He worked here from 1967 to 1973 (with a forced two-year break in the army), starting his career as a set decorator. Later, as he himself smiles, he gradually climbed the career ladder, working as a stage machinist, lighting electrician, and finally even as a chief administrator.
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“I probably would have worked much longer. I was soon supposed to get an apartment in Vilnius, but I left the theater due to flu complications and a long illness. Now I can say that I did the right thing,” recalls B. Kerys.
He gladly agreed to share with 15min readers his own written memories from working at the then Youth Theater more than six decades ago. This story is full of many forgotten or even completely unknown facts, funny and strange stories, everyday life of the theater at that time, portraits of prominent past actors and directors, tours, and adventures.
The first part of the text: Bronislovas, who worked as a stage worker at the Youth Theater during the Soviet era: “Salaries were very low, the work was strange and irregular”
***
In childhood, for several summers, my friend Albert and I herded cows, built tents from bushes, made campfires, and almost every day “fought” with wooden swords. When it was decided to revive “Romeo and Juliet” at the Youth Theater, quite unexpectedly Benjamin Kleinas and I were ordered to come to a fencing lesson. No one asked if we wanted to or not. And since we were not only stage workers but also members of the university Theater Studio, we were happy as if we had received major roles in the theater.
We were taught fencing by a kind and demanding elderly man, probably Stasys Petraitis. We learned together with other actors. We all learned to stand, move, hold the sword, thrust, cut, and perform various other actions. It turned out that every action, every position has its own number. And all fights in theaters and films are performances of pre-numbered actions.
When it was decided to revive “Romeo and Juliet” at the Youth Theater, quite unexpectedly Benjamin Kleinas and I were ordered to come to a fencing lesson. No one asked if we wanted to or not.
When the leg stopped hurting, when we learned to fence without sparks and without breaking the sword tips, fight “scores” were created for us. I had to fight with actor Juozas Jaruševičius. We fought according to the “score,” then he knocked the sword out of my hand and punched me in the stomach. I curled up holding my stomach and felt a dagger hanging near my belly. I pulled out the dagger and “stabbed” my enemy. The dagger was blunt but metal, without a spring.
For the audience to see the stabbing, J. Jaruševičius stood sideways to the audience, and I, as if stabbing the chest, stabbed into the gap between the side and the arm. The dagger tip often caught on clothes, so it was necessary to aim well to hit not the clothes but exactly the gap between the side and the arm. To prevent the audience from noticing what they shouldn’t, we fought deep on the stage far from the audience. After “stabbing,” I hurriedly ran off the emptying stage and ran through the dark backstage to the right side of the stage. Here, at the front of the stage, I calmly appeared as an ordinary townsman or Romeo’s servant. This is how I was photographed in the Youth Theater photo in the Lithuanian Soviet Encyclopedia.
The play lacked actors for mass scenes, so after the fight, I was an ordinary townsman in the mass scenes.
The play lacked actors for mass scenes, so after the fight, I was an ordinary townsman in the mass scenes, dancing across the stage in a pair with some actress with dance steps, then walking behind Romeo as Romeo’s servant. During breaks and when not on stage, actors and everyone else sat in a small room between the stage and the foyer. Once I heard several actresses gossiping about Romeo, talking about how he “rejuvenates.” Once they mocked both me and Romeo — actor Antanas Šurna.
After hard set decoration assembly, I had to hurry to dress in townsman clothes. Although there was a theater makeup artist, actors usually did their own makeup. In the university Theater Studio, we were also taught to do makeup, but in this play, no one told me anything, so I appeared on stage a few times without makeup.
During one performance, Romeo and I stood on the apron stage, very close to the audience, I sideways to the audience. I said to Romeo: “Your face is pale…” I heard someone loudly snort about the middle of the ninth row in the hall. During the break, several actresses came from the hall to the small room and jokingly told how I, all white and blue myself, said to the red Romeo “Your face is pale…” Everyone laughed a little. Maybe they wanted to tease actor A. Šurna more than me. That’s how I learned that makeup is necessary.
***
The decorations for the play “Aristocrats” were heavy, double, walls made of real boards, several standing on metal axles so they could be turned to the other side. For safety, the walls were held at the top by steel cables. In fact, the walls were hung and also rotated on axles fixed to the floor. For tours, the walls were made smaller, one or two standing only on metal axles.
Once in a fight scene, actor Vilhelmas (Vilius) Vaičekauskas punched me in the stomach quite realistically, I barely caught my breath.
From the very beginning, I participated in the mass scenes of this play, I was a uniformed prisoner, even saying a couple of lines “… neither buy nor steal.” On tour, we felt quite free. Once in a fight scene, actor Vilhelmas (Vilius) Vaičekauskas punched me in the stomach quite realistically, I barely caught my breath. I was not supposed to be in that place, so I did not expect such a blow. The audience liked it.
Another time during the play, an actress wearing a rather tight skirt sat on a decoration used on stage — a box. Suddenly the top of the box broke, the actress fell headfirst into the box and could not get up, only her legs dangled. Maybe not very funny, but we all on stage could not hold back laughter. I turned my back to the audience and laughed. I saw that other actors also laughed with their backs to the audience. An unexpected pause appeared on stage.
Once the athletic skills of actor Saulius Sipaitis were needed. During the play, Saulius was standing near the wall, the metal axle holding the wall broke, and the wall began to fall on Saulius. Saulius leaned his back against the wall, stretched his arms to the sides, grabbed the edges of the wall, and carried the wall backward off the stage. The action on stage continued without interruption. Maybe the audience thought it was supposed to be that way.
Suddenly the top of the box broke, the actress fell headfirst into the box and could not get up, only her legs dangled.
Actor Rimgaudas Karvelis, playing Botkin, slashed across his chest with a knife during the play, leaving “bloody” wounds. The knife was an aluminum sheet pressed into a handle, and the blood was paint. Everything was handed by a prop master standing backstage. Whether the knife’s spring jammed or something else happened, but at the start of the scene, R. Karvelis did not have the knife. So he grabbed his neck with both hands and began shouting “I’ll strangle myself, I’ll strangle myself,” adapting the play’s text to the situation.
***
Watching many times, you start to like all the plays. It seems that all the plays were good and all the actors acted well. Although now I quite often say to myself “In this weather, we won’t soon see our family” (“Scapin’s Deceits”), but after listening to the radio, watching TV, I increasingly remember “Dragon.”
Once I, a stage worker, also acted in “Dragon.” We were preparing for a tour at the Panevėžys Drama Theater. As always, the truck broke down. We had to change the entire engine. The truck driver had not slept for about two days. Somehow we managed to leave on time. I was riding in the truck cabin next to the driver. We passed the Musė stream, I saw we were driving on the left side of the road facing an oncoming “Pobeda,” and my driver was with his eyes closed. I punched the driver in the side, he quickly woke up, turned to the side, but after driving a bit, stopped. He told me to take the driver’s seat, he curled up next to me on the seat and fell asleep.
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My brother, the driver, had once taught me to drive a truck. Somehow I moved off with the heavily loaded truck. I approached a gas station before Panevėžys. I saw the theater bus standing, everyone got off watching me, only I was seen in the cabin. I stopped. My driver woke up. He continued driving through the city.
After arriving, we unload and assemble the “Dragon” decorations. Everyone was tired. A couple of hours before the play, it suddenly turned out that the actor playing the blacksmith was sick. The play was supposed to be watched by Juozas Miltinis himself. I don’t know who decided, but I had to play the blacksmith and the townsman.
The blacksmith was short and stocky, so the clothes looked a bit strange on me, who was thin and taller. I had to bring a heavy metal sword almost the size of a person and say: “Here, take it. I hammered all night.” Then hit with a whip. I had to hit so that it looked realistic to the audience but did not hurt the actors. I changed clothes and kept practicing hitting with the whip. I can say I saved the play, but maybe I did not appear particularly special because no one praised or scolded me. What can you say to a stage worker, not an actor? The work was done and forgotten.
***
When I worked at the Youth Theater, I had already played the priest parson Breiva and the peasant in Balys Sruoga’s drama “Terrible Night,” the Patient in Juozas Baltušis’ “Stories about Love,” Water in Gerhart Hauptmann’s drama-tale: “The Drowned Bell” in the university Theater Studio. In 1968, during Gaudeamus IV in Vingis Park, I played a priest. There were about 5,000 student spectators from Riga, Tallinn, Tartu, Minsk, then Leningrad, Kishinev, Tomsk. I immediately made about five thousand spectators laugh. A very pleasant feeling. Just for that, one can be an actor. In the Theater Studio, during various events and plays, I also did other theatrical work.
Quite early I realized that I would not be a good actor. The truth is, I got into the role, embodied it, during the play I was what I played.
In the university Theater Studio and the Youth Theater, I watched many rehearsals and plays. Quite early I realized that I would not be a good actor. The truth is, I got into the role, embodied it, during the play I was what I played, but I simply could not express or show many things, I had no talent. And also the appearance, voice, and much more. Sometimes something worked out. But not everything. Before my crucial line, seeing actors gathering backstage, I had no illusions that they gathered to watch how I would say this or that. But they were just preparing to go on stage…
I was not a cheerful, popular person. A melancholic, quiet, withdrawn, alone, so I communicated little with actors in the theater. During rehearsals, I learned more about actors than they did about me. Most actors seemed familiar and understandable to me after a few rehearsals, and I did not feel lonely among them. My directors Vladas Limantas, Leonas Ciunis, Algirdas Grašys knew me a bit better. Once actor Ferdinandas Jakšys surprised me by saying he had seen our Theater Studio play “Terrible Night” and had closely watched me — the priest parson Breiva. Later I also saw F. Jakšys playing a priest.
***
On tours, most actors and theater workers lived in hotels and came to performances by theater bus. Set decorators usually traveled by truck with decorations and stayed overnight where the play was shown. The truck was usually covered with tarpaulin, and traveling from one town to another was not difficult. It was possible to carry cribs, mattresses, bedding. Those traveling by truck were freer, could arrive early at the future play location, explore the town or surroundings, streams, lakes, church, cemetery. For that pleasure, they also received per diems and accommodation allowances.
Not only set decorators but also lighting electricians traveled by truck, usually the romantic Ala Gudonytė, secretly writing poems. Actors also traveled, mostly Česlovas Stonys, Regina Kazlauskaitė, Vilius Vaičekauskas, Saulius Sipaitis, maybe Juozas Jaruševičius, because once at Daugai Lake they caught a fish that hung in the dressing room down to the floor. When the truck was covered, there was no need to look around, amateurs played card games “vežimas,” sometimes “thousand” or some other game. But mostly “vežimas.”
Set decorators usually traveled by truck with decorations and stayed overnight where the play was shown.
To get earlier to the lake, river, or sea, we also traveled at night, dozing, heads resting on each other. Once, maybe tempted by Saulius Sipaitis, we walked from a nearby town to Veisiejai. Somewhere halfway, we swam in the lake. In Veisiejai near the lake, I found my former pupil living alone, borrowed binoculars and a boat from her, and rowed on the lake until the play.
Once a similar outing almost ended sadly. The driver kept wanting to stop somewhere to fix something. We were only two — the driver and me. We stopped by Paršežeris. At first, we were in no hurry. I swam in the lake for a long time, and a girl appeared. Meanwhile, the driver kept fixing and fixing until something completely broke. Evening was approaching, and we were still by the lake, quite far from the play location. They finished fixing a few minutes before the play started, and we still had about 20 kilometers to go.
When the truck was covered, there was no need to look around, amateurs played card games “vežimas,” sometimes “thousand” or some other game. But mostly “vežimas.”
Traveling, we do not see villages, there is no place to call, and no time to look for a phone. The audience was already gathered for the play, but we with decorations, costumes, props, lighting equipment were not there. We rushed at high speed, and the gathered audience saw it. Whoever could carried decorations, boxes with clothes, props, electrical equipment from the truck. And the actors had to hurry to dress and do makeup. The play took place.
***
Now it is hard to believe, but at that time no theater worker knew how to drive a car, only drivers. For drivers living in Vilnius, Youth Theater salaries were very low. Few drivers worked in the theater for a year. The theater had two “Kubana” type minibuses and two trucks. When the theater got a new blue “Kubana,” Anicetas Bedalis started working as a driver. I don’t know if it could be true, but Anicetas told that he had been the president’s driver. Maybe it was, maybe not, but he liked to talk mysteriously.
I also remember a driver who quickly got the nickname “Impulevičius” in the theater. Short, kind-hearted, talkative. He introduced himself as a former police driver, experienced, knowledgeable. But something always went wrong with him, something always happened. I traveled to Panevėžys with him, always dozing off. We “picnicked” by Paršežeris with him. With him sleeping next to me on the seat, at night, without a driver’s license, I drove across Lithuania from Klaipėda to Vilnius.
Now it is hard to believe, but at that time no theater worker knew how to drive a car, only drivers.
At first, he was a truck driver, then he started driving the minibus. Once somewhere in southern Lithuania, several theater workers and actors were traveling by minibus. A beautiful summer day, like at a resort, we were eating recently bought ice cream. Suddenly something flashed ahead, we crashed and were already standing.
Through the minibus windows, I saw an asphalt road rolling away from us, a dump truck rolling from side to side, breaking into separate parts and disappearing into a deep roadside ditch. The front of our minibus was without windows, the driver was still sitting at the wheel, covered with small window glass. We sat frozen, having dropped our ice cream on the floor. Looking around, I saw — everyone was alive and well.
I was the first to open the bus door, got out on the road to run to save the driver of the rolled truck and… stopped. At the crucial moment, I got scared. Maybe because I didn’t know what to do, maybe I was afraid to see something terrible, I got scared of something and stopped for a few seconds. Many people from stopped cars were already running toward the truck. I only stopped for a few seconds so they could arrive before me. I remember this all my life now.
From the ditch to the road appeared an oily head, and the driver came out alive, a bit bruised, and also his female passenger. A miracle of miracles. Then the litigation began. Our driver was really clever and, being quite guilty, proved that he was driving correctly. That truck was written off as scrap metal, but the theater had to pay for some new parts. Maybe that driver was Bronius Kairevičius. So many years have passed…
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