Rimma Zyubina – 55. A major anniversary interview – about money, politics, and problems that can no longer be hidden behind the scenes

In the first part of the major anniversary interview, actress Rimma Zyubina talked a lot about herself, about family and loved ones, about work and her departure from the Molodyi Theatre. But the story of one, even an outstanding, actor is always somewhat larger than their personal path. Because behind the scenes there are rules that were considered normal for years and that today need to be reconsidered.

The second part of the conversation will address harassment, relationships between teachers and students, contracts, salaries, unions, competition, and titles. Zyubina speaks about all of this remarkably directly. And also about what Ukrainian theater should be after the war and why the old system can no longer simply be “touch‑up painted.”

photo: Stanislav Gruzdev, glavcom.ua

“The world is changing; now we can speak about harassment publicly. And this is a problem not only for the theater community.”

With your permission, a bit more about Andrii Bilous. The director and former head of the Molodyi Theatre has been in pretrial detention for almost a year. We all remember that 46 people from the company rose up against him, but the investigators, apparently, still lack the evidence to bring the case to court. How do you assess this story today, when emotions have calmed, personnel decisions have been made, and you can look at everything more calmly?

I believe the investigation must work, but I’ll repeat: I am categorically against this case, due to provocations, turning into something political. There is no politics or persecution here.

At the same time, people with signs reading “37” stood in his support at the trial (a reference to Stalin’s “Great Terror” – “Glavcom”).

Public scandals related to harassment in the arts community, unfortunately, now happen often. Actor and teacher Volodymyr Talashko finally resigned from the Kyiv National I. K. Karpenko-Kary Theatre, Cinema and Television University after accusations of a sexual nature, but law enforcement never established his guilt. Teacher and actor of the Lesia Ukrainka Theater Davyd Babaiev was accused only after his death. In such situations, where, in your opinion, is the right line between justified outrage and the presumption of innocence?

But how do you prove guilt? In our society the topic of harassment was generally never raised. In our culture a woman has always been blamed for everything. You wore a short skirt – you’re guilty. You put on red lipstick – guilty…

Did you yourself feel any hints of the phenomena we are painfully discussing now?

I did. There was a circumstance: I was already a married woman (Rimma Zyubina married director Stanislav Moiseev in 1994, and in 1997 she came to work at the Molodyi Theatre – “Glavcom”). But even then I felt…

How did you react? Maybe give advice to young actresses.

I was simply embarrassed when a person fell to his knees, embracing my legs. I said: “Have fear of God, I’m a married woman.” Such things are usually unplanned and unrehearsed. When a situation happens unexpectedly, you become embarrassed.

There were other situations in my youth. For example, when a taxi driver started taking me the wrong way or when I was on a train with drunk men in the same compartment. I had to twist my ring to show I was married. I was afraid and didn’t sleep the whole night. How could I prepare for that? These are things you don’t tell anyone, because in our society that’s how it was accepted.

And that is why I cannot agree that in such situations the majority should decide. If the Molodyi Theatre had been decided by majority vote, nothing would have changed: 96 people from the company said “it’s okay,” and only 46 disagreed. Not every majority is right. Socrates was a good man — so where was the majority? The burning of redheads in the Middle Ages? If the majority had decided then, we wouldn’t be sitting here.

But the world is changing, and now at least we can speak about harassment publicly. And this is a problem not only for the theater environment.

My sister is a research associate. She became the first candidate of technical sciences in the Zakarpattia region. She graduated from the chemistry faculty and has worked at the Institute for Nuclear Research since 18, teaching engineering sciences. And even she was treated contemptuously: “Oh, so Laryska became a candidate? We know how women become candidates.”

Not every majority is right. If the Molodyi Theatre had been decided by majority vote, nothing would have changed: 96 people from the company said “it’s okay,” and only 46 disagreed.

But the theater has its own specifics. Last year in an interview with Glavcom actor and teacher of the Karpenko-Kary University, People’s Artist Oleksii Bohdanovych admitted that after these scandals he gave up individual lessons with female students to avoid unfounded accusations.

In this field the relationship with a teacher is different. He is even called not a “teacher” but a “master.” From the very first year this person is like family to you.

Many girls entering theater school simply want to be an actress; they haven’t seen plays before, they came to a big city where they know no one. Such a girl trusts the master. And he might say: “Let’s make you a photograph with a bare shoulder. Let’s show the breasts — it’s art!”

When you don’t expect it and you feel ashamed, you can’t immediately assess what’s happening… Now I can speak about it calmly, but in the early years of study I was also frightened.

My classmates and I used to go to the home of Dmytro Semenovych Chaikovskyi (professor of the department of theater directing at the Kyiv National University of Culture and Arts, Rimma Zyubina’s master – “Glavcom”) and his wife Valentyna Tymofiivna. We had conversations, tea, cakes — it was a completely different atmosphere. Dmytro Semenovych came to my debut in Uzhhorod, attended all my premieres in Kyiv while he was alive. But perhaps someone invites you for a very different purpose. And you go not knowing what to expect.

photo: Stanislav Gruzdev, glavcom.ua

“There are theater companies where a person doesn’t go on stage for two months but still gets paid.”

Let’s move to the Zankovetska Theater in Lviv, where you now work actively. The loud story of Honored Actress Valentina Matsialko again raised the issue of treatment of older-generation actors. The actress reported mobbing (workplace harassment to force someone to quit) and a cut to half pay by the new general director, Maksym Holenko. Where is the truth in this story?

I would not call Valentina an actress of the older generation (Valentina Matsialko is 52 years old – “Glavcom”).

I respect Valentina for saying all this not in smoke rooms and corridors, but openly. She considers it necessary to speak out. This is her position and she expresses it frankly.

In every theater, for example in Germany, a new artistic director who won the competition has the full right to bring the troupe he wants and provide them with roles and salaries. For each actor the pay should differ — depending on role difficulty and number of stage appearances. Those who worked before must also be provided for.

For this a proper contractual system should involve three ministries: culture, economy, and social policy. Also — necessarily lawyers.

Of course, we understand that at 50 years you’re unlikely to go look for a new job. In such a situation, the city also matters: in some cities you may have prospects, in others you don’t.

Overall, how would you propose reforming labor relations in arts institutions? What should a fair model look like?

The law adopted in 2016 envisaged that theaters should move to a contract system. The first step is competitions for the posts of artistic director and director.

In the old Soviet scheme, when the director handled finances and the chief director handled productions and finding plays, there were many problems because these people did not always work as a tandem. One could spend money on one thing while the other lacked funds for productions (though a theater should be about theater, not someone’s new dacha paid for with those funds).

Now these positions are combined. There were examples of successful anti‑crisis managers who effectively combined the roles of artistic director and director with a good deputy — it’s absolutely possible. But I remember a period when Stanislav Anatoliyovych (Moiseev) handled everything: from casting to buying mops and detergents. That takes an enormous amount of time, and you need to understand both debits and credits and an explication of a play. We found that there are not many people in the country who can combine both directing and managerial functions.

The second step of reform should concern the actors themselves. I am in favor of the European system, when a director comes to a theater competition and proposes a concept and repertoire policy for the next five years. Winning the competition, they approve the repertoire and an approximate budget and determine which actors they want to involve. Then an actor sees what is being offered for the next five years and can consciously choose: to perform almost every evening or to live by the sea and do a few shows a month.

About salary. I would do it like this: for all actors the base salary would be roughly 10 thousand UAH. Additionally, each receives pay per appearance, per role, for contribution to a production, for their name. You play Hamlet — plus 5 thousand UAH per performance; an episodic role — 500 UAH; tours that bring income — the rate doubles.

At the same time the theatrical system still doesn’t account for the realities of war. The Kherson theater works in a school building. The Mariupol troupe is effectively dispersed: part of the company works in Uzhhorod, part in other Ukrainian cities or lives abroad. In contrast, the Uzhhorod theater can work fully — performances on the large stage, the chamber stage, a space under the stage, and even outdoors. Despite these different conditions, there are still standardized work plans and “norms” — almost an equalizing approach. For example, a young actor (second category) must perform over 20 shows per month. In frontline towns performances often occur only on weekends — nobody accounts for that. And as in Odesa, I know, you can be standing on stage waiting for a show to start and there’s an air raid alert for three hours and the performance is canceled. So which “norms” and number of performed shows should be considered?

The Ministry of Culture should try in at least three theaters of different types — say, a puppet theater, a national theater, and a municipal theater — to introduce differentiated pay and see how it works. In film it’s simple: if you didn’t shoot today, you don’t get paid. I don’t go to a producer, even if he’s a close friend, asking for money just because I am an actress. Meanwhile there are theater companies where a person doesn’t go on stage for two months but still receives a salary.

Another bad practice is hiring four young actors for one position. They receive only a quarter of the salary. Rent, food, transport, books, master classes — with a quarter of an actor’s wage that’s impossible. Because of theater commitments, young actors can’t even take extra film work to earn. Senior actors’ salaries grow thanks to longevity bonuses and honorary titles. That is why most of my colleagues view “titles” positively.

There are not many people in the country who can combine both managerial and creative functions.

We’ll return to the titles you refuse. What other systemic problems in film and theater do you see as an actress and former casting director?

The absence of a union.

What’s the problem with creating one?

The lack of solidarity. If we agree on certain rules of the game — for example, not dropping below a set fee — then everyone must follow them. Often you defend your role and your conditions, then find out a colleague agreed to the same role for a third of the fee. The reason is simple — fear of losing work or being put on producers’ “blacklists.”

Surprisingly, you speak not like a typical respectable actress but like a progressive producer. Producers praise the Western theater system that foresees creating a team exclusively for a project where an actor is employed for six months or a year… Our post‑Soviet repertory theater such producers call an anachronism.

And I’m already a bit of a producer.

In fact, Ukraine has a unique opportunity to combine repertory and project theaters. For example, America doesn’t have repertory theaters — they work project by project. In Europe both models coexist.

A repertory theater gives a stable budget and thus the possibility not to reduce everything to entertainment but to fulfill an educational mission, to perform deep material on which an actor professionally grows. Meanwhile project theaters operate differently: there’s a grant for a specific project, it’s played a certain number of times — and the story ends.

We could combine these two models and invent our own. Instead, today we develop neither. As a result, even repertory theater increasingly sliding into mere wage earning.

If you get a managerial, producing position, actors won’t love you…

Of course they won’t. You know why I closed my actor agency? Because at some point I suddenly saw an unpleasant side of character in my clients and colleagues. I decided I didn’t want to be disappointed in them, and while it wasn’t too late I folded the work.

Is this about Mark Drobot?

No. Drobot and I still work together (at the Zankovetska Theater – “Glavcom”). He actually left the Molodyi Theatre because roles ran out. But Drobot is wonderful. I saw him as a first‑year student and said right away: “This guy will be a star.”

photo: Stanislav Gruzdev, glavcom.ua

“I work as a sole proprietor and pay taxes.”

Direct questions from Glavcom readers: what is actress Rimma Zyubina’s fee?

I love that girl who walks down the street asking how much someone needs for a comfortable life (this refers to blogger Angelina Pichyk, former host of the sanctioned channels of Yevhenia Murayeva – “Glavcom”). I had an incident with her: she cut from an interview my words that it is immoral to speak about a “comfortable life” now when people lose their homes, jobs, and everything daily.

What is comfortable life for me? It’s when I hear the needs of volunteers and can immediately meet them: the guys need a car, a child needs treatment — I take the money and instantly help. That is comfortable life for me.

At the Zankovetska Theater I work half time and receive about 15 thousand UAH. I travel to Lviv at my own expense; the theater provides housing. I have four productions in the repertoire, but during rehearsals and premiere runs I am in Lviv.

Everything else is projects. I work as a FOP (sole proprietor) and pay taxes.

For the same job I can get 4 thousand UAH, or I can get 40 thousand UAH. For film you can earn $10 thousand, and then not shoot for two years at all. For example, I didn’t shoot for a long time, then went to Georgia and filmed in an Israeli movie. When the next shoot will be — unknown.

Once a female producer wrote me: “Rimmichko, your auditions were so good. What’s your fee?” I answered:

– I recently shot in a foreign film and received 900 euros per shooting day.

– That’s painful.

– I do 90% of other work for free.

– That’s closer to our budget.

– Then let’s look for a compromise between those zeros.

I’m absolutely flexible in that sense. For example, I recently appeared in a video for the Veterans’ Theater — it never occurred to me to ask for money. Where I know the funds are there I can speak about a fee.

Rimma Zyubina: “For me, comfortable life is instantly closing volunteers’ needs.”

photo: Stanislav Gruzdev, glavcom.ua

Readers also worry whether you repaid the debt you mentioned in one interview?

Yes, I repaid it. I took a loan for the first time. Not from a bank, but from my girlfriends. I borrowed to buy an apartment in Kyiv. Those girlfriends remained girlfriends (laughs).

“I can run for any office I want, in any election”

You once said you had an offer to run for mayor of Uzhhorod from former Head of the President’s Office Andrii Yermak. We won’t ask again about Yermak, whom fate connected to you in the film business. But we will ask: have you received other offers from politicians?

Yes. Since 2004 I’ve received various offers from different parties to enter their top five. I am an active person from the arts. Politicians have their idea of what such a top five should look like: among leaders a serious man and… a not‑serious actress, but also dressed in a serious gray suit.

My friends and I recently joked: I posted a photo with the caption “Uzhhorod, hold on!” or “Hold on, I’ll be there tenfold.” They said: “Zyubina, you went too far joking, because this mayor has annoyed everyone in Uzhhorod so much that people in hair salons say: ‘Oh, let Zyubina be mayor. At least she’s one of us. It can’t get worse than now.’”

Rimma Zyubina: “Mostly I have negative experiences with politicians.”

screenshot from Rimma Zyubina’s Facebook page

In general, the offers I have are the same as any Ukrainian citizen’s. I can run for any office I want, in any election.

But, you’ll agree, not everyone gets invited into the top five…

Those were invitations not from famous parties. In 2014, for example, two newly formed parties invited me, but they didn’t make it to parliament. Those were the guys I met when I was pouring tea and broth on Maidan.

Why haven’t you accepted any political offer so far?

There’s no offer I couldn’t refuse.

I think a huge mistake of our politicians is that they only believe in themselves, as if they are God. But one should go into politics as a team.

I think Ulyana Suprun did very well, no matter how much mud was thrown at her. She managed to change something precisely because she came with a team and wasn’t a Soviet person (Ulyana Suprun headed the Ministry of Health in 2016–2019; together with her team she started medical reform, which became a subject of sharp public and political dispute – “Glavcom”).

However, mostly my experience with politicians has been negative.

Tell us about one of the incidents.

Once I hosted a student song concert where Mayor Omelchenko was supposed to attend (Oleksandr Omelchenko headed Kyiv in 1998–2006 – “Glavcom”). Until the last minute we didn’t know if he came. We started the concert and suddenly I see the backstage organizer, a city hall employee, wildly gesturing. I go out to her and she’s barely conscious: “I beg you, Omelchenko came and you didn’t say this concert happened thanks to him… ‘Thanks to him these people learned note reading, thanks to him they were even born!’ (she parodies, jokes) They’ll fire me!”

Another time I hosted a concert for the tenth anniversary of an orphanage near Yanukovych’s estate. I knew the institution well, I helped them and once even wanted to adopt a child from that orphanage. For the anniversary the president gifted them a pigeon coop. So after school and clubs the children had to clean up after pigeons. A great gift — as if from the Almighty to me, unsuitable.

Before the concert I go into the room of the “high officials” to clarify correct names and accents. I ask, say, one woman: “Are you Anna Ivanivna?” And she (then parodies) “Yes, but first you must ask the deputy minister, then a representative of the region, the city, and the education department.” She lectured me like a girl…

Then the officials go on stage — and the communication is completely different: “Dear children, we so love to come to you…” But at the very beginning, when a boy reads a poem about his mother — because all these children dream of a mother! — the officials get up from the first row and leave...

What happens to people on the road to power?...

What political offer would make you accept?

No, I wouldn’t accept anything. Democratic forces have not yet won in our country. So politics remains, unfortunately, a dirty business.

I have a question: in which Ukrainian city is there a mayor to be proud of?

If you ran for mayor of Uzhhorod we would be proud. But you didn’t want to run from Servant of the People?

No, I just don’t want to. Now I arrive in Uzhhorod and every second person greets me, invites me for coffee.

Besides, I’m already in politics in my way. I arrive in Uzhhorod, shoot videos about my house in the center that a deputy from OPZZh is destroying. Two years ago this house was quietly removed from the city’s balance. This deputy wants to build a three‑ or five‑story building there. My house is a monument of interwar modernism by the well‑known architect Jan Gillar, built during Czechoslovakia in 1938, and has architectural value. Every time I come I speak about it. To be in politics you don’t have to be a politician — you must feel like a citizen.

The cost of studying in the specialty “actor of theater and film” has already exceeded 60–70 thousand UAH per year. And where to find work afterwards?

Glavcom knows that you will act in one of the projects currently participating in “Tysiachovesna” (Thousand Spring). Various assessments are heard about this presidential initiative, but the theater and film community mostly responds positively. What is your attitude?

Also positive. Right now there are many questions: should artists stay in Ukraine or leave, where to find money, which reserves to use. Previously many filmmakers refused to participate in State Film Agency competitions when it was headed by Maryna Kuderchuk (from January 2020 to May 2025 – “Glavcom”). But if it’s your project, your dream you want to make now… Maybe in a few years you’ll view it differently and write a different script. Cinema is something important to capture in the moment. It’s important not to fall into despair, not to burn out from constant waiting. So I have a positive attitude toward “Tysiachovesna.”

Among the initiative’s risks they name possible bias of experts. After all, these experts are practically unpaid and the community is tight — almost everyone knows each other.

For example, I also worked on the Shevchenko committee for free. If someone said I was biased, I would disagree.

I don’t know whether on “Tysiachovesna” experts can’t see whom they evaluate (experts see anonymized applications at pitching, though from some artists’ portfolios they might still be recognized – “Glavcom”), but I still count on a positive result.

For culture, 4 billion UAH (the “Tysiachovesna” budget) is a record investment. Do you see a risk that in the race for resources mass production of “just to have it” content will begin?

No, I don’t think so. In any case not all projects always “hit.” But even when the Ministry of Culture once allocated money under the aegis of creating patriotic cinema, good projects appeared, like “Spyaty Kaidasha” and others.

In my view, the main task of “Tysiachovesna” now is not to lose the industry. Many people from the film industry volunteered for the front, and some are still there.

By my estimates, at least a thousand people in Ukraine each year receive a diploma “actor of theater and film.” There is a critical shortage of technical specialists. If we have universities that train cinematographers and screenwriters, we should think about creating schools for costume and makeup artists, second directors, technicians… We also face challenges related to war and mobilization. Now there is the question of reserving these people so you can start shooting with them and finish with them. Or will these professions become definitively female? Cinema also needs balance among all specialties.

Meanwhile tuition for “actor of theater and film” has already exceeded 60–70 thousand UAH per year — that’s terrible. And where to work afterwards?

photo: Stanislav Gruzdev, glavcom.ua

“I saw people lose themselves in the fight for titles…”

Now finally about titles. On the 55 anniversary a distinguished artist in Ukraine is usually presented with a beautiful order or another loud title. But not in the case of Rimma Zyubina…

I have an order; it lies at the Ministry of Culture. They scheduled it for me in 2020. But you know my attitude toward titles, orders, and medals.

Here’s a good lifehack: go into any theater where portraits of People’s Artists hang, stand between them — and you’re already international! I take it with great humor.

But imagine President Zelensky awards you a title. What would your reaction be?

Funny — that can’t happen. They won’t give it! God forbid — why would I need it?

After the USSR collapsed, Georgia, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia abandoned the system of honorary titles. I once asked a Georgian director: “How come, since Georgians love honor and acclaim?” He answered: “A good artist gets good pay, a very good artist gets very good pay, and a bad artist doesn’t work for me.”

I saw people lose themselves in the fight for these titles. So I invented another path: I want to work under a contract system, play the roles I choose… This isn’t a factory where you make the same part no matter how important. In the acting profession you put a piece of your soul, and you mustn’t trade your soul.

Moreover, in our country these regalia were given to Nastias and Potaps… The title Hero of Ukraine too: under one president these people are heroes, and under another — criminals. So I’ll wait on titles until the democratic forces normalize in the country.

Are you happy in your profession?

I have a wise attitude about where I was born and how many opportunities I have. I have both successful and unsuccessful projects. I do a lot of things I initiate myself — readings, voicing audiobooks, creative meetings that turn into almost stand‑ups — that’s all part of the acting profession. If I sat waiting for shoots…

Despite my principles, you became a top‑tier actress: people recognize you, love you, talk about you. That’s recognition. Does it make an actor happy?

I also don’t consider myself completely realized, though I am aware of my happiness. I’m grateful for what I have, because I might not have had even that.

I know stories when an actor starts brilliantly and then something happens in their life — problems with psycho‑physical condition, or illness. For example, Maryna Borodina — a Ukrainian who shot in Hollywood. On set a gun fell from her hand. Later it turned out she has ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), a nervous system disease leading to muscle atrophy, gradually taking voice and paralyzing the body — “Glavcom”).

Last year I read a post by Natalka Shchuka about Maryna, who wrote an autobiographical book “Against the Wind.” Because of illness she’s confined to a wheelchair and no longer has a voice. Maryna dictated her book with her eyes (with a special device – “Glavcom”). I immediately wrote in the comments that I’m ready to voice the audiobook for free.

My producing skills came in handy. I arranged with the studio “Orkestrova Vezha Production” for half the budget. I cast male voices (the book needed a male voice for Roman Kulish). I even got a sound engineer I knew, Ivan, who was no longer working at the studio, even though he had only five days for the recording. I’m very happy we did it.

And that’s my little secret — for my birthday I want to go to Ireland where Maryna lives now and surprise her, though we don’t know each other.

I will be in Maryna’s place on 20–22 August, because I was invited to Norway. Derzhkino and producer Volodymyr Filippov are holding “Days of Ukrainian Cinema” on 23, so although I didn’t plan it, on my birthday I’ll present my Dove (the film “The Nest of the Dove”).

By the way, I really love words and working on audiobooks. Now, when exhaustion makes it hard to immerse and concentrate on reading, I’d emphasize audiobooks. We all live in a war that affects health, psyche, and concentration. I know how hard it’s become to read and learn text. A quality audiobook can be listened to endlessly.

About 15 years ago the Russians recorded their classics with their best acting voices and left it for history. Our audiobooks are sometimes impossible to listen to because they are sloppy and violate copyright.

Recording an audiobook is also an acting realization for me. The audiobooks I voiced — “Dotso,” “Sheptukha,” “Against the Wind” — were compared to solo performances. I truly invest in every word because I know I’m unlikely to play those roles on film. In audiobooks I can fully live the text — and I enjoy it.

Aren’t you afraid of the rise of artificial intelligence? For example, radio now plays many tracks generated by neural networks. On one FM station three out of ten chart songs are AI‑generated. That’s with the number of artists we have.

Artificial intelligence will appear everywhere — in literature, in book voicing, in film making. It won’t touch theater actors.

By the way, when I voiced “Sheptukha” I first worked with sound engineer Andrii Izdryk, son of Yurko Izdryk (Ukrainian writer – “Glavcom”). Once I asked Andrii to rerecord a phrase because I slipped on it. He said: “I absolutely won’t rerecord it. Right now you can feel a live person voicing the book, not artificial intelligence.” What was considered a sound flaw five years ago is now valued.

At the same time AI will clearly separate our tastes — mass culture and art.

Do you have “red flags” at work? What do you definitely refuse?

I used to say: if any Ukrainian actor tells you he refused a role, don’t believe him. There’s so little work that people hardly refuse it.

But I tell everyone: shoot student films. Thanks to a student film “Svetka” by Ira Ustelenzeva, Taras Tkachenko saw me and invited me to “The Nest of the Dove” without casting. He didn’t know me before. But when other student offers appeared — films, say, about a mother working abroad — I declined: “I already played that.” Recently we also turned down a project because in the script all Ukrainians were dumbly cheerful and stereotypical, and we’re not like that; we’re diverse.

I now refuse when I understand that nothing good will come from the material, at least for my taste, or when it’s simply uninteresting or repetitive.

What other roles do you see yourself in? Is there a role for which you’d be ready to change radically — for example, lose a lot of weight or gain a lot of weight?

I had such roles for which I both lost and gained weight.

I had a dream to play Kvitka Cisyk on film. Even at the Koronatsiya Slova (an international literary contest created to support modern Ukrainian culture – “Glavcom”) for about seven years there was an award for the best literary work about Kvitka Cisyk (a special personal award of Rimma Zyubina – “Glavcom”). I hoped someone would write at least a story that could become a good screenplay, but it didn’t happen. Rather than star in a bad film just to fulfill an ambition, I’d prefer the material to mature and someone find the right key to Kvitka Cisyk’s story, not simply take her biography from Wikipedia.

I have already let go of that dream. Kvitka Cisyk died in 44. I’ve outgrown that role, and I don’t believe in cinematic age transformations.

But I have another dream. In connection with Ada Mykolaivna’s birthday (on 16 July People’s Artist Ada Rohovtseva celebrated 89 – “Glavcom”) I thought not about whom I want to play but with whom. I always say: the best thing is a great team that gives you both a creative atmosphere and professional satisfaction. People are what gives me huge inspiration to live today.

I very much want something to happen with Ada Mykolaivna Rohovtseva. She is my favorite actress. Since childhood I hung her photos on my wall. I don’t know if this dream is achievable…

Yelyzaveta Zhabska, Mykola Pidvezianyi, Stanislav Gruzdev (photo), Glavcom