MEMORIES AND REFLECTIONS OF ADA ROGOVTSEVA: On Childhood in Hlukhiv, Angel People, and Warner Brothers

Photo: Performance «Vasya Must Call». Directed by Kateryna Stepankova. Theatre of Drama and Comedy on the Left Bank of the Dnipro.

 

Throughout her long life, Ada Rogovtseva has played in so many films and theatre productions that she has become a beloved actress for three generations of viewers. She still works in the theatre today and admits that performing on stage inspires and heals her. At 23, she was already Honored Artist of Ukraine; at 40, People’s Artist of the USSR; and at 69, Hero of Ukraine.

Her awards are as numerous as her roles. In early May, during the online ceremony of the fourth national film award «Golden Dzyga 2020», Ada Rogovtseva received another recognition — for her contribution to the development of Ukrainian cinema. Yet, during our personal meeting, she astonished me from the very first moment with her openness and the warmth with which she embraced me, a complete stranger.

We spoke about the twists and turns of the 20th century, about acting and human nature, friendship and love. And I thought to myself: «Indeed, the more talented a person is, the simpler they are».

 

ON CHILDHOOD

 

I was born in Hlukhiv, in the Sumy region, into a Russian-speaking Soviet family. My grandmother wore a small pendant on a chain and used to say, «I’ve got a cross here», but when she took it out, it was inscribed «25 Years of Soviet Power».

All of them — my grandmothers, mother, aunt, father, and numerous uncles — were, on the one hand, very grounded people, and on the other, talented and remarkably witty in their own unique way. In short, they were «a bit peculiar».

My father managed to obtain two higher educations before the war, Russified his surname (from Rohovets to Rogovtsev), worked for some time in the Ministry of State Security of the USSR, then escaped from there to become Khrushchev’s bodyguard, and went through the war. He went to the front without ever drinking a drop, but returned home an alcoholic.

 

 

My mother was an angel. She didn’t know how to impose anything. She could never say, «Do it!»—she could only ask. She couldn’t even allow herself to become visibly upset in the presence of another person. Not angry or irritated — just visibly upset. Even that would have seemed inappropriate to her.

She maintained her unique delicacy and composure throughout her whole life — a life that had endured the Holodomor, war, occupation, and postwar devastation, a time when lice and rats were our constant companions and everyone was suspected of being a spy.

During the war, she fed prisoners of war from the camp in Hlukhiv, brought home those who were dying, nursed them back to health, and removed worms from their wounds. That was my childhood, and those were my mother’s best years.

She and I loved reading together until late at night, under the covers, with flashlights.

She had a complex heart defect: it beat louder than the clock in the room. At the age of 54, she passed away.

 

ANGEL PEOPLE

 

When I entered the institute, I was immediately invited to act in a film. Our instructor of stage speech was Polina Moiseivna Nyatko, People’s Artist of Ukraine and one of the leading actresses at the Franko Theatre.

Her subject required a state exam, which couldn’t be passed individually: the entire department would gather, and the whole course had to perform both collective and individual tasks. However, I wasn’t allowed to leave the film set, and I arrived only three days later.

When I approached the notice board, I saw an «excellent» mark next to my name. I burst into tears. Of course, Polina Moiseivna knew I wasn’t skipping class, but her trust deeply moved me.

It was then that my teacher gave me the most important lesson: she inspired me to work hard on my Ukrainian stage speech and to master it «excellently», so as not to betray that trust.

 

 

I studied under Petro Serhiienko, and the second teacher in our course was my future husband — Kostia Stepankov. We fell madly in love with each other, and this shaped both me and my destiny. As Chekhov said, love shows a person who they should become. That’s what it showed me.

Kostia was an extraordinary person: highly talented, educated, curious, passionate, and having endured a lot of suffering. It is a great happiness when you meet such people along your life path. And he brought many talented, intelligent, and passionate individuals into my life.

 

 

There are lines by Lesya Ukrainka:

 

«I set out on my path in early spring,
And softly, timidly began to sing.
Whoever crossed my path, each passing day,
I greeted with a heart sincere and gay:
‘Alone, it’s easy to lose one’s way,
Yet harder when you’re walking in a crowd...»

 

This is about me — except for the «crowd».

 

I don’t recognize collectivism. A collective is the worst thing humanity could have invented. However, it’s true that in any collective there might be someone who can become your angel.

 

VISITING WARNER BROTHERS

 

In the USSR, everyone had to fulfill certain roles according to their status. This is how I ended up as a somewhat forced volunteer on the Peace Committee. You couldn’t refuse — it was an honor! But overall, all those committees were absolute nonsense.

Yet there were positive moments: through them, I met interesting people and several times traveled abroad as part of official delegations. Once we were invited to the USA, selecting one female representative from each republic. The invitation had an implicit intention — to show Americans how silly and tasteless Soviet women supposedly were.

We stayed with the wives of Warner Brothers executives. They all appeared modest at first, dressed entirely in gray — but it was a refined, very expensive modesty. They turned out to be highly educated women, actively involved in significant social and civic work: supporting shelters, schools, cancer patients, and collaborating with universities on publishing books about family relationships, such as «Mother and Young Child», «Mother-in-Law and Son-in-Law», «Mother and Adult Daughter».

Then I thought: when will our society finally understand that people need to be taught basic relationship skills — that you can’t constantly disrespect each other? Our delegation wasn’t made up of empty-headed people, and women quickly find common ground. After four days, our hosts told us: «We’ve become such good friends with you that now we’ll rethink everything and begin promoting the message about how wonderful Soviet women actually are».

 

Of course, it was pleasant to know we represented our country honorably. But the USSR was a land of absolute unfreedom — there should never be illusions about that.

 

CINEMA AND DESTINY

 

In the film Salute, Maria!, I wore keys around my neck — keys to two coffins. In Spain, they bury people in niches, and the family keeps the key. In the movie, I buried my husband and my son — and in real life, I also buried my husband and my son.

When we filmed the scene depicting my son’s death, we opened a bottle of champagne because our director, Iosif Kheifits, was very pleased with how it turned out. But how it actually happened in real life — I’d rather not say. My son had graduated in directing and joined the army after the institute.

In the very first days after the Chornobyl accident, he was sent to Chornobyl — to film footage alongside cameraman Serhii Bordenyuk, who was also serving in the army at that time.

They spent the entire summer traveling to Chornobyl; he even flew directly over the reactor. Perhaps that was why, at the age of 50, he died from lung cancer. The film they shot and edited remains classified, lying somewhere in Moscow.

The footage that didn’t make it into the film ended up tossed aside in the Officers’ Club — miraculously, it wasn’t discarded in the 1990s. Today, Serhii Bordenyuk keeps it, and perhaps one day my grandson will make a film from this material. Kostia and Serhii never even received Chornobyl certificates.

Their work remained anonymous and unneeded by anyone. When Svetlana Alexievich’s book Chernobyl Prayer: A Chronicle of the Future was published, I practically «devoured» it. And it became very clear to me why this book received the Nobel Prize. Everything in it is simple and truthful!

 

 

ON FRIENDSHIP AND CLOSENESS

 

Platonov wrote: «Every heart is unlike any other: one, having received kindness, turns it entirely to serve its own need, while another is capable even of melting down evil and transforming it into a force for good — for itself and for others».

He also said that «it is not necessary to possess the object of your love; what matters far more is to feel it as a permanent resident of your heart».
The people who live in my heart knew how to transform everything into good.

One of them is Yura Yakutovych — a graphic artist, an academic, a great man. His son and grandson were also artists — incredibly talented, truly unique.

 

With Ivan Mykolaichuk, we were like family. He used to call me «Pekeltse» — that’s how he translated little Ada.

 

Besides our kindred spirits and shared circle, we were united by our deep love for our families: Ivan adored his mother and relatives, and I loved my mother and my kin. Wherever we met, we would chatter like two mother hens.

 

 

Ivan suffered terribly as he died from cancer. When he first started falling ill and refused to go to the hospital, Marichka, Ivan’s wife, called and asked me to persuade him. I came, tried to talk him into it, and Ivan lifted his shirt: «Pekeltse, look!» — and his body was already gone… I did manage to convince him to go to the hospital, but he never returned to a healthy life…

There was a remarkable openness between us. With many men — and this becomes especially noticeable as we grow older — the concept of gender fades away. What remains is simply the human being.

We communicate through our human essence. That’s how it was with Ivan, and we loved each other deeply. I said goodbye to him a few hours before his death, when he was already unconscious, holding his bare foot in my hand. The day before, I had written:

 

*«Ivan is dying. What are we to do?
‘Breathe warmth upon my heart, ignite
The life in me, forbid death’s bitter truth,’ —
That’s what he’d say, but now he’s silent, mute.
And now his mind no longer heeds
The laws of life — he’s crossed beyond the line.
Yet still, as he lies dead, his gaze proceeds:
While you still breathe — advise, help, offer sign.
Shevchenko’s son, Ivan! Let there be wonder —
Gallop through on a fiery steed,
From horseback give a smile, wry, yet tender,
To everyone on earth… and me in need.
Still living, we speak for the last time…
You — unfathomable, and yet so clear,
Leave us your final, truest sign:
Where did you find the strength to bear that cross alone, in fear?
You’ve borne it now. You fold your radiant wings,
And give yourself to timeless depth and sky…
We failed. Strangers. So we couldn’t bring
Enough of love to keep you whole, to keep you nigh.
And all night long the rain drums down,
So grey, so mournful. The sky weeps, drenched.
Leap over death, Ivan, leap and astound!
Rise, my dearest! Rise, my Cossack, unquenched…»*

(Translated in poetic form to preserve the emotional and rhythmic integrity of the original.)

 

 

ON THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN DIRECTOR AND ACTOR

 

There must be love between a director and an actor. The great English theatre and film director Peter Brook once said: «Art is not about sweat and angry grimaces».

Iosif Kheifits, who directed me in the film Salute, Maria!, was not only highly professional but also a very caring director.

At 6 in the morning, while I was getting my makeup done, he would sit next to me and work through the scene with me, preparing me for the role. And I was just a young actress with the lead part. He never left my side — we breathed together. When you encounter directors like that, the actor gets the feeling: «But it was all my idea, I did it all myself».

 

 

Or take, for instance, Roman Viktiuk. Once, my birthday happened to fall on the same day as a rehearsal. The rehearsal went wonderfully, all the actors were in high spirits. Romka shouted to me: «Well, what kind of birthday gift did I just give you?» And I replied: «Exactly the one I hinted I wanted!»

That’s love — love between a director and an actor. But when it turns into: «Come here, you don’t know your lines, you’re fat, you’re old», — then nothing will come of it.

After all, during rehearsals, Mykhailo Romanov often didn’t know his lines. Bohdan Stupka didn’t know them. And someone else might know the text perfectly well but comes in and rattles it off without any feeling, without passing it through the heart, the soul, even a kidney — and it ends up being just bad literature read out loud.

 

THE FILM «ETERNAL CALL»

 

For its time, the film was quite revolutionary — one segment about the year 1937 was even forced to be reshot because it came out far too anti-Soviet. We used to call it The Eternal Cart, since filming went on for over ten years. After the first part, there was a four-year break while the author wrote the continuation.

 

From a political and historical perspective, the novel has its flaws, but what makes it truly strong is how vividly the characters are written — you just want to jump in and play them.

 

The directors were two brothers: Volodymyr Krasnopolsky and Valerii Uskov. They worked as if they were one person. One day, the first would shoot, and the next day — the other, but we never noticed any difference.

I didn’t look anything like the heroine physically, and at the time of filming I was 35, but that often happens in cinema: someone sees you in a film, tells someone else, and then a third person gets the idea. The author Ivanov heard about me somewhere, watched something, and said: «Yes. That’s her».

 

THE NATURE OF THE HUMAN BEING

 

Of all the concepts about human nature — from Aristotle to later thinkers who tried to define what it means to be human—the one closest to me is John Locke’s: a person is a «blank slate».

On one hand, a person writes on that slate themself and chooses what to write. Genetics plays a role, of course, but every family can give an example of how children from the same parents can turn out completely different. My two brothers and I were not only different in our fates, but also in our characters and ways of thinking.

On the other hand, God also writes on that slate, tossing in “random” circumstances. Why, for example, did Bulgakov’s Berlioz end up under the tram?

I’m not a religious person, but I do believe that no matter how you twist and turn, some forces interfere in the course of life events. I’ve lived many years, and I can say for certain: many things happen beyond our control. There are some patterns in the structure of the world. But how do we make sense of them?

 

 

I am a happy person for one reason alone: God gave me a positive perception of the world. I’ve always been able to let go of a situation, no matter how hard life hit me, and in the most difficult moments, I knew: this must be endured — for the sake of something greater.

 

ГЛАВНОЕ ДЛЯ АКТЕРА — УМНЫЙ РЕЖИССЕР

 

A play or a film is the director’s creation — they see the whole picture. An actor’s performance is only one part of that whole. Perhaps the most important part, but still just a part. A good director doesn’t simply use the actor functionally, but also engages the creative potential of their personality

 

If an actor is a talented individual, then the most important thing for them is to work with an intelligent director.

 

As soon as the director is at a lower level, the struggle begins: the actor has to twist and bend to avoid lowering their own standard. If the director is less talented, they will try to make the actors conform to their limitations.

A talented and intelligent director draws the actor into co-creation. Sometimes it involves cunning, even deception, but always for the greater good. This does not diminish the director’s leading role in the process.

 

 

But this applies to truly talented and experienced actors. For craftsmen, the main thing is to obey the director — because when people who are only moderately gifted in talent and intellect start doing their own thing, everything falls apart.

 

BETWEEN THEATRE AND FILM

 

Today, at my age and in my state of health, theatre feels closer to me. I sometimes tell the guys: «How will I heal if I don’t have a performance?»

Yesterday, I could barely make it to the stage, but the performance turned out to be one of the best in a long time, and by the time I got home, I felt wonderful. That professional focus, that full dedication — it truly restores the body. What will happen to me if I can’t go on stage anymore?

But I love cinema for entirely different reasons. I simply adore being on a film set. Though it’s a completely different process: you have to switch in two or three minutes and hold the entire role in your head. I ended up in the final scene of Taming of the Fire by chance: I came to shoot a completely different film, but they grabbed me, did my makeup, and shot the scene.

To enter a role quickly requires intense concentration — and you can’t achieve that without intellect. Why are our TV series so often criticized? Because they lack the main thing — intelligence. And there’s no time, neither for the director nor for the actors, to fix the mediocrity and flatness.

But average actors don’t think about that, so they just shoot as is. That’s why, for anyone intelligent — actor or viewer — series are trash.

 

 

ON REGRETS

 

I have no right to complain: I’ve played many roles. Most actors’ careers end very early, but mine has been long — I performed yesterday, and I’ll perform tomorrow. But I do regret not having the qualities and the talent that would have allowed me to do it better.

My husband, Kostia Petrovych Stepankov, used to say about his work in cinema: «There are things that are shameful to watch, and others that aren’t too shameful». It’s rare not to feel some disappointment, that something didn’t quite work. Just recently I was on set, we were filming a big, important scene.

But I wasn’t feeling well and only engaged at 20%, not 100%. When I watched the footage — disappointing. But you can’t redo it, can’t reshoot it. As Ranevskaya said: «The spit into eternity has already been made». Maybe they’ll fix it in editing, and the viewer won’t notice — but I know.

 

This happens often: sometimes you can’t give your best, sometimes your health doesn’t allow it. But you can’t dwell on regrets. Still, there’s no use fooling yourself either.

 

ON THE QUALITY OF ACTING EDUCATION

 

Stagecraft is taught very poorly in Ukraine. And it has been for a long time. And it keeps getting worse… There have been exceptions: Tolya Skybenko, Leonid Oliinyk, Valya Zymnia, Edik Mytnytskyi, and Mykola Rushkovskyi, who taught our Russian-language course until the very last days of his life.

He was an extraordinarily cultured person, a natural-born teacher, and he brought talented young instructors into the institute. For example, Ihor Slavinskyi trained several classes under Rushkovskyi’s mentorship. But unfortunately, all of them — are now history. Today, Dima Bohomazov teaches there.

Lesha Lisovets has taken on an acting course, and I’m glad about that. He truly knows the craft, knows how to work with actors, and how to teach the actor’s trade.

But there shouldn’t be exceptions in the institute: there simply shouldn’t be bad or accidental hires. Because what usually happens? Someone fails to succeed in film or theatre — and ends up teaching. In reality, they cripple both the students and the profession for years.

 

 

I repeatedly told our former Minister of Culture, Yevhen Nyschuk, that something had to be done about the institute. But it turns out the matter is more within the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Education and other bureaucratic bodies. A swamp, in short. So everything remains stagnant.

That’s why there is no true acting school in Ukraine. And we desperately need one! We are drowning in amateurism, which masquerades as professionalism and degrades the craft. Because even the most talented people still need a school. And as for actors with ordinary abilities — without one, they have no chance at all. Sometimes someone has only moderate talent, but in the hands of a good teacher, they absorb knowledge and begin to create truly remarkable work.

 

 

ON STATE SUPPORT

 

I believe that science, culture, and art must be supported by the state. And it is the state that should create favorable conditions for patronage. Otherwise, nothing will happen. It is practically impossible to stage a performance or make a film on your own.

This is production! You have to earn money doing something else and invest your own funds. I have a half-ruined house in the village — I could have built three houses there, but instead, we give what we have so that something can happen, so that we have the chance to keep going—to stage, to perform, to continue our professional work.

There is audience demand for what we do — our halls are full. But launching something new is becoming harder and harder. In city theatres, I work for free — otherwise, they’ll cut my pension. That’s the law…

 

 

All of this, of course, is wrong. When creative people can’t earn a living, they become beggars, start serving ideology, and work on commission. Bohdan Stupka used to say: «Only birds sing for free».

But I’d also like to see businesspeople supporting science, art, and culture. Right now I’m reading a book by Osho, and he writes that when you reach a certain point, things become very boring. Because if business doesn’t make a social contribution, then that kind of business has very little meaning.

 

ON BELOVED AUTHORS

 

Nature has determined that old age is a time for observation and reflection. These days, I’m deeply immersed in Ukrainian literature. I’m discovering names I had previously overlooked. For example, Ihor Rymaruk — a unique poet, and to my shame, I only learned about him after his death.

I read everything that gets published: Myroslav Dochynets, Oksana Zabuzhko, Taras Prokhasko, Vasyl Shkliar, Maria Matios, Yurii Vynnychuk, Andryusha Kurkov, Yurii Izdryk, Serhii Osoka, Marianna Savka, Kateryna Babkina, Dzvinka Tarokhtushko, Olha Perekhrest, Serhii Zhadan.

The fact that Serhii Zhadan was shortlisted for the American literary award «2020 PEN» — is completely deserved!

 

 

And, of course, the eternal names: Franko, Kotsiubynskyi, Stefanyk. I return to them and keep discovering things I hadn’t known or noticed before. But the dearest to me has always been Lesya Ukrainka — a girl crippled by tuberculosis, confined to a chair, who never attended a single educational institution.

By style, linguistic richness, the scale of her personality, and her stoicism, she stands above all others for me. It was Lesya who defined the core problem of Ukraine — still relevant today: «Enslavement is all the more vile when it is voluntary».

 

A WORLD WITHOUT WAR

 

It’s an intriguing field for scholars and philosophers to explore. I don’t know what kind of upbringing people must receive, what level of consciousness, what divine grace must descend upon everyone for wars to end. My great-grandson is now one year and three months old, and he already has the impulse to grab a nose hard enough to rip it off.

And yet, he is the gentlest creature, a little dandelion. There is a certain innate thirst for aggression in humans. Only the mind can teach people kindness. The mind — and nothing else. However much of it one is granted, it must be used to the fullest.

 

MEMORIES OF THE 20TH CENTURY

 

The 20th century is a mosaic filled with both spiritual heights and utter depravity. It was the century of my beloveds—Stefanyk, Oles, Pasternak, Tsvetaeva, Akhmatova, Mandelstam, Kurbas, Tairov, Meyerhold — but also of Hitler and Stalin.

Much of what I witnessed, I overlooked, and learned about only much later. Vasyl Stus, Alla Horska — they are my deep pain. And my guilt. Passive, but still guilt. Perhaps that’s why I now feel such a strong need to know everything about my time, to be actively involved in everything happening in my country.

 

 

This century, to me, is about discovery. At 82, I am an exception. Many of my peers, even intelligent ones, have closed themselves off in the past — and that is something one must never allow. I can’t understand the computer programs your generation uses without even thinking.

I started living in a world without washing machines, phones, or refrigerators. Once, during a tour in Israel, I saw a boy walking and talking to his mother on a mobile phone for the first time. My life stood still in that moment! Today, I understand that there is so much I can no longer grasp.

But I have enormous respect for this century and its progress, and great respect for the younger generation. And enormous sorrow that they lack enough opportunities for real action. I believe in our youth and their strength: they know how to work — with both their minds and their hands.

 

АНКЕТА МАРСЕЛЯ ПРУСТА 

 

Your most prominent character trait?

Flexibility. I can’t stand arguments or conflict.

The qualities you value most in people?

Kindness.

A trait you value in men?

A man who serves his children. That’s where you find tenderness, romance, and diligence.

A trait you value in women?

Wise patience.

Your greatest flaw?

That same flexibility.

Your favorite activity?

I love everything related to nature and life itself.

 

I find joy in the first snowdrop pushing through the snow, and in the moment the last leaf falls.

 

Your idea of happiness?

I used to say I had two moments of happiness: when my son was born and when my daughter was born. But then came a grandson, then a granddaughter, then another grandson, and now a great-grandson.
So now, I’ve had six moments of happiness.

Your idea of misery?

I know the greatest misery — the loss of a child.

Who would you be if not an actress?

A journalist, a bad poet, or an agronomist — I love the land and animals.

Where would you live if not in Kyiv?

Anywhere. For example, Los Angeles.

If you could go back in time, what would you change?

I would change what can’t be changed — so, nothing.

Your most vivid childhood memory?

My mother’s New Year’s tree during wartime curfew in our occupied home.

 

She chalked footprints on felt boots to make it look like Father Frost had visited. I was five years old.

 

What event changed your life the most?

The birth of my son. That’s when I started counting my life.

Your favorite animal?

I’ll tell you my least favorite — a white rat that always lived on my son’s shoulder. He had a black cat and a white rat.

Your favorite writers?

I love the Ukrainian poet Yurko Izdryk — he amazes me every day.

Your definition of love?

To love — and nothing more. Love either exists or it doesn’t.

A film that touched you the most?

After the war, we watched trophy films with Deanna Durbin. Around us was cold, torn sleeves, rats. And suddenly, among all that misery—white gowns with trains, Deanna’s bicycle, spring in bloom.
My soul opened to something bright and mischievous, and I thought: «So this is possible». It was hope.

What flaws do you tolerate most easily?

I forgive lies told for good.

Are there any historical figures you hate?

Hitler, Stalin — they are born of hell and cannot be compared to anyone.

A talent you lack but wish you had?

Playing piano and painting. I wasn’t gifted with either.

Do you trust strangers?
Yes, unfortunately. In my youth, I was often deceived due to inexperience.

 

I still make mistakes, but now it’s because I’ve lived a long life, learned a lot, and every stranger seems familiar to me.

 

Is life more about chance or destiny?

For me — more about chance. At first, there were happy accidents I didn’t even have time to grasp, and then came completely different ones. Chornobyl was one such accident — and it led to the death of my son.

Your favorite quote?

«It is not necessary to possess the object of your love; what matters far more is to feel it as a permanent resident of your heart».

 

All photos — from the personal archive of Ada Rogovtseva

Exclusively for Huxley

 

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