I LEFT… TO JOIN THE CINEMA

People's Artist, director, deputy chairman of the Azerbaijani Union of Theatrical Figures, teacher of acting at the University of Culture and the Arts and a Golden Dervish and Humay prize winner. Rafiq Aliyev, who gave about 40 years of his creative life to the Theatre of the Young Spectator, is all these things. It was there that he set up his Mardinli studio and where he taught acting skills and stage movement to young people. On top of all this, he played in over a hundred well-known films, such as "The Anecdote", "The Prisoners", "Life of a Sovereign", "The Examination", "The Cry", and many others. In an interview for R+ he spoke about his work and future plans.

- Rafiq muallim [term of respect], tell us about your childhood.

- I was born in the village of Mardinli in Fizuli District. My parents were, as they say, simple country folk, born "of the soil". After serving in the Great Patriotic War, my father came back to his native village and married my mother. He was head of the Home Guard and mummy was a cotton picker. When I was two, my parents decided to move to Baku.

- I wonder what they expected you to be when you grew up?

- My parents certainly never thought that their son would enter the world of the arts. My father wanted me to become a prosecutor. When he was young he dreamed about a law career, but the war intervened, whereas mummy wanted me to become a doctor. But I had other plans for my life. I wanted a career that linked films and the stage. I knew how my parents would react to my choice of profession so I decided to run away. At senior school I decided to save up my pocket money to carry out my plan. I realize now that I behaved badly and rather spitefully towards my parents, but I so wanted to become an actor…When I got my secondary school diploma, I straightaway bought a ticket to Kiev. I wrote a long letter of explanation to my mother and father and set off one night. I can remember even now the address of the college that I read out in the "Student's Guide" - Kreshchatik, 52, Kiev I.K. Karpenko-Kary National University of the Theatre, Film and Television. But, to my great regret, when I arrived in Kiev it turned out that only Ukrainian-speaking students were allowed into the college that year. So as not to waste time, I took the first train for Moscow. But disappointment awaited me there, too. Apparently, there was an error in the "Student's Guide" from which I wrote the addresses of colleges. Entrance examinations in Moscow started not at the beginning of July, but in May. But I was a persistent and tenacious lad, so I set off straightaway to Leningrad. 

A pleasant surprise was in store for me at the enrolment board of the Leningrad Institute of Theatre, Music and Cinematography. Although the enrolment of students there had finished some time ago, the board announced an additional entry. I submitted my papers to the actors' school and carrying my guitar set off for the examinations. After hearing me recite my poetry, sing and dance, one of the members of the enrolment board - Professor Gippius, who taught speech training and stage craft - said that I was clearly a talented boy, but he didn't have the right to corrupt the Russian stage with my accent. "Young man, you do not even have a dialect or an accent which could ever be corrected. You have an awful pronunciation that grates the ear and you will never get rid of it," Gippius concluded. 

I left the examination room downcast and depressed, when suddenly one of the lady teachers came up to me and advised me to try my luck at the Leningrad Krupskaya Institute of Culture. Apparently, they were enlisting an experimental course for future television and film directors at that college. I had always dreamed of becoming an actor, but I decided that a director was also a man of the cinema. I had no trouble being accepted. But a year later the course was reclassified and on graduation we would become cultural and educational workers. Rubbing shoulders with the world of Meyerhold, Nemirovich-Danchenko and Stanislavskiy, I decided that cinematography was to be my destiny, and I would link my life with the cinema come what may. 

In one year of training at the institute and private lessons with one of the best teachers in speech training and correct pronunciation, Professor Yakovlev, my "ear-grating accent" disappeared and I decided to once again try my luck at the Leningrad Institute of Theatre, Music and Cinematogra-phy. I successfully passed all the examinations, but "froze" at the oral. I did not tell the enrolment board that I had studied for a year in Leningrad as a director. When the members of the examination board asked me, a lad of call-up age, what I had been doing for a whole year and why I still wasn't in the army, I had to own up to everything and so I was not accepted at the college.

The following year I learned that a theatre-studio was opening in Vyborg, where young directors and actors could learn their trade and demonstrate their potential, and so, along with my comrades from the Leningrad Krupskaya Institute of Culture, I set off there. In a year we managed to knock together a fairly strong troupe and put on a number of successful shows. Our production of "The Bedbug" from Vladimir Mayakovskiy's satirical play won first place at the amateur theatres festival in Leningrad region. But I didn't have long to rest on my laurels. That same year I was called up into the armed forces of the Soviet Union.

- Where did you spend your service in the army?

- In the Soviet Black Sea Fleet, which was regarded as "imperial" because of its prestige. I was happy to go there. The point is that only a select few went abroad during the days of the so-called iron curtain. Together with my comrades I made friendly visits with the Soviet fleet to France, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Romania, Syria, Egypt, Algeria, Morocco and Guinea-Bissau. In the army I decided that my father was right about a career as a prosecutor. As soon as I returned home from the army I submitted my papers to the legal department of Azerbaijan State University. It was at that time that the military conflict flared up again between the Arab countries and Israel and I was sent back to my ship. Our crew set off for Tartus and Latakia to evacuate Soviet citizens working in Syria. 

When I got back to Baku it turned out that I was too late for the workers' faculty. Even a letter from the commander-in-chief of the USSR Black Sea Fleet, Admiral Sergey Georgi-yevich Gorshkov, saying that seaman Rafiq Aliyev was carrying out a state task outside the country, didn't help. I had to register with a preparatory group at the college. I studied hard and prepared to enter law school. At the time my younger sister was having singing lessons with the brilliant teacher of the Baku Music College, Tamara Xalilova. My sister told her teacher that her elder brother was a fine singer. Tamara xanim was interested and agreed to listen to me. "Rafiq, your place is on the stage. Don't bury your talents in a pile of legal documents," she told me after hearing me sing. I was full of enthusiasm and started taking singing lessons with Tamara xanim, and a few months later she persuaded me to get papers from preparation courses of the university and join the Azerbaijani Mirza Aga Aliyev State Institute of the Arts.

- Your dream finally came true…

- The path to my dream turned out to be very thorny and long. During the second course at the institute, my stage craft teacher, Hasan Abluc, suddenly invited me to the Theatre of the Young Spectator and suggested that I become a stand-in for the merited artist Anton Dobronevskiy, who was playing the leading role in a new production of Rustam Ibrahimbayov's "The Escape". I was incredibly happy at such a gift of fate. I approached the part very seriously, rehearsed wherever I could, reading my lines and trying to understand what my hero was going through and why he behaved as he did. I, a 26-year old student, had to play a 76-year old recidivist, Semen.

- Wasn't it terrifying going on stage for the first time and playing the part of an old man?

- Of course, I was very anxious. I was afraid I'd forget my lines and dry up on stage. But everything went smoothly and I got through the part successfully. Incidentally, because of certain circumstances, I played in the premiere. After "The Escape", I was given leading parts in other plays, and eighteen months later the director Azerpasa Neymatov trusted me with the part of the handsome and simple Bumbarash in the musical show of the same name. When I realized that I was about to play, and without a stand-in, I was even scared for a moment. After the image of the great Zolotukhin, who was adored by the public, playing Bumbarash was quite a risky business. But my fellow actors and I were able to carry out the director's task. The play was a great success. It was followed by "The night after graduation", "The last night of the outgoing year", "How are things, young man?", "The Three Musketeers", "Buratino", and others. Then I decided to have a go at directing. I put on over 20 plays. Then, quite unexpectedly, I began to get offers to take part in productions by various theatres. I have worked at the Theatre of the Young Spectator for about 40 years and only recently retired. I now work for the Azerbaijani Union of Theatrical Figures, where I produce and make films.

- You are also remembered for your films. But what is closer to you, the theatre or the cinema?

- That's a difficult question to answer. I love them both. I have been making films since 1976, when I started as an extra and had bit-parts. Then the directors started taking notice of me and I was invited to take on leading roles. Then I played Vanya Yuzbasi in Ramiz Fataliyev's film "Sovereign's Fate", with screenplay by Elcin. And in Mehriban Alakbarzada's film, "The Condemned", screenplay by Cingiz Abdullayev, I played the investigator.

- But how come you decided to switch to the other side of the camera and make feature films?

- It all began with "The Nomad". I was part of an international production team and was involved with casting. This was an extremely interesting experience to meet and work with the best film makers in the world. It must have been then that I decided to try my luck as a feature film director. Incidentally, before then I had made a few documentary films and programmes for the satirical film magazine "Mozalan". 

- You recently made a full-length children's feature film. What is it about?

- This film - "The Lesson" - which had its premiere in May is the story of the birth of a school friendship, which for some lasts years and even decades. The picture was made by order of the Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the Cafar Carbbarli Azerbaijanfilm studio, with screenplay by Elza Agayeva and Anastasiya Volkova. It was produced by Musfiq Hatamov and the camera operator was Rauf Qurbanaliyev. It tells the story of the life of schoolchildren and their attitudes to friendship and responsibility for their actions. The young heroes were chosen in Baku schools. During casting we looked at over 14,000 boys and girls. We found the lead - a clumsy, amiable boy with a good heart called Xalid - quite by chance at school No 1 in the capital. Tamerlan Agayev, who played this part, came up to me himself and asked to be given the chance to "act in films". So, I gave him that chance, and I have to say that he fully justified my decision. As did the other young actors in "The Lesson" - Anna Zarbaliyeva, Aliya Aliyeva and Rasid Aliyev. "Their "classmates", whom we took from almost all of Baku's schools, also excelled. I must say that all these children taking part in "The Lesson" were facing professional cameras for the first time in their lives. Incidentally, we recently completed work on English sub-titles and we can now show "The Lesson" at international festivals. But our immediate plans are to show our film in the regions. We want our film to be seen not just by young Bakuvians but also children in other towns in Azerbaijan. Our story will help children understand what is important in this life - decency, honesty and kindness, and also a desire to learn about and respect their past. After all, without the past there is no future.

- Wasn't it difficult working with children?

- [laughs] It's much easier with them than with adults, because children aren't working for the money. They get pleasure just from the process itself and the attention of others. I have seven grandchildren of my own and I, as well as anyone, know that you must speak to children in the same language, but at the same time remember that you are an adult. The main thing is to understand a child and be able to listen to him. I believe that when a director makes a children's film he himself becomes something of a child, which, incidentally, isn't that difficult. We were all children once…

- How can we revive the children's cinema in Azerbaijan?

- First we need interesting and outstanding scripts with an absorbing and, most importantly, edifying subject with vivid experiences and unusual stories. The Ministry of Culture is prepared, for its part, to put up the money for worthy films. After all, the main task for the makers of a children's film is to convey it to the audience. The fact is that there is a big gap between films and children. Most of today's children spend all their free time on the Internet, playing computer games. It shouldn't be forgotten that throughout history children's films have always fulfilled special functions in society. The first and most important function of the children's cinema has always been to shape children's outlook on life. The question of good and evil is, arguably, the most important one in children's cinema. And you can't get by without the fairy stories where good and evil have always been clearly defined, and the strong always protects the weak - this is very important for a small child. I believe that the children's cinema means good films which teach very specific moral feelings. They teach goodness and a desire to help. Children don't need distress and they don't need horror. Although there is a place for a terror story, the main thing is that goodness prevails.