In my youth, I thought I could become an actor.
Fortunately, the Jewish mother, who rarely saw me, but did not believe in my everyday prospects for a broken penny - convinced me that no.
For two reasons.
1. The boy (i.e. I) is openly ugly, if not "caricaturedly ugly."
2. The future actor must still pronounce the letter "P".
Through one generation, I found out that.
A) The appearance for the actor does not have (such). With any exterior, you can - in the presence of acting acting - find your niche, albeit the narrowest.
B) not only dentistry, but also speech therapy in the world moved far ahead.
And after two generations - realized that my mother was right. The actor, according to Jung, is my shadow. And in search of the self, which embodies the life task, you do not need to become a shadow. Otherwise - a temptation, he is a devilish temptation.
But between generations I seriously kumak, whom I would play. Right on the stage. And to remember - for good.
One day it succeeded. I played on an absolutely professional scene. In theater workshops on a passionate (?) Boulevard. The director Mikhail Mokeev. Which I knew almost from childhood. For then-in the perestroika haze of the incomplete end of the 1980s-he looked at his performance “Emigrants” (according to Gloromir Mrozhek) in the theater-studio “Man”. Initially, the project was some kind of underground and generally almost secret, and in the suddenly freed Soviet media (the words “media” did not know then, it was believed that it was a Georgian surname of the “Nidia” type) it was called “Mokeev’s performance staged outside the walls of a professional theater”.
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