The writer's books are a multi-volume encyclopedia of worldly wisdom [video]
Change text size: A A
Dozens of films have been made based on her works. Federico Fellini, having read her book, said: “What a good talent. She perceives life not as a test, but as a blessing.”
And she herself - as if this is not all about her. “I used to be vain... But now I’m not.” She easily admits that she was not crystal faithful to her husband and this is mutual: “You know, my husband never left me. The heroes of my personal novels abandoned me, it happened. And I was worried. But not much, because everything is fine at home...”
Both lost: both the wife and the mistress
But still, there was a romance in her life that she was very worried about. His hero was director Georgy Danelia. His rival is Danelia's common-law wife, actress Lyubov Sokolova. There has been a lot of gossip about this triangle. Especially after the film “Mimino”, on which Tokareva and Danelia worked together (like many others). In general, they gossiped and forgot. Georgy Nikolaevich remained in the family. And a few years later he suddenly left Sokolova for a third - a young VGIK student Galina. As often happens: a man experiences passion for his mistress, and an equally strong feeling of guilt for his wife. And - alas - it goes away completely new woman. A quarter of a century later, Galina admitted in an interview that Sokolova reacted calmly: “Lyuba packed her things and moved to an apartment on Sokol. Victoria Tokareva set the scene... Having learned that Georgy Nikolaevich was marrying me, she shouted to him: “She has a son! She's still that little thing! After all, she’s ugly!” Victoria told reporters about the years of her acquaintance with Danelia, lavishly complimenting his talent and charm. And about parting with him - there is always silence. Apparently, this story stuck like a rusty nail in the writer’s heart. And recently Victoria Samoilovna decided to pull out this “nail”: she wrote the story “The Tree on the Roof”, in which she put quite a lot of pressure on some of the participants in the drama.
About “The Tree on the Roof”: I process plots with my head
Have you read it? How do you like it?
- As always, wonderful. And the heroine of “The Tree on the Roof” had real prototype? (I am hinting at Lyubov Sokolova - the prototype of the main character.)
There was such a woman.
- Famous actress?
May be. But I won't say anything.
Now Tokareva flatly refuses to discuss the details of her relationship with Danelia and his family. And once, in 1998, in an interview with a St. Petersburg publication, she retold several episodes from “The Tree on the Roof” almost identically.
We started working with him... (The script based on the story “A Day Without Lies” by Tokarev and Daneliya was finalized together, and that’s how we met. - Author)
- Didn’t start kissing right away?
No, not on the first day, about the tenth. At first we were patient. Danelia was so brightly talented then that we sat down to work, and it seemed to me as if the clouds were parting, the sun was coming out and everything around was flooded with joyful light. We finished - the sun hid behind the clouds, and everything around again became gray and uninteresting. This is such a thing - not every talent suits you, even if it is three times a talent. And then we looked at the world with the same eyes. Believe me, there’s been a lot in my life, but those fifteen days are definitely the happiest, so dazzlingly sunny that you’ll just go crazy.”
“Daneliya was then under the strong influence of his mother. She said: working with Vika is good. When I came to them, it was a holiday, a holiday. Everyone was so happy to see me and baked a turkey in the oven for me. Lyuba Sokolova, Danelia's wife, asked me: what kind of meat do you like more - white or black? The black is the legs and the white is the chest. It seemed to me that white should be considered good, and black - worse. And I modestly said: I’d like black, please. It turned out that legs are a delicacy.”
People usually ask me: where do you get your stories? I say this: I take it surrounding reality, but I process it with my head. That is, I don’t write everything I see. I create something from the history that I can observe. The writer is a bit of a preacher. But so that the congregation does not get bored, it is necessary to write interestingly. After all, what is creative writing? This is an instinct for transmitting information.
A wife is not a wall
- Can this book be called the most biographical?
It is common for a writer to exploit his life. My soul is scattered in all books.
- And here main character(prototype - Georgy Danelia - Author). You very subtly and accurately describe the state of a man who is torn between feeling and duty. I had this happen with my dad.
Well, what is a woman without a man? How can you write about a woman and not write about a man? This is incredible.
- Have you ever thought about getting a divorce and starting a new life?
Oh, you know, these thoughts, of course, visited both me and my husband. We, of course, sometimes wanted some other fate. But he didn't find anyone better than me. And I haven't found anyone better.
- You got married very early and have been together all your life.
Yes. I was 18 and fell in love. What to think! I lived in Leningrad. And he came there on a business trip to visit our friend, and this friend told my mother: “Let your daughter take him to the theater...” And then we saw each other... Oh, how handsome he was! When he looked up at me with his blue, huge eyes... And he also had trousers with pipes. And the boots, they call it “on semolina”... such rubber... I couldn’t even believe my eyes! Such luxury! Shoes on the decoy, big eyes... Tarzan-like... Love at first sight!
- And he too? Him too at first sight?
May be. I'm in early youth I really liked it. I don’t know if I was beautiful, but I always looked at myself. As I walked down the street, I looked at the reflection in the shop windows. And when I was sitting at home, I always turned my neck and looked in the mirror. Well, I was 18 years old. I was probably ready for love. Nature gives you chances in your youth... So I saw him, was stunned and got married. And if I had waited there for another five to seven years, I would have already started sorting through it. I would stop being stupid already.
- But you have a beautiful daughter, grandchildren now...
But! But I have books! And you are all some kind of nonsense!
- I also fell in love at 16, but I was scared to get married.
How old are you now?
You know what... I'll say this: from my experience nice girls, they sit and wait for something. They expect great love to come to their home. And others, such deep-sea sharks, which have teeth in three rows, these swim in their waters and bite off what they need... If you sit and wait, no one will send anything to your home! Although the devil only knows! What if he sends it? But men like women with personal initiative. When she comes at him like a battering ram. Often men have no time and no desire to care. And they are not confident. And then he comes up to you: he puts his tits forward like weapons - and with direct pressure! So try this. You'll get married right away!
- I tried once, it didn’t work. I decided that I wouldn’t do better... It’s disgusting.
Disgusting... In extreme cases, you can give birth from the first one that comes along. Non-drinker.
- Go find this non-drinker... And unmarried.
It’s okay, your wife is not a wall!
You can't force your director husband to wash the dishes!
- What is your husband’s profession?
Something to do with metals. He is very good specialist. And I wouldn't want to be behind a writer or a director. Firstly, we would have rivalry, competition. Secondly, I couldn't marry an average writer. I need Gabriel Garcia Marquez or Yuri Nagibin or someone like that...
- Piece goods.
Yes. And if he were such a piece of goods, he would not live with me for a single minute. For example, I hate washing dishes. So he should have. I can’t imagine Marquez going to wash the dishes. One friend told me very well: “You have such a strong marriage because you and your husband have the same shortcomings.” The advantages are the same in all cases, just like the first blood group with any other group. But when the shortcomings coincide, this is the key to a long life.
- But he’s beautiful... Isn’t it difficult with something like that?
It depends on how he feels about his appearance. My husband is calm. And then my daughter is very similar to him, and she is also very beautiful. Sorry for saying that.
- Well, why not say it if it’s true?
But, you see, genes also matter - what family a man is from. If his parents divorced, if he has a way of jumping off, then he will jump off. It's in his genes. As Konchalovsky says about himself: I have a gene for infidelity. He had eight wives, and sometimes he found out about his children by phone. The answering machine told him that his child was already 16 years old. This is how a person is genetically designed. Therefore, you always need to look at what family you are from, who your father and mother are. And when dad, mom, you know, like in the old days, this loyalty for them is religion.
- In general, do you need stability in the family?
I don't know... Stability is boring. Olesha has a novel called “Not a Day Without a Line.” And I know people who cannot live without love. Not a day without love. Constantly being in love. In husband, so in husband. If not for a husband, then not for a husband. The stability will also drive you crazy. I don’t know, I adore the state of being in love. Blood flows completely differently. “I am ready to perform a feat of unparalleled strength for you at any moment.” This is Pushkin.
Fellini heard the Commander's steps...
- By the way, you were personally acquainted with Federico Fellini. He invited you to visit. I read Roman Holiday. How were you released to Italy? During Soviet times.
No, we were traveling after perestroika. But even before perestroika I was in Italy, my story “Sentimental Journey” is about this. I wrote about how one guy in our group ran away.
- Why didn’t these same ones in ties overlook...
And in order to cover up their eyes, he began to look after me. Supposedly he is passionate, and they decided that he is passionate, he’s not going anywhere! It turns out he wasn't keen at all. He just wanted to run away! And so he used me for his own purposes.
- What do you think of Fellini?
After we met him, he died six months later. First of all, he was an old man. And secondly, it seemed to me that he heard these steps of the Commander... He shuffled and looked ahead of him... It was felt...
Todorovsky was a wonderful son-in-law!
- You always praised your son-in-law Valery Todorovsky, and now he and your daughter divorced....
He left me with two grandchildren. He himself is a charismatic person. He speaks very well and is very smart. And all this was passed on to the children. They are very charismatic, smart and beautiful. I think that no one could have done more to me! Leave high-quality, cool, thoroughbred grandchildren. Do you understand? As for the function of a son-in-law, a son-in-law is generally a variable quantity. Now one son-in-law, and then, you see, another son-in-law... The other one is also very nice. Therefore, there are no regrets, the relationship has simply moved to a new quality. Now I praise him even more. He turned out to be an amazingly decent person and got such a luxurious divorce that, as they say, God bless everyone.
First of all, it's intelligent. Secondly, he did not forget anyone. It drags everyone down financially.
You see, he took everything bad with him, but left everything wonderful. And he takes care of children much better than then. Now he has time for them. And then the idea of this divorce still did not belong to him.
About colleagues
Without talent, nothing will happen. At least sit from morning to night. And sometimes you don’t even know that you have this talent, and then one day it will appear. As Tolstaya said, at the age of 37 she sat down, lowered her head and became a writer.
- Well, Daria Dontsova is forty-something.
She is very nice to me in herself, she is a very gentle person, very friendly, if you talk to her, I want to live like that, but I can’t read. Although I am very happy for her, for the fact that she works so fruitfully. You know what: humor is generally the main thing. There are two main qualities in a person - intelligence, which it would be nice to have. Just in case. And humor. This is also a property of the mind. There is such a word - wit. Just intelligence and a sharp mind. But I don't have much intelligence.
- Well, right...
You know, there are serious intellectuals and writers. I don't belong to them. I'm friends with Ulitskaya. I can’t say that I communicate with her often, but every time I see her, I’m happy. Because she is a talented, noble and intelligent person. I have more humor, but she has more intelligence. I'm not envious.
x HTML code
Victoria Tokareva: Stability in relationships can also drive you crazy. Victoria Tokareva answered questions from readers on April 22 during a video broadcast.
This story happened about thirty years ago, a little over a hundred kilometers from where I live. hometown, in Tashkent. My uncle then married a treacherous woman with a child. Why insidious? Yes, because all single women with children are treacherous. However, women without children are also insidious. I can say this - I’m not a man myself.
So, the child of that woman turned out to be the cutest, elf-like girl Alyonka with big eyes blue color. She was then only three years younger than me, and something tells me that even today she is somewhat younger than me. But that’s not about that now. (With)
So my uncle took the elf girl to Tashkent. I must say that there was nothing strange about this, the residents of our glorious city traveled to the capital of the neighboring republic, some less often and some more often. In Tashkent there was a circus, there was a metro, the Ganga store and the famous Alai Bazaar. Let’s say we had a bazaar, and not even one. But the circus, and especially the metro, is not such a fairy tale for us.
And so, having taken a ride to the desired station, my relatives come out to the surface under the summer sun. And nearby there are trays with books, and there are tons of people around. Back then, after all, we were the most reading country in the world, from Moscow to Kushka.
And then something began to happen, for which, in fact, I am writing. Alyonka saw a black man. A real black African! You can write to me like that, just like everyone else in our country, because we don’t have racism.
Why would this surprise Alyonka so much? Any non-American will understand. It’s all very simple - we didn’t have any blacks anywhere in Chimkent! And the eight-year-old girl saw a representative of this part of humanity for the first time in her childhood. Her big ones Blue eyes threatened to leave the boundaries provided for by nature, but Alyonka, having controlled herself, sublimated her surprise into an unexpectedly different perspective.
- Uncle Sash, can I smell it?
- Whom? – the guy didn’t understand, because he didn’t pay any attention to this chocolate hare, because his eyes were looking for a completely different object.
“Negro,” Alyonka did not lag behind. It was then that Uncle Sasha noticed his dark-skinned comrade. And it should be noted that meeting a black man in Tashkent in the eighties was like good morning. There them huge amount was in the form of university and medical students. That's why local residents were as accustomed to them as, say, Muscovites, and there was no special attention They didn’t show any signs of looking sideways at him or becoming stupefied. And the African princes felt very at ease in the capital of Uzbekistan. This one was even looking at the books on the tray.
- Well, Uncle Sash? – Alyonka pulled the uncle’s hand.
“Go and smell it, just be careful,” he allowed, and who would refuse an elf? And he himself remained on the sidelines, watching and pretending “this sweet girl is not with me.”
Alyonka bravely and with a serious look walked towards the crowd of people who were infectiously interested in books. Embarrassed to raise her eyes, as if she was doing something reprehensible, this Thumbelina found a dark-skinned woman among the many hands, brought her curious nose closer to her and, taking two short breaths, hurried back to her uncle.
The guy neighed like a horse.
- What, Uncle Sash? – asked the frightened Alyonka, and her eyes again strove to exceed the permitted limits.
- Well? – her pitiful look made her adoptive father calm down a little and calm the airy creature.
- Alyonka, you didn’t sniff a black man, but an Uzbek.
- Ah! - She opened her eyelashes and looked in the direction where she had just, burning with shame, conducted her olfactory experiment. But she didn’t dare approach the black man again.
So it remained a mystery to her and to us what a black man smells like.
This story happened thirty years ago.
My husband loved to play preference and went to the general’s house for this purpose. Not far from us, “Tsarskoye Selo” was built - houses for the upper class. The general's name was Kasyan, and the general's wife was Faina. Faina is an active doctor, worked in the Kremlin hospital.
I sometimes accompanied my husband and sat behind him.
Faina was sitting at the table - huge, like a sitting bull. At the same time, she had curls and a velvety voice.
Kasyan is ten years younger, handsome. Faina fought him off legal wife. What did you take it with? Perhaps with romantic curls and a cooing voice.
By this time I had a film and a book out. I went to the young and talented. Life smiled. But suddenly, out of the blue, my daughter stopped seeing out of her right eye. She was admitted to the hospital with a diagnosis of neuritis, inflammation of the optic nerve.
My girl was ten years old, we had never been apart before, and this first separation was a tragedy. She cried in the hospital room, and I cried at home, on the street and at a party.
Faina saw my minor and volunteered to help.
The next day we went together to the Morozov hospital. The eye department was located on the fifth floor, without an elevator. Faina walked, heaving her hundred kilograms, and muttered dissatisfiedly. The meaning of her muttering was this: why did she go, why did she need it, she was always getting into something to her own detriment.
I trailed behind and felt guilty.
Finally we got to the right floor.
“Stand and wait,” Faina ordered.
She took out a white robe from her bulky bag, put it on and disappeared behind the door of the eye department.
I stood and waited. Time has stopped. It was not entirely clear why I brought her. In the department good doctors. They loved my girl and were ready to do whatever was necessary. Why this boss? Scare? But in the seventies, medicine was conscientious, unlike today. To scare means to express distrust. Ugly. However, the price was too high: the eye. I was waiting.
Faina appeared. She came close. She fixed a piercing gaze on me. Literally glared.
“Get ready,” she said. - Listen wisely. Your daughter has a brain tumor. This tumor puts pressure on the nerve, so it does not conduct vision.
- So what now? – I asked stupidly.
- Operation. It is necessary to perform a craniotomy and remove the tumor.
I understood: she was saying something terrible, but the meaning of what was said did not reach me. I couldn't reconcile these words with my girl.
- And then what? – I asked.
- Pray to God that she dies. If she survives, she will remain an idiot.
Faina fell silent. She stood and studied my face. My face expressed nothing. It was as if I had been unplugged.
– Do I owe you anything? – I asked.
“Nothing,” Faina answered generously. “But since I wasted my time on you, accompany me to the studio.” By taxi. I have to pick up the mink beret and the mink scarf.
“Okay,” I responded.
We went downstairs. I stopped a taxi, and Faina loaded her entire living weight into it.
My watch suddenly fell from my hands and clicked on the asphalt. Why were they in my hand? Apparently I took them off. I guess I wasn’t aware of my actions.
I sat next to the driver and didn’t understand: why did Faina make me go with her to the studio? Telling a mother that her child is hopeless is stabbing her in the heart. And then demand that I take her to the studio with a knife in my heart... The cost of a taxi is a ruble. Doesn’t the general’s wife really have a ruble to get there herself?
We stopped near the studio. Faina got out of the car gradually: first two tits, then her ass, vast, like a coachman’s, and she put a mink beret on her curls.
I stayed in the car and told the driver:
- Back to the hospital.
I returned to the eye department and called the doctor.
– Does my daughter have a brain tumor? – I asked directly.
- Where did you get the idea? – the doctor was surprised. – She has ordinary neuritis.
– How do you distinguish neuritis from a tumor?
- By color. When there is neuritis, the nerve is red, and when there is a tumor, the nerve is blue.
– What color is my daughter?
- Red. We will inject her with the necessary drug, the inflammation will go away, and her vision will be restored.
– Can I do an x-ray?
- Can. But why?
– Make sure there is no tumor.
- If you want...
I didn’t leave until the doctor gave me an x-ray and I was convinced with my own eyes that the picture was clean, beautiful and even beautiful, blessed are your deeds, Lord...
I returned home without a knife in my chest. I told my husband. He listened while still watching the news on TV. I asked:
- Why did she do this?
“Bastard,” the husband answered shortly.
I dialed Faina’s phone and told her:
– You were mistaken. My daughter does not have any tumor. Common neuritis.
“Well, please,” Faina answered, as if offended.
Then I tried for a long time to understand what it was. Maybe envy? But she lives better than me. Her husband is a general with a general’s salary and a mink beret with a mink scarf. And I have a regular knitted hat. But, most likely, he’s just a bastard, as my husband said. There is such a word - “bastard”, which means there must be people who correspond to this word.
Ten years have passed. My daughter grew up, gained beauty, and saw equally with both eyes. Confused about the suitors.
One fine day my husband and I went to the market. I saw Faina in the vegetable row. Since then, I haven’t communicated with her, although I heard that recently her husband died in the garage near the car, and her son fell out of the window - drugs.
Faina saw me and threw herself on my chest like a close relative.
I stood shackled by her embrace, and I had no choice but to put my hands on her back. My back was shaking with sobs. Her shoulder blades protruded like wings under my palms. Faina not only lost weight, but dried out. Where did her kilograms go? The curls turned into an old lady's bun at the back of her head. What grief does to a person...
My husband showed me with his eyes: we need to go, why are you stuck? But I couldn’t push Faina away along with her sobs. I stood and endured. And she didn’t just endure, she sympathized. I stroked her back, shoulders and wings.
Bastards are people too. I feel sorry for them too.
1) This story happened thirty years ago.
2) By this time, a film and a book had come out. I went to the young and talented. Life smiled. But suddenly, out of the blue, my daughter stopped seeing out of her right eye. She was admitted to the hospital with a diagnosis of neuritis, inflammation of the optic nerve.
My girl was ten years old, we had never been apart before, and this first separation was a tragedy. She cried in the hospital room, and I cried at home, on the street and at a party.
Faina saw my minor and volunteered to help.
The next day we went together to the Morozov hospital. The eye department was located on the fifth floor, without an elevator. Faina walked, heaving her hundred kilograms, and muttered dissatisfiedly. The meaning of her muttering was this: why did she go, why did she need it, she was always getting into something to her detriment.
I trailed behind and felt guilty.
Finally we got to the right floor.
“Stand and wait,” Faina ordered.
She took a white robe from her large bag, put it on and disappeared behind the door of the eye department.
I stood and waited. Time has stopped. Faina appeared. She came close. She fixed a piercing gaze on me. Literally glared.
“Get ready,” she said. - Listen wisely. Your daughter has a brain tumor. This tumor puts pressure on the nerve, so it does not conduct vision. It is necessary to perform a craniotomy and remove the tumor.
- And then what? – I asked.
- Pray to God that she dies. If she survives, she will remain an idiot.
Faina fell silent. She stood and studied my face. My face expressed nothing. It was as if I had been unplugged.
– Do I owe you anything? – I asked.
“Nothing,” Faina answered generously. “But since I wasted my time on you, accompany me to the studio.” By taxi. I have to pick up the mink beret and the mink scarf.
We went downstairs. I stopped a taxi, and Faina loaded her entire living weight into it.
I sat next to the driver and didn’t understand: why did Faina make me go with her to the studio? Telling a mother that her child is hopeless is driving a knife through her heart. And then demand that I take her to the studio with a knife in my heart... The cost of a taxi is a ruble. Doesn’t the general’s wife really have a ruble to get there herself?
I stayed in the car and told the driver:
- Back to the hospital.
I returned to the eye department and called the doctor.
– Does my daughter have a brain tumor? – I asked directly.
- Where did you get the idea? – the doctor was surprised. – She has ordinary neuritis.
– How do you distinguish neuritis from a tumor?
- By color. When there is neuritis, the nerve is red, and when there is a tumor, the nerve is blue.
– What color is my daughter?
- Red. We will inject her with the necessary drug, the inflammation will go away, and her vision will be restored.
I didn’t leave until the doctor gave me an x-ray and I was convinced with my own eyes that the picture was clean, beautiful and even beautiful. I returned home without a knife in my chest. Then I tried for a long time to understand: what was it? Maybe envy? But she lives better than me. Her husband is a general with a general’s salary and a mink beret with a mink scarf. And I have a regular knitted hat.
Ten years have passed. My daughter grew up, gained beauty, and saw equally with both eyes. Confused about the suitors.
One fine day my husband and I went to the market. I spotted Faina in the vegetable row. Since then, I have not communicated with her, although I heard that recently her husband died in the garage near the car, and her son fell out of the window. Drugs.
Faina saw me and threw herself on my chest like a close relative.
I stood chained in her arms, and I had no choice but to put my hands on her back. My back was shaking with sobs. Her shoulder blades protruded like wings under my palms. Faina not only lost weight, but dried out. Where did her kilograms go? The curls turned into an old lady's bun at the back of her head. What grief does to a person...
My husband showed me with his eyes: we need to go, why are you stuck? But I couldn’t push Faina away along with her sobs. I stood and endured. And she didn’t just endure, she sympathized. I stroked her back, shoulders and wings.
I also feel sorry for people like Faina.
(According to Tokareva V.S.)
V. Tokareva invites her readers to think about the problem moral choice: Is it always necessary to feel sorry for others? ...
Raskolnikov creates a theory according to which people are divided into “trembling creatures” and those who “have the right.” With such views it is impossible to talk about morality. The hero kills the old money-lender. Subsequently, he repents of his actions. Sonya Marmeladova feels sorry for Raskolnikov, despite what action he committed. She did the right thing: we really see that the main character has changed in better side, realized the infidelity of his actions and class theory, realized that the pride of the mind leads to discord and death.
My position is perfectly confirmed by the work of A.I. Solzhenitsyn “Matryonin Dvor”. Main character- Matryona, the righteous woman, without whom the village cannot stand. Everyone who is not too lazy turns to her for help: neighbors, relatives. She does not refuse anyone and does not ask for anything in return. Matryona lives her whole life as if not for herself, but for others. She pities everyone, but no one pities her. She helped once, twice, three times... The people for whom she did something continue to treat her like a consumer. I do not criticize Matryona’s altruism, but it seems to me that her life would be better, fuller, more interesting if she cared at least a little more about herself and her interests and did not indulge all the requests of selfish people (sometimes bastards). We make sure that moral values necessary for everyone. But not everyone is capable of possessing them... So you shouldn’t feel sorry for those who are not ready to exchange their “bastard” qualities for the qualities of a worthy, highly moral person, otherwise these people will simply use us.
Updated: 2017-08-16
Attention!
Thank you for your attention.
If you notice an error or typo, highlight the text and click Ctrl+Enter.
By doing so, you will provide invaluable benefit to the project and other readers.
Useful material on the topic