Danila Kozlovsky: “I understand too little about love”

He lives between St. Petersburg and Moscow, between theater and cinema, and is going to live also between Russia and the West. Therefore, his every day is scheduled by the minute, and we, waiting for him in the studio, are worried that there will not be enough time for shooting and interviews. But Danila Kozlovsky, almost without being late, is busily interested in: “How much do you spend on shooting?” And he laughs when he learns that it’s more than two hours. “Yes, you are crazy! Well, let’s work!” And then, fulfilling the wishes of the photographer, he laughs and frowns, waves his arms and pulls his sweater over his nose, jumps up and, it seems, even hangs in the air. After 50 minutes, the photographer and art director state that everything has already been filmed. “Well, what did I tell you? What are there two hours! Need to work!” Now I’m starting to worry that with his energetic approach to work, the interview will be reduced to 15 minutes of vigorous yes and no. And honestly I warn you that such a pace is not suitable for Psychologies magazine – depth is needed.

Danila Kozlovsky: And what depth do you want from me? Childhood memories?

Psychologies: Naturally. Everyone knows that psychology is about the fact that mom and dad are to blame for everything. What are your faults?

D.K.: Come on, it’s not their fault. I’m generally biased towards the past. It all goes for me under some kind of optimistic-nostalgic sauce.

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Well, how! Weren’t you sent at the age of 10 from Moscow to a harsh educational institution – the Kronstadt Cadet Corps? Is it possible to be offended by parents for this?

D.K.: Well, again about the cadet corps! Nobody sent me, you know? I went myself. They sent my brothers there, but I did not want to part with them. And he insisted on it at the age of 10. True, the brothers were soon expelled from there, but in the end I stayed. Not that they were somehow unbalanced or something else. Although, of course, we were not easy children – well, three boys in one family, whatever you want. But they did not immediately accept all this order of the cadet corps and in fact did everything to get them expelled from there.

You must be offended by them! By the way, what kind of relationship do you have now?

D.K.: Wonderful! We weren’t particularly close when we were kids. You understand that in childhood the difference of two years is colossal. Goga was 12 years old, I was 10, and Vanya was 8 – these are absolutely three different people, three different ages. And now we have gone through all sorts of difficulties and have become really close people.

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Okay, it didn’t work out with personal history, let’s try with geography. What can you say about the opposition of St. Petersburg and Moscow as a person living between these two cities?

D.K.: I will say that it is, of course, there is. Grown, artificial, from beginning to end, formed by ourselves. But now it certainly exists. And we live in this opposition, obey its rules, conflict, joke with each other. Although, of course, these are two different cities. First of all, they have different energy. The first thing that catches my eye when I get to St. Petersburg is not the architecture, not the expression on people’s faces, no. I feel a completely different energy. But for me there is no opposition. I grew up in St. Petersburg. I graduated from the theater academy here, my teachers live here, Lev Dodin is here, my theater is here – and Peter, probably, will remain a special city for me for the rest of my life. And Moscow is my homeland. Well, yes, and also Moscow is cinema and all my “side” projects. But as a person, I was formed – and continue, I hope, to be formed – in St. Petersburg. In general, you know, I got a good job. In my life, fully and very involved, there are two cities on an equal footing. And what cities!

Where did you live in Moscow?

D.K.: On the Falcon. At the very beginning of the Volokolamsk highway. We spent all our childhood climbing over the fence of the neighboring MAI. They ran, hooliganized, smashed windows, once I even started a truck that was standing there. Our pets were also buried there. I remember I had a chicken – for some reason I asked my dad to buy me a chicken.

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Chicken?

D.K.: Yes, it did. We walked through the market at the Saltykovka station, where we had a dacha. And I suddenly saw these chickens. For some reason, I even remember the price – they were sold for 3 rubles. And I started asking my dad to buy me a chicken. And he bought! I took care of him for a while. He lived with me in Moscow in a cardboard box. The chicken was amazing … I’m talking now and I myself understand how naive and stupid it sounds, but even now it hurts me to remember it. You see, this chicken died because of me. I really looked after him, walked him.

On a leash? Danila, are you kidding me?

D.K.: No, now you will understand! In general, you are the first journalist to whom I tell all this. No, of course not on a leash. The chicken walked in the yard, and I looked after him. And at some point, my friends-boys called me for a walk. And I wanted to go with them so quickly that I ran home and just threw this chicken on the floor in the hallway – I thought that someone would pick it up and take it to the box. And a neighbor from the top floor came to my mother – she was a very plump woman. And she stepped on him. I didn’t notice … And you say I’m kidding. I came in the evening, and at night it suddenly dawned on me: where is my chicken? “Did you just think of him now? Mom said. “Your chicken is gone, it’s dead.” I asked my older brother, he said that he buried the chicken behind the fence, near the recreation center MAI. And I went over there and dug up a grave, the place that my brother showed me. It was my first encounter with death, actually. I still remember that chicken wrapped in plastic.

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Are you afraid of death?

D.K.: Got it. Yes, I’m afraid. I don’t know if it’s worth talking about it so directly, but I’m afraid of death. And every time I come across her, starting with that very chicken, it is a very strong experience for me. These meetings have a very powerful effect on me.

Isn’t it scary to play death?

D.K.: No, for some reason it’s not scary to play at all. I die almost every day on stage. Either I get poisoned, or they shoot me, and now I’m also rehearsing Hamlet – you yourself know how it all ends. But there is no sense of hopelessness in all this. We play performances not about death, on the contrary, they should leave a feeling of light. Tragedy – it’s all the same about something bright. I think this is one of the features of our theater. And people come out crying, shocked, but still with some kind of bright feeling, I’m sure.

Is theater more important to you than cinema?

D.K.: No, I wouldn’t say that.

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But your eyes light up when you talk about it!

D.K.: They are burning. Because it seems to me that I work in the best theater in the world. Well, one of the best for sure. I am a real fan of my theatre, I love it, I love my teachers, my colleagues, in general, everyone – ushers, dressers. These are people with whom I am ready to just stand and talk for hours – and I will be interested in everyone. You know, yesterday I watched “Three Sisters” in our theater, we had four replacements at once, it so happened that several artists fell ill at once. Well, you can imagine that – four substitutions for the first time! And not the last roles – the role of Masha, Kulygin … The theater was full, I stood hunched over on the balcony – well, there was simply nowhere to sit at all – and it was three hours of pleasure. And I thought what a happiness it is to be part of such a company of people united by a common language, a common understanding of life and theater. And after all, the whole theater came – can you imagine ?! Fellow artists, accounting staff, administration – well, just everything! Everyone came to support.

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And after all this, you will say that theater is no closer to you than cinema?

D.K.: Yes, I will. The cinema has something else. This is some kind of frantic, desperate attempt to catch and record life. People do not sleep for days, exist for months on some incomprehensible reserves of adrenaline, at the absolute limit of their capabilities. And at the same time they still manage to save their faces so that they can still be filmed. And then the necessary props, then costumes, and everyone rushes to call, write to Facebook, and in an incredible way everything is and turns out to be in the frame, and in the 59th minute of the last hour of the twelve-hour shift, the necessary take is shot. I don’t know how to describe it. But this is precisely a mad attempt to seize life. And real magic.

What can you say about your new project “Status: free”?

D.K.: We call it a romantic comedy, but at the same time we emphasize that this is a romantic comedy in our view. We want to say that comedy may not necessarily be the kind that some Russian filmmakers have accustomed us to in recent years. Vulgar, uninteresting and with stupid jokes. That there can be drama, and absurdity, and tenderness in it. And it’s also a movie about love. Rather, even – about parting, which is also part of the relationship, part of love. Even after parting, there is life and there is love. And not only in the future, with someone else. It may sound strange, but all this is also in the relationship with the person with whom you are breaking up.

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In this film, you are not only the lead actor, but also the producer. That is, you are already looking at the place on the other side of the camera. Do you have directorial ambitions?

D.K.: There are, of course, but I don’t dare to talk about these plans yet. In my opinion, this is the only way to develop. No, not the only one, of course, but one of the main ones. And I’m not discovering any Americas here, in the same States or in England, the artists themselves are looking for material and realize what seems interesting and important to them.

“What seems important,” you said. Is breakup an important topic?

D.K.: Was it such a smooth transition to the topic of personal life? I do not want to talk about this.

Why?

D.K.: For several reasons. I won’t talk about my girlfriend, I don’t want to get off with general phrases. About past novels? Everyone knows about them, I never hid them from anyone. They are all wonderful young women. Why did they break up? Because there are no recipes in love. And this is perhaps the most important thing. I realized that I understand too little about personal life, about love, to talk about it. And I don’t flirt. I understand only that no rules work. And there is no such magazine and no such interviews to read, to act according to what was written – and everything turned out well for you. If I knew the recipe, I would definitely tell. And if not, then why talk about it at all? Feeding someone’s curiosity – “Is it true that he had sex with a black woman?”, “Is it true that he is gay”? I don’t see the point.

Then back to plans. Do you want to work abroad?

D.K.: Yes, and I’m already trying. There was a Vampire Academy, for example. The film, unfortunately, failed, if you call a spade a spade. But it was important to me. There were shootings with Keira Knightley directed by Joe Wright for Chanel. And this is also an interesting experience. Now there is a team of people who are waiting for me and believe in me. My question is first and foremost. This is a serious choice, existential, I guess. I can live on two cities, but you can’t live on two countries. And either go into the unknown, where there may be results, but also a big risk, or stay and develop here. I still want to try.

How do you see your life in twenty years? So come home…

D.K.: Well, I’ll be terribly banal. I come to a big house with panoramic windows and beautiful views. The voices of “Dad has come!”, Beloved wife on the doorstep, the clatter of claws when the dog runs towards me across the parquet and her paws are moving apart. And the driver who is waiting in the yard.

Why the driver?

D.K.: What do you mean why? Go to the set for shooting or to the theater for a rehearsal. Yes, and also so that at the same time my mother would call on the phone and the brothers would send messages on WhatsApp. But if it’s somehow different, but it will make me happy, I don’t mind either.