the truth and to share it with others by means of art became almost an obsession. For European or American filmmakers, telling the truth hardly ever posed a fundamental problem, as in Russia. Nor was there a requirement to follow a certain dogmatic ideology. Very few places, apart from Soviet Russia, had such a persistent ideological control. Perhaps, this is why it is difficult sometimes to fully appreciate some Russian films. And although many Russian artists had chosen dreams and fantasy as their field of expertise, their passion for seeking truth has always been in evidence. In this, Nikita Mikhalkov, for most of his career as first a Soviet and then a Russian artist, is no different from other film directors.

* * *

One day in 1972, Nikita Mikhalkov and I ran into each other at the doorway of our friend, writer Eduard Volodarsky. Ed and I lived in the same apartment block, and Nikita came visiting. He and Ed were working together on a script.

It was then that Nikita offered me to be Director of Photography on his first full–length feature, At Home With Strangers. I declined: at the time I had already started work on another project, Translation From English. Soon Nikita would choose a close friend of mine, cinematographer Pavel Lebeshev, to shoot At Home With Strangers. I was glad for both of them, especially as I witnessed the success of this first film and others that followed. No regrets whatsoever.

I may have felt differently if only I knew that some twenty years later, in March 1995, a triumphant Nikita Mikhalkov would be standing on the podium at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles and receiving an Oscar for his Burnt By The Sun.

At one time or another, nearly all of his films, among them such international hits as Dark Eyes, Close To Eden, and Slave Of Love – have won him major international prizes, including Grand Prix and Palme d’Or at Cannes and a Golden Lion of St. Mark in Venice. Awards are too numerous to list.

For many, he is Russia’s preeminent, unrivalled filmmaker; others may disagree. One thing is beyond any doubt: Nikita is the most hated filmmaker in Russia. Throughout the history of Soviet and Russian cinema, no other person has ever attracted so much venom and resentment.

In the world of celluloid, rivalries and personal feuds are nothing new. After all, arts and culture are dominated by individuals with huge egos. With Nikita Mikahlkov, animosity goes far beyond any personal feelings, or a common jealousy within the cultural elite. Nikitophobia has become a national pastime in Russia, almost a sign of partisan affiliation. Not that he lacks any friends, or fans, or supporters – far from it. But if you believe the Russian media, or the Internet, especially Russian bloggers, his enemies outnumber supporters 10 to 1. Much of this rancor is just verbal abuse but recently, after receiving a number of threats over the phone, Nikita made an official request for police protection.

Ill will towards Mikhalkov often transcends established factional, political, or philosophical divisions. Being a champion of strong government and of its active involvement in cultural matters, he draws nevertheless the ire of diehard Communists for his criticism of the Soviet era. Russian Orthodox Church conservatives consider him to be too cosmopolitan, too Westernized. Russian liberals suspect him of being sympathetic to Stalinism, or of wishing to restore either the Soviet regime, or even the monarchy. And yet, his achievements as an outstanding actor–writer–director are recognized by even the most adamant critics. The problem, it seems, is not so much with Mikhalkov the artist, or a private person, as Mikhalkov the public figure.

People who must hate him most of all, are probably gossip columnists. Not because of any moral turpitude on Mikhalkov‘s part: he had been divorced only once, still lives with his second wife Tatyana, whom he married 40 years ago, and remains very close to his children from both marriages. As to extramarital affairs – there have, of course, been plenty of rumors, but absolutely no evidence of any kind. No complaints, no paparazzi pictures; nothing… If ever any film director, or actor, or pop star followed Nikita’s ways, tabloids would have long been obsolete.

Who the Hell is Nikita Mikhalkov?

It is important to remember that the office of film director in Russia carries special weight. Since the Bolshevik revolution, the job of film producers had been virtually abolished and replaced by that of a production manager. The sole producer was really the Communist regime, with all the attendant bureaucratic apparatus for funding and control of scripting, production, and distribution.

Consequently, creation of a film was dominated by directors. They provided the most visible public image of the movie world – after actors, of course. Stalin, the Bolshevik demigod, regularly met with major film directors and personally discussed content and style with them, without any intermediaries. Thus, in many respects, film directors did not need to answer to anyone but Stalin. No director in the West has ever achieved that sort of political status, but then no western director had to answer to Stalin either!

Nikita Mikhalkov, apart from being a top director and actor, holds a number of highly visible public positions, among them – being for the last fourteen years Chair of the Filmmakers’ Union, though now this Union is not as powerful and influential as it once was. During the time of reform, it gradually lost its clout as well as many properties and assets. Still, Nikita’s access to funding and financial control, and to the Kremlin hierarchy itself, is reason enough to envy him.

In December 2008, the Moscow Filmmakers’ Unit and the Russian Directors’ Guild tried to oust Mikhalkov from his Chairmanship, but voting was conducted with some major irregularities – particularly a lack of quorum, and the results were voided by a district court in Moscow. In March 2009, Nikita called an extraordinary Congress of the FMU, where delegates from across Russia (this time, in sufficient numbers) overwhelmingly re–elected Mikhalkov as Chairman. The opposition has challenged results of this Congress in court, but the court once again sided with Nikita. Nevertheless, this did not stop an intensifying media campaign to discredit Mikhalkov.

Nikita does not shy away from controversy. In our age of unlimited freedom of expression, for a celebrity like Mikhalkov to be regularly speaking out in favor of censorship, or specifically in favor of banning some highly rated TV reality shows, or programs with excessive sexual content, would hardly win him many friends. He’s been suspected of harboring presidential ambitions; suspected of embezzlement; and of being a rabid anti–Semite. He is hated by Russians, Jews, and members of virtually all ethnic groups living in Russia. But loved by many, too.

Who is really Nikita Mikhalkov? What sort of person? What kind of filmmaker?

And what made a brilliant director involve himself so deeply in politics?

"Give Me Stalin’s Head!"

Stand by! Rehearsing! Give me Stalin’s head, please. Just the head, says Nikita. The heavy clay head is supposed to hit the ground just an inch away from the actress: Nadya Mikhalkov. His daughter. Dropping the head is something no one else can be trusted with – only the director.

It is a chilly October, 2008 morning on the Azov Sea, in Southern Russia. Nikita Mikhalkov is working on a scene for Burnt by the Sun – 2, a sequel to the Oscar–winning Burnt by the Sun. This epic six–hour film tells the story of Red Army General Sergei Petrovich Kotov (played by Nikita himself) and the General’s daughter, who are desperately trying to find each other amid the bloody chaos of the war against Hitler. (1)

The scene with Stalin’s head takes place after an attacking German aircraft has sunk a Russian Red Cross ship carrying several hundred children evacuated from the war zone. In the dense fog, dead bodies and the ship’s debris are adrift in ice–cold water. There are a few survivors, and among them – Nadya, Kotov’s daughter, who is now sixteen (in the first movie she was about seven). Clinging to a stray German marine mine, she manages to propel herself close enough to the shore to land. As the girl crawls onto the beach, she hears sounds of an approaching motorboat behind her, some agitated voices, and suddenly a loud explosion.

With a wet thud, a white clay head of Joseph Stalin lands right by her head. She gazes at it in shock. The sea mine she used as a life preserver was not a dud! It has now claimed its victims, along with Communist Party archives and clay busts of Communist leaders. These treasures were being evacuated in order to save them from advancing German troops.

Historically, there have been numerous screen portrayals of Joseph Stalin. First, as an iconic figure, the Father of Nations; then, as an important wartime military leader, and more recently, many years after his death, as a scheming villain or a sinister joker. In Burnt by the Sun – 2 there is yet another interpretation. Unlike the original Burnt By The Sun, where Stalin was present only in name and the huge, balloon–suspended image, here we see Stalin in person.

Stalin’s life is one of human tragedy, Nikita told an interviewer. Power, especially power like he had, is always a tragedy. Impossible to sustain intimacy of any kind, of trusting anyone. The responsibilities, the temptations. More responsibilities – more temptations … a never–ending cycle. There are people who dream of power. These are very dangerous people. There are others, too, for whom it is a cross to bear. I think, at first, for Stalin, to have all that power was a dream come true, but then it became a cross. But it was impossible to escape the System, it held on to you forever. (2)

This was typical Mikhalkov: trying to reach out to a mass audience, mostly young Russians who know very little about Joseph Stalin or the war with Hitler, to educate this audience, and yet to create a deeply philosophical film, a very personal one. Tough call.

Part One

1945 – 1970

Kyrghyzstan, 1964

I first met Nikita in 1964, during a relatively liberal, though short–lived period in the lives of Soviet artists and intellectuals, called The Thaw.

It was a time of optimism and experimentation. Regrettably, it came to an end with the invasion of Czechoslovakia by Warsaw Pact forces in August 1968. In 1964, Nikita was eighteen; a handsome, lanky guy who had just received a lot of public recognition as one of the leads in a popular movie called Walking the Streets of Moscow (1963).

At the time, I was second unit DP on The First Teacher, directed by Nikita’s older brother, Andrei Konchalovsky. It was to be Andrei’s film school thesis and also his first feature–length movie. We were shooting on location in the Tian’–Shan’ mountains near the Chinese border. Although this was officially a Kyrghyz production, most of the crew, including myself, were from Moscow, starting with the director, the director of photography, and the art designer. A few weeks into the shoot, Nikita arrived from Moscow to visit his brother and also to hunt the famous and rare mid–Asian ibex.

As Andrei told it, Nikita’s seven hour flight notwithstanding, forty minutes after being greeted by his Kyrghyz fans at the airport, Nikita, slightly drunk and sweating profusely in the summer heat (no air–conditioners in Kyrghyzstan), was dancing the Twist with some local girls at a private party thrown in his honor. Later that day, on set, he consumed more vodka and entertained us with scores of indecent jokes; then spent three days and nights with a local hunting party, chasing the ibex up and down the mountains on foot, returning completely exhausted but happy: he got his game. He was unstoppable!

Even now, in his mid–sixties, Nikita exudes energy and stamina, is exceptionally fit and still loves hunting – his passion second only to movie–making.

Though he was five years younger than me, we were both part of the same bunch of bohemian, fun–loving young filmmakers. One of the decisive factors was that all of us were graduates of the same film school, the one and only VGIK (State Cinema Institute), the alma mater of a large number of Soviet directors, script writers, and cinematographers, who came to Moscow to learn the art of film–making. I don’t know how it is now, but friendships formed back then at VGIK lasted a lifetime. Decades after graduation, Nikita and I continued moving in the same circles, belonging as we do, to the former Mosfilm Studios clan.

In early 1964, Nikita was just an aspiring actor. No one could have predicted that he would become one of Russia’s finest directors. Today, he is, in my view, Russia’s Number One living filmmaker.

Family History, Ancestors

Nikita Mikhalkov was born on October 21, 1945, in Moscow. In the US, he would be called a baby boomer; in the Soviet Union this new postwar crop were solemnly named Children of the Victory. The Mikhalkov family was living in an upscale apartment building on Gorky Street, equivalent, roughly, to Park Avenue in New York, or Champs Élysées in Paris. Nikita’s father Sergei Mikhalkov was at the peak of his fame and social status. He was a very popular children’s poet, and a prominent member of the Soviet cultural establishment.

In 1939, at the age of 26, Sergei received the Order of Lenin, the highest civil decoration in the USSR. As a WWII correspondent for several newspapers, he spent the war sending reports from the front lines, including the battle of Stalingrad. Mikhalkov was awarded three Stalin Prizes for his poetry, and he authored (together with Gabriel El Reghistan) lyrics of the USSR National Anthem (1943). Nikita’s mother, Natalia Konchalovsky, was a well–known and widely published poet, too. She was 45 when Nikita was born.

Nikita’s ancestry, on both his father’s and his mother’s side, is remarkable. His mother was the daughter of Piotr Konchalovsky (1876–1956), an outstanding artist, onetime member of the Knave Of Hearts group, at the forefront of early XX century artistic experimentation in Russia. Unlike his avant–garde contemporaries K. Malevich, V. Tatlin, or M. Chagall, he never showed any interest in left wing politics.

Throughout his entire career, Piotr was painting exclusively flowers, still life and portraits. He spent most of his time in the country, at his estate in the village of Bugry, where, during summer, he would be joined by his extended family.

Piotr was married to Olga, daughter of Vassily Surikov (1848–1916), another famous Russian painter who was born in Krasnoyarsk, Siberia, of Cossack stock.

In 1869, V. Surikov came to St. Petersburg to study painting, and later produced some of the best known and nationally acclaimed historical paintings, now on display at the Russian Museum in St. Petersburg and the Tretyakov State Gallery in Moscow – Russia’s biggest art museums. Incidentally, P.Konchalovsky’s paintings are also prominently displayed in both places.

On his father’s side, Nikita’s lineage is even more impressive. The Mikhalkovs belong to one of the oldest aristocratic names in Russian history. According to historical records, in the first half of the fifteenth century a man called Mark Dimidovich moved from Lithuania to the Russian city of Tver’ to serve the Grand Duke Ivan Mikhailovich. From his decendants, the Kondyrevs, the Mikhalkovs branched out. Konstantin Mikhalkov (died in 1628) became the first postelnichyi (bedroom attendant) of the young Czar Mikhail, the first Czar of the Romanov dynasty. Fyodor Ivanovich Mikhalkov served as regional military commander during the Time of Troubles in the seventeenth century, when Russia was overrun by foreign invaders, and he, unlike many other Russian noblemen at the time, did not betray his homeland.

In Russian state archives and libraries there are around 14 000 pages of documents related to the Mikhalkov family, from the XVII to the XX century. In the city of Rybinsk (120 miles north of Moscow), a local history museum collection largely consists of items that belonged to the Mikhalkovs, including two precious ancient icons that were used to bless newlyweds for nearly three centuries. The Mikhalkov family estate, Petrovskoye was located not far from Rybinsk, now a small provincial town.

Most biographies of Nikita Mikhalkov rightfully point to his background as an intellectual, coming from a family of poets, artists, and scientists. Much has also been made of the fact that Nikita’s family was part of a highly privileged Communist elite, and critics tend to offer this as the main reason for his and Andrei Konchalovsky’s success. The reality is much more complex.

Before becoming privileged, the Mikhalkovs belonged for some time to a persecuted social group of have–beens, and much in the political and cultural attitudes of the two brothers, Andrei and Nikita, can be traced to this fact.

Revolution and War

While half the nobility and rich businessmen had fled Russia after the 1917 revolution and settled in Europe and the United States, tens of thousands not only stayed behind but also went on to serve the new regime. First the military, the officer corps of the old Imperial army. Bolsheviks called them spetzi (specialists, experts), and they provided much needed expertise in warfare and training. Dozens of them became top commanders of the Red Army. As long as Russia survived as an independent nation, constantly faced with external threats – from Germany, Poland, Britain – military men felt their duty was to defend the Empire, no matter under what name or ideology.

The Russian military fully shared the views of Czar Alexander III (1845–1894) who famously told his son, future Nicholas II: Remember, Nicky, Russia has only two genuine allies – her Army and her Navy.

After being defeated in the civil war (1917–1921), the former ruling classes faced a choice: either to remain jobless, without any means of existence, living in fear of arrest and harassment, or join the Bolsheviks. Many chose the latter, especially when it became evident that the Bolsheviks, under the guise of a global communist revolution, were actually pursuing the same old imperial goals. These military and civilian professionals soon became part of the new Russian establishment, the Soviet establishment – often without even joining the Communist Party.

Serving under the new regime, Russian scientists, engineers, and educators of the old school provided valuable cultural continuity. Vladimir Mikhalkov, Nikita’s grandfather, a respected biologist and pioneering researcher in the field of poultry farming was more than willing to work with the new authorities for the benefit of Russia. Still, there were problems.

Bolshevik terror against political opposition did not end with the civil war; it simply acquired new forms. Paranoid suspicion of counterrevolutionary activities, lack of legal protection, and popular resentment against the once privileged classes – all this remained a threat even many years after October 1917.

Moscow, the new capital, (1) was especially dangerous: scores of people, ambitious and unscrupulous, were flooding the city from every corner of the former Empire to seek their fortunes and determined to take advantage of the new regime. Out of self–interest, they would readily report anyone as an enemy of the people – in order to get hold of other people’s property or simply destroy potential competition.

There was an ongoing power struggle at the highest levels of the Communist Party hierarchy, manifesting itself in a series of unpredictable purges. Many innocent people perished in the absence of any independent judicial process. And although Vladimir Mikhalkov was a scholar and a scientist, his and his family’s safety remained a major concern. Having a name like theirs was a risk in itself. So it is hardly surprising that Vladimir decided to leave Moscow with his family in 1927, and go to a remote region in the Caucasus, where he had friends and colleagues and where his skills as a poultry expert were needed and appreciated. In 1932, though, Vladimir decided to send his son Sergei, an aspiring poet, back to Moscow while the family remained in the Caucasus.

Sergei did indeed carve out a brilliant career under the Communists but he first had to alter his family name, pronouncing it with a different emphasis: not Mikh–ALK–ov, but Mikhalk–Ov, which made it sound more common.

Rejecting his aristocratic origins, Sergei started with a clean slate and made full use of his talents and resources. His first collection of poetry for children was published in 1936 and became an instant success. Especially popular were his verses about Diadya Styopa (Uncle Stephen), a kindly and happy Soviet giant who loves and helps children. On that wave of success, during the next three years, Sergei published twenty five various books of poetry. In October 1941, during WWII, the Mikhalkov family was, like many other Moscow families, evacuated eastward, to Alma–Ata, Kazakhstan. All along, fierce battles were raging across Russia, and by September 1943, the backbone of Hitler’s Wehrmacht was finally broken after major defeats at Stalingrad and Kursk. (The author’s family was in Alma–Ata, too, and we came back to Moscow only in 1944, when the German army was in full retreat.) Before returning home, the Mikhalkovs stayed for a year in the town of Ufa, in the Ural Mountains.

"The Anthem Project"

That was when Sergei Mikhalkov and Gabriel El Reghistan, a fellow war correspondent, who he often traveled together with from Moscow to the frontlines and back, heard, by sheer chance, of a competition to write lyrics for a new National Anthem. Before that, USSR used the Communist Party anthem, The International. Although none of them had ever written any songs before, the two friends wasted no time, and their version ultimately became the winner, topping several hundred other entries. Some of these were by famous songwriters and poets. But Stalin really loved the words about Great Rus’, that bonded forever the Union of free republics.

According to historian Nikolai Zlobin, Stalin’s archives contain a full record of how the Anthem was written. It is a fascinating story. Final work was done during two months of 1943 in the Moskva hotel, a high rise structure in downtown Moscow which, during World War II was used as a top security accommodation facility for high ranking military arriving in Moscow and for foreign guests. American author Erskine Caldwell stayed there during his visit to the USSR as war correspondent in 1942.

Mikhalkov and El Reghistan were doing their writing in a specially reserved private lounge of the Moskva Restaurant. They made numerous variations of each chorus and each word, handwritten on small scraps of paper, regularly submitted to supervising authorities and personally to Joseph Stalin for approval. The final version was written by Sergei Mikhalkov on the back of an empty cardboard cigarette box. There is every reason to believe that all those items have been preserved.

The two authors worked in total seclusion and secrecy under the supervision of Army Marshal Kliment Voroshilov, Stalin’s confidante, who was responsible for the Anthem Project. I doubt that the two buddies were allowed to entertain any guests, especially women, although both were known as party animals and ladies’ men. Voroshilov visited them regularly at the restaurant and occasionally took them out to his country mansion to provide some relaxation. They would all get totally plastered! Even though Moscow remained blacked out and under a curfew, life was going on regardless.

There were several musical scores under consideration, written to accompany the lyrics. One, by composer Alexander Alexandrov, was initially intended for the so–called Hymn of The Bolshevik Party. There were other, competing scores, one – by the great Dmitry Shostakovich – and Sergei Mikhalkov later wrote that he thought this was the best of all. Still, Stalin chose Alexandrov’s music.

On several occasions, the latest updated version of the Anthem would be performed by orchestra and choir for a very limited audience, headed by Stalin, at the Bolshoi Theatre at nighttime. This was done to insure that every word was clearly audible, and changes were made frequently, sometimes by Stalin himself. Finally, on December 14, 1943, the definitive text was made official and public. Sergei Mikhalkov at the time was 30 years old.

In 1970, 17 years after Stalin’s death, Mikhalkov was asked to amend the text and to remove Stalin’s name from the Anthem. Later, in 2000, after the USSR ceased to exist, Mikhalkov had to make a third rewrite. For better or worse, the majestic music and much of the old wording that brought tears to the eyes of several generations of Russian people is still with us today.

Stalin’s papers were later, on the orders of Russia’s President Boris Yeltsin, withdrawn from State Archives and placed into the vaults of the Presidential Archive, out of reach to any researcher. One may only assume that it had become too tempting to study and discuss publicly the whole truth about Stalin, not just the horror stories. Stalin the statesman as well as a human being was obviously much more complex and ambiguous than today’s mainstream historians would like us to believe. As said before, the concept of truth is a difficult thing to grasp.

The Mikhalkovs and the Konchalovskys

By the time Nikita was born in 1945, the Mikhalkov household was among the Soviet Union’s most wealthy and prosperous. Sergei Mikhalkov and Natalia Konchalovsky were loyal Soviet citizens and served the regime very well with a clear conscience. Their energy and hard work insured that the family enjoyed a standard of living that was, perhaps, on a par with the top Communist party elite. After the war’s ravages, life in Moscow was slowly improving: food rationing abolished, housing and road construction underway – done largely by German POW’s.

In 1936, Sergei married Natalia Konchalovsky. Ten years older than Sergei, Natalia already had a daughter, Yekaterina (Katya), from a previous marriage, and Sergei adopted the child. Andrei, their first son (and future film director), was born August 20, 1937.

In 1951, the Mikhalkovs built a large and expensive country house, a dacha, near a village called Nikolina Gora (Mount St. Nicholas), 20 miles west of Moscow. In the 1940s, some Moscow intellectuals (writers, composers, musicians) built their summer homes there. At the time, there was only a mud road and a pontoon bridge over the nearby Moskva River. Those who stayed there through winter, would walk across the river on ice. Nikita says that the key quality of the Nikolina Gora population was that most of them grew up and were educated before the 1917 Bolshevik revolution.

Though it may sound as an odd distinction but these products of the old education system were to become true conduits of traditional Russian culture in the radically leftist environment of a Communist system. In their roles as school and college teachers, and also writers, artists, and musicians, they helped preserve the Russian and European heritage, including religious aspects of this heritage through 70 years of ideological indoctrination.

Eventually, Nikolina Gora would become a popular country settlement for Moscow–dwellers with means, and a favorite place for both Andrei and Nikita to work on their film scripts. Although all the properties and assets that belonged to the Mikhalkov family were, after 1917, expropriated by the new regime this did not prevent the hardworking Sergei Mikhalkov from becoming wealthy again. His books for children sold millions of copies and he received hefty royalties. He also received royalties for his theatre plays, which were produced in many theatres across the Soviet Union and other East European states.

In Communist Russia, where all private enterprise was banned and uravnilovka (wage leveling) had been the rule for many years, Sergei was legally a millionaire: one of the very few. This, naturally, caused much envy and resentment among peers and colleagues. His authorship of the National Anthem is still a target of frequent sarcastic and contemptuous comments. Let them laugh, Sergei used to say. My lyrics may be so–so – but they’ll have to listen standing up whether they like them or not! (2)

While enjoying all benefits that Soviet