"I'm going to do an interview with Matveev," he shared his joy with a young journalist colleague. I sensed rather than saw the question in his eyes. My heart sank and throbbed with indignation: not to know such a person! After all, on the example of the heroes played by Evgeny Matveev in Soviet cinema, more than one generation of our people was brought up. How to forget him Makar Nagulnov from "Virgin Soil Raised", commander Sorokin from "Walking on torment", Shapovalov from "High Rank", Zakhar Deryugin from the dilogy "Fate" and "Love on Earth", Kirillov from "Especially important task".

- Haven't you seen " Love in Russian?" - I made allowances for the youth of my colleague.

- This is where the secretary of the regional committee became a farmer and fought against the mafia?

I was relieved. And the current post-perestroika generation knows Evgeny Semyonovich Matveev. So, it has survived the collapse of cinema and the fifth congress of the Union of Cinematographers and other troubles of our unfortunate time. And not only survived, but also was able to create amazing pictures, called folk cinema.

SPARKS from MEMORY

The artist, perhaps, began to manifest itself in me when I had no idea that there was such a profession. There was no place for me to catch this "disease".

His childhood was spent in the steppe village of Chalbasy (now Vinogradov) in the Kherson region. No theater, no radio, no movies... However, among the children, and even among my aunts and uncles, I was known as an "oddball". Often, at the request of fellow villagers, he showed how the collective farm bully walks, how the calf pokes at the mother's udder, how the rooster chases the chicken, how...

In a word, I was making fun of the chalbashchans, but I couldn't bear to sing plaintive songs myself. And I knew a lot of songs, and for some reason they were all very sad. Why?

Probably, because more than once I had to hear about myself: "And tsey is an eccentric-baistryuk...". Baistryuk means illegitimate. So it happened. My mother, Nadezhda Kovalenko, is Ukrainian (she was a beautiful mother), illiterate, and my father, Semyon Kalinovich Matveev, is Russian (the civil war brought him to Tavria), was educated. Soon my father left us. My mother went back to my grandfather's house with me. My God-fearing grandfather did not forgive my mother for her disobedience. No joke: I got married without a blessing, to a communist and without a wedding. Curses, humiliations, insults were heaped on my mother in abundance. My mother proudly and with dignity endured all this only in public, and in private somewhere in a corner, saying:

"You're my child," she cried...

- Evgeny Semyonovich. Why do you have this strength, inflexibility, and truly titanic patience in overcoming difficulties?

"I've lived a very long life. This life had everything. There were ups and downs, victories and defeats. I was surrounded by great friendships and experienced vile betrayals. I have lived a multi-faceted life. And the best thing about it was the army. She made me a strong, patient person. The army taught me how to overcome difficulties. Even when it's unbearable. She brought up in me discipline, a craving for order. And this aura is so strong in me that sometimes those who work with me find it very difficult to tolerate my firmness.

Sparks from memory I think my mother's tears are caked in my baby soul forever. I don't know, maybe that's why even today in my directorial works I defend the honor and dignity of women with all my might. And then I wanted to comfort my mother with a song, and, of course, to my own accompaniment.

"Grandpa, buy me a balalaika," I said warily to Grandpa.

- Zaroby and gry! "so short and simple.

Maybe some people won't believe it - I don't need to, but I started working at the age of nine as a boy. And for myself, I calculate the length of service from now on. It's great to learn to work from a young age.

And there was all sorts of work: I carried water in a barrel to the ploughmen from the village to the field, rode with a rake through the stubble, picked up the scattered rolls of straw, led the horses along the furrow, collected spikelets and other things that were within my strength and beyond.

The main thing is that I earned the balalaika myself.

- Discipline involves strict restrictions. Creativity, as far as I understand, does not tolerate any limits. How is it possible to combine this?

"You need to. This is the same as the current democracy, where freedom is understood as a freedom obludiye. And for me, freedom is freedom of action, but within the framework of discipline, within the framework of obligations. Unfortunately, freedom fell on us so quickly that we were completely unprepared for it. And here we went on a rampage, here we showed how much dirt, cynicism, debauchery, meanness, betrayal there is in our soul. And it all came up on the screen. And it got cheeky. I now think with pain, where did such heroes as a doctor, a collective farmer, a worker go? I recently arrived from Omsk. I talked to the governor Leonid Polezhaev. They don't have a single collective farm or state farm ruined. All farms are working. People work on the land. Yes, it's hard for them. But people do their job. Just like the same workers, miners, teachers, doctors do it. Without receiving a salary for 5 - 6 months, these people continue to work. But they are not shown on the screen. Who took the place of these characters on the screen? Merchants, dealers, prostitutes, racketeers, drug addicts, grabbers. The stuff hit the screens...

Sparks from memory

Immediately, on alert, our cadets, who had not yet graduated to lieutenant, were assigned the rank of sergeant and sent to the front. It was February 1944...

I spent a week idling around, waiting for a new cadet recruit. I couldn't stand it. I came to the head of the guard school, Colonel Akimov, who was already wounded in this war, a kind, intelligent man, with a report-a request to go to the front.

"What's the score?" "What is it?" he asked, and pushed my paper aside without reading it.

"The second one.

"Then you can still put up with it. Here, "he nodded at the bulky folder," they're asking for the fourth and fifth visits... After a pause, he added: There will be an order from the Supreme, allowing course officers to participate in the battle. And now, my son, I ask (he said "please") - help the school."

- And at the same time, you are not like many artists who have run out of bright colors in their creative palette. With all the criticality of your view of the current existence, your films are permeated with love, warmth, the joy of novelty, faith, hope.

"You can't do otherwise. Our life consists of all the colors of the rainbow: light and dark. But they are our own, at all stages of the difficult national history. How can an artist put a creative brush only in black paint? What do we have now-no love, no hope? And the people?! I bow down to them. Yes, some people were confused - they gave up. They don't understand where they are being led, where they are being called - what kind of future they are being driven into. This is where you need to get into the soul of a person and understand how much he is a true patriot. Unfortunately, now there are some who turn the word "patriot" into an extremely abusive expression. The hand of b did not waver, smashed the face in blood, who treats this word so much. Maybe because, having gone through the war, seeing inhuman trials, death, blood, I understand what a patriot is. And so today, bit by bit, looking in my memory for those people with whom I communicated, who caused me a sense of respect, figuratively speaking, I take all these colors and combine them into one to sculpt a person-patriot. Such are my heroes - Shapovalov, who lived his life from a private to a marshal, Deryugin from the film "Love of the Earth". These are people who radiate goodness. They experience happiness from giving. They have a need to make the other person happy. This is my hero Mukhin from the movie "Love in Russian-1" and "Love in Russian-2". But all these heroes do not expect that someone will bring them happiness on a silver platter. They make their own lives. The former secretary of the regional party committee Mukhin, whom I play, was removed under certain circumstances when Gorbachev came. Under Yeltsin, it was pushed even further back. So he went into the country and began to work on the land. He milks cows and raises poultry. Is this not an example to follow? When the punks, the scum who wanted to get the land, fell on him, a warrior woke up in Mukhin. He doesn't give it away so easily. I went to protect the land in all legal and non-legal ways. And protected it. He served time in prison, and the people saw in him a true hero. People saw him as someone who could be trusted with their fate. After all, everything he does, he does not do for himself, but for them.

In Kaluga, after the premiere of the film, and it is known that the film ends with Mukhin being elected governor, people stood up and chanted: "Mukhin is the president."

I am extremely proud that I can say that I have sensed what the people want. He sensed what kind of leader he wanted, to whom he could entrust his fate and life.

Akimov said that forty people were being expelled from the school as incompetent: sick, illiterate and simply negligent, and it was necessary to study with them until the district headquarters ordered... And here in a clumsy, in some kind of ruffled formation are my "grenadiers". They look at me from under their brows, askance: some with a plea for sympathy, some openly despising. I walked along the line, crunching the trampled snow on the parade ground, and thought: "Why should I torment the poor? This one can't pronounce three letters from the alphabet, this one's a stutterer, this one's got no fucking kidneys. This one has urinary incontinence, this one only knows "porridge" and "hang up"in Russian.

- I am your commander, Senior Lieutenant Matveev. Do you have any questions for me?

The "heroes" were silent.

- Tomorrow from the ascent-classes are on schedule! I said. I had no idea that this "tomorrow" would come before the ascent.

"Alert!

- Evgeny Semyonovich, I'll be honest. When after watching the film "Love in Russian" I went out on the street, I did not leave the feeling of some kind of happiness, an irresistible desire to live. And I wasn't alone in that. How do you find that single path to the viewer's heart?

- I'm looking for the shortest path to the viewer. I'm going straight ahead. And then he understands me. I know how difficult it is for him right now. After all, a person has nothing to rely on. He needs to be given air under his wings like a bird. I can't give you a piece of bread. But I can say: you are real, you are strong.

Today we are crying, bowing our heads: help, give us a lift, invite us! And for the sake of some incomprehensible reason, we are losing our own national dignity! After all, in the current pictures of domestic,

if they show the outback, then certainly with drunkenness in the foreground, with the toilets leaning askew... And I try to tell a person about his beauty, the greatness of his soul, the ability to work, laugh and love. And "in Russian", "in Tatar" or whatever else there is-everyone's business. The main thing-without a stone in the shower!

Sparks from memory

Suddenly, as often happened, an inspection from Moscow arrived.

My platoon, called "the first of the fourth company of the first battalion", was tested on the tactics of fighting for a single fighter. We are ordered to camp outside the village at the edge of the forest by nine o'clock in the morning. Barely, kicking and pushing my eagles, I dragged them to their destination...

I, who knew my former cadets by name and patronymic, who is married, whose parents or fiancee are in the territory occupied by the Germans, who receives letters, who is waiting for them, whose parents are alive, whose died... I don't even know their last names. What will happen?! A group of horsemen trotted down from a high-rise building, buried in deep snow...

He introduced himself properly. The general gave a loud command:

- The burnt pine tree has an enemy machine gun. Take short runs forward! and he poked the cadet with his glove:"You!"

The white-browed boy broke out of the formation. Fell. He started to get up, tripped on his rifle belt, and dropped his nose into the snow again...

"You! - the general began to get excited quickly, pointing to the next fighter.

This one, without taking his hands out of the sleeves of his greatcoat, slowly moving his legs, moved towards the "machine gun"...

After four or five such " you " s, the general, not hiding his ferocious temper, shouted::

- Platoon leader-go!..

"Bad!

Such a vile, mocking procedure was performed by the general with the company commander and with the battalion commander.

Colonel Akimov, slightly moving his white lips, said::

"Comrade General, you humiliate me

officers in the face of their subordinates. This is disgusting!..

"This is a special conversation with you, Colonel. And now I order: the platoon commander for marriage to the front - court-martialed! All other officers should be demoted one notch...

- This purity of soul, high moral ideals, if I may say so, are especially characteristic of your frontline generation. Does the war really purify a person, harden them, that this reserve is enough for decades, and no amount of life's vicissitudes can break the core of high humanity?

- I think it's not about the war, but about the people who surrounded us, brought us up, and even in the circumstances. After all, I volunteered for the war - this was the attitude of the guys of my generation: to the front! But I was at that time a student of the school of film actor at the Kiev Film Studio and was considered very educated. And instead of the front, I went to the Tyumen Military Infantry School, after which I was left as a course officer.

Sparks from the memory of the School buzzed. Anyone could have been in my position. Therefore, they talked among themselves, getting hot and openly indignant at the tyranny of the stray general. As I entered the officers ' mess, my comrades jumped up in unison and surrounded me, cheering:

- Why didn't you say anything, because you didn't teach these people and don't know them?

- Write a report to the district commander!..

"What if we let Stalin know?"

"It'll all work out, lads... And everyone was invited to their table, ready to share the last one... I remember-and my heart aches with gratitude: such was the military comradeship. Why have we lost this feeling so much now? Does the soul grow stale?

Valentin Andreevsky, my friend, was sitting alone in a corner. A man of extraordinary beauty, nobility and decency.

- Well, while the court and the case, Zhek! - said in a stretch Valentine, pouring vodka into a faceted glass. They drank it. We had no appetite for pickling salty voentorg mushrooms.

We had another drink.

And another glass. This was not the case with me, and even with him, even though he was ten years older than me. But no hops in either eye.

"Now, Zhek, get some sleep. Morning is more complicated, " said my friend, and we parted.

Unbuttoning my collar and relaxing, I lay down on the cot without undressing...

It was the school that gave me the best qualities. Until now, everyone who surrounded me in the army evokes a sense of great respect. They were real men, very competent people. I was always ashamed in front of the senior commander if I did something wrong, as he asked or demanded. So it is with your subordinates. I didn't drive them half to death, I didn't train them. I couldn't lay a hand on the soldier. He could raise his voice. But he addressed the soldiers, although it was not supposed by the charter, by name: "Volodya, this must be done by morning..." And it was done. When people talk about "hazing" in the army now, I can't understand it. We didn't have anything like it. We could arrange a "dark" for a guilty cadet who failed the entire unit. This is a yes. I remember that we had a hard time with smoking, and one of them gave a blanket for a makhorka. And everyone had to answer. We brought him up with the whole unit, covering him with a blanket. We didn't lose anything else. The relationship between the cadets was truly masculine, comradely. And not only between cadets, but also between officers. Then the officers in the rear were very poorly fed. 3rd norm 6b? terrible, just so you don't have to stretch your legs. And the cadets received allowances according to the 9th norm - there were both butter and white bread. So they helped and fed their commanders. For example, they are allocated a tank of porridge for 10 people. They will put them in a bowl. This is for the commander. The rest is shared. A piece of bread was cut off - to the commander. The rest is for everyone. You look in your nightstand, and there is a bowl of porridge, bread. Tearfully touching. How can you let these guys down? And they won't let you down.

Each of them understands that in 6 months-to fight. So we studied furiously. Not only to protect themselves, but also 30-40 people who will be trusted, to save them, to teach them how to fight.

Sparks from memory Thoughts raced wildly in my head:

"In war, a tribunal is a penal company. Death, then... But it's a dog's death! How will my mother survive such a death? But what about the dreams of an actor's youth: Makar Nagulnov, Martin Idei, Cyrano de Bergerac?.. How do I let my mom know it wasn't my fault?" Someone knocked on the frozen window.

"Who?"

- Comrade senior lieutenant, urgently to the head of the school! - the cadet's voice was heard panting from running.

In the study, Colonel Akimov was sitting at a desk in a caped greatcoat.

Nearby is Major Ivan Nikitich Vovchenko, head of the political department. A sincere person. I announced my arrival.

The colonel came out from behind the desk, came up to me, and hugged me.

"Thank you, son... There will be no court martial... I've explained everything to the inspection ... " and patted me affectionately on the shoulder.

"Soviet Army Day is coming soon," Ivan Nikitich reminded him. "Anything to please you?" ? the major smiled.

Then, I remember, I left the headquarters, looked at the dimly lit Republic Street... and ... that was it...

Woke up in bed this morning. They say that he fell from the stairs into a pile of snow... Drunk...

"One last question... Evgeny Semyonovich, what would you wish to the readers of Orientir?

- To be and remain true male patriots. Russia - we! The nation is us! Yevtushenko has some brilliant words, in my opinion: "Be Russia forever Russia! And don't cry on other people's chests..."

Let's restore Russia to its former glory by helping and protecting each other in times of need.

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