“The spirit of Zhvanetsky visited us” – MK

Malkin is the president of Author’s TV.

One of the best interviewers ever. Smart, thin, good, bad, evil, he will climb into your soul with legs, without even asking permission. Superbly, he split all these avant-garde artists, former Soviet citizens, in all their France, America, Italy. And how well he settled down at Victoria Tokareva’s dacha, he really won a ruffy, most difficult woman for revelations, a ladies’ man. And then she laid out her whole soul to him, left nothing for herself.

But here is Zhvanetsky, that is, his bright image. When you don’t ask yourself anymore, you don’t pretend, you don’t make big eyes.

There is his friend Oleg Stashkevich, art director and literary secretary, he is from Odessa, hello. Not an equivalent replacement, however.

Zhvanetsky is complex, still incomprehensible, touchy, narcissistic, intolerant of competitors. And they were? His great all-consuming self-irony did not always extend to the author himself, in places, pointwise, but it was enough for us sinners. When he died, colleagues gathered at Maxim Galkin’s studio to commemorate, but nothing came of it, because colleagues still held a hidden unsatisfied resentment against Mikhal Mikhalych, envy, and they weren’t colleagues, Zhvanetsky climbed too high on his Everest, from there, from the top, could not hear, understand the workers of his workshop, no, not a distillery.

And the audience? Yes, they looked at him with moist, loving eyes, took autographs with pleasure, considered the guru, the idol of the generation, but as soon as the sage was gone, they immediately forgot. Well, of course, there are so many worries, covid, special operation, prices, timelessness when you need to create new idols for yourself.

Therefore, the four-episode transmission of Malkin, yes, not in the eye, but in the eyebrow, but atmospheric, the spirit of Zhvanetsky was here, visited us. After all, he, and even Vysotsky (and, perhaps, no one else) expressed us to us, Soviet ones, and Russians, of course. After the collapse of the country, Zhvanetsky, unlike many of his associates, did not get lost, but, on the contrary, continued to explain us to us. It turned out that he has no boundaries at all, that he is higher and more necessary than all this, over barriers, beyond time and space.

And two more nuances. Then, as if by chance, Pozner came to Stashkevich, a piano in the bushes, whom we had not seen for a long time, who is silent on a given topic like a partisan during interrogation, and in a nutshell, in a few phrases, expressed Zhvanetsky in such an unimaginably cosmic and still earthly way that all previous words about him faded, turned out to be irrelevant. Silent Posner, the same age as a genius, by the way.

And there was also Kira Proshutinskaya, so they didn’t wait. She, the former Malkin, or Malkin, the former her. It’s like meeting Stirlitz with his wife in the cafe “Elephant”. Kira added a feminine, intuitive, lightning-fast, and that’s what turned out to be a complete program.

Vivat, Zhvanetsky!

We need this kind of hockey!

And you say our people don’t play hockey anymore. And we do not need such hockey. They play, and how. I turned on Zvezda, leaned back 50 years in a time machine, and here you are: 1972, Luzhniki, USSR Super Series – Canada, game No. 5. “Legendary matches” have revived, and no sanctions have anything to do with it.

Slava Fetisov leads all this, and half a century later Boris Mikhailov, Alexander Yakushev, Vyacheslav Anisin, Yuri Lyapkin came to him. All handsome men are daring, champions of everything and everything, our childhood, youth and youth, our life.

We lost 0:3 and 1:4, but still won, as always, heroically. And who scored with us? Blinov, the same Anisin, Shadrin, Gusev (not Pavel, but Alexander), Vikulov. Who was in the frame? Well, of course, Tretiak.

And again I was ill in the same way as in the 72nd, when I was 7 years old. And tragically grabbed his face when they let him in, and jumped up from his chair to the ceiling after our goals, and you say “sanctions”.

The only negative is that we took this film from the Canadians. And our broadcast with a commentary by Nikolai Ozerov was demagnetized right at the side. This is what we know how to demagnetize, as if nothing had happened.

Imagine if you could hear Nikolai Nikolaevich again, his magic: “Petrov passes to Mikhailov, Mikhailov Kharlamov, goal! needed!” To hear Ozerov again, it would be a fairy tale.

Recently, “Culture” showed “Visiting Nikolai Ozerov”, this is 1987. All of them were still alive: the owner himself, already, however, suspended from big matches, and Lev Yashin, and Andrei Starostin, Vyacheslav Innocent, Kirill Lavrov, Andrei Goncharov, Evgeny Simonov, Zurab Sotkilava … Only Khazanov remained alive today. “Ozerov combined sport and culture like no other,” he said before the program.

I have great respect for both current commentators and this profession, but there really has never been and never will be like Nikolai Ozerov. This is true.