Chapter Text
"What do you think, Boris?" Ulana asked, pointing to the script that the actor had in front of him.
It was a television miniseries, three episodes of an hour and a half eachs, focused on nuclear energy: a scientist supervised the inauguration of a new nuclear power plant, something went wrong and an accident was about to happen, but in the end the scientist managed to avoid it.
However, there would have been not only action and pathos, but also scientific accuracy regarding the functioning of the nuclear reactor and the possible accident. In short, no lame science fiction technobabble.
Vladimir Pikalov's script was solid and well structured, the plot was tick, the story had a great rhythm and was engaging, the characters were multifaceted and interesting.
Boris couldn’t deny it, he was already intrigued.
“It’s an excellent project. Do you already know who the director will be?"
"Viktor Bryukhanov."
"Wow, the spearhead of Mosfilm." [1]
"So, do you accept? It would be a different role for you."
Ulana knew that her client loved to engage in the most disparate roles, from the popular TV series to art cinema, to improvisation theater: he didn’t like the idea of pigeonhole himself in only one kind of role, and even if he had never become famous to the point of winning a Vasilyev Brothers or a Nika award [2], he was talented, known and highly appreciated.
Boris scratched an eyebrow and smiled at his agent: “Without a doubt, I never played a nuclear physicist. You say I can be a credible scientist?"
"You can be whatever you want, Boris."
The actors' ego was extremely fragile, and Ulana knew how to give strategic pats on the shoulder to support it.
"The idea is intriguing, but if there are scientific inaccuracies in a series like this, people will jump on us, or mock the series. Furthermore, it wouldn’t be correct toward the audience to spread misinformation on such a serious topic."
"You don't have to worry about this: Sitnikov, one of the producers, told me that he asked for advice from a nuclear physics professor of the State University, who will review the script, correct any inaccuracies, and give all the information you need."
Boris was happy that Anatoly Sitnikov was involved in the project: he already knew him, the man left a lot of creative freedom to the directors, and didn't skimp on the money to invest. A well done TV series had costs as high as a movie: forgetting this detail led to poor results.
"Great. How long will filming last?"
“They will start in four months and should last a couple of months at most, three if the weather during the external shoots doesn't cooperate. However, it will end in time before the movie directed by Tarakanov."
Currently Boris was working in theater in Gogol's "Dead Souls" [3] for another two months, and the one directed by Tarakanov was the next film where he had to work, but at the moment it was undergoing some delay, because the punctilious director wasn’t at all satisfied with the locations, and had had disagreements with one of the writers - then turned away from the project. But at the moment, everything was stopped, so Boris had time to work on another production that wasn't too long.
"You've thought of everything," he said to Ulana.
The woman smiled, "You pay me for this."
"Well, you can give my word to Sitnikov that I accept the role and, since I pay you handsomely, take care also of the whole outline."
"The whole outline" were the remuneration and the legal clauses of the contract.
Boris loved acting very much, it was his whole life, but he hated the contractual part of his work and the trammels that contracts often contemplated, for this reason he had chosen one of the best agents in the Soviet Union, who also had solid legal knowledge.
"As always," Ulana replied with a chuckle.
"I pay you for this," Boris echoed with a slightly grumpy smile.
"Then I'll go," Ulana said, putting down the cup of tea that the actor had offered her, ready to discuss the details of the contract with the production.
"One last thing: when they have chosen the scientist who will help us, I would like to know him and work closely with him, if possible."
"Of course."
Apparently, Boris was already entering in the character.
When Davit Garo stopped in front of the elegant building in the Presnensky district, Vitaly Charkov was already waiting on the sidewalk. His face was as expressionless as that of a sphinx, but Garo could feel the irritation radiating in waves from the lawyer.
Yes, he was late, but only a few minutes and because there was a terrible traffic: if Charkov complained, he was ready to bark him to go to hell.
He pulled up to the sidewalk to get him up.
"Let’s go, quickly. After this, I have another job commitment in two hours and I don't want to be late because of you," Charkov said in a monotonous voice. It seemed that he almost didn't move his lips when he spoke.
He had sat in the back seat, as if Garo was only a driver and not a member of the production staff: the arrogance of the head of the legal firm on which the film studio relied was well known to everyone, unfortunately.
Since Charkov hadn’t put on his belt so as not to crease his elegant suit, Garo had the strong temptation to brake abruptly at the first red light, only for the sake of hearing the lawyer's nose impact against the front seat, but as far as Sitnikov was patient and understanding, he wouldn’t have liked that.
"What's the name of this scientist we have to meet?"
"Valery Legasov. The Rector of the university recommends him because he has already participated in some tv shows about science," Garo explained, "Sitnikov has watched them and believes Legasov is suitable to be our consultant, since he can explain complicated concepts in clear and accessible for all terms."
"Well, we'll see if it goes through."
"Beg your fucking pardon?" Garo snapped, frowning.
"I must give my opinion on the economic convenience of involving a scientific consultant in the production, and I can’t already say if it will be positive: I haven’t yet spoken to this professor Legasov."
"What is this shit about? Sitnikov demands the utmost scientific accuracy for this miniseries, and we can’t guarantee it without a scientist!"
“Comrade Sitnikov is only one member of the film studio and, like everyone who works in the world of cinema, is a dreamer. The bakers, fortunately, are down to earth and are concerned with practical problems: this entertainment product is not a charity, it must bring a profit, so if the fee that the professor asks will be too expensive, I’ll not give my approval to his involvement."
"But…"
"If comrade Sitnikov consider this professor so indispensable, he can pay for him out of his own pocket," replied the lawyer dryly.
“Sitnikov will get mad, if something goes wrong,” thought Garo with a dark look, “and me too: without a scientist, it will be a disaster. Fuck this tosser."
Professor Legasov wore glasses with thick lenses, similar to those of Charkov, but the serious appearance was mitigated by a jovial smile and a still freckled face despite his age.
He made the guests sit at the desk in his office, cluttered with books, papers and reports from his students, and asked his secretary to bring them tea.
Garo liked him immediately: Legasov showed a genuine interest in their miniseries and was very competent.
He was about to hand him the script, so that Legasov had an idea of the work that awaited him, when Charkov stopped him with a lazy gesture of the hand.
“Whether you work for this production or not, Professor, not a word about the script has to come out of this room. If rumors arrive on TV and newspapers before the official publicity launch, there will be consequences," the lawyer warned, saying the words slowly, as if he was talking to a child who was a little slow in understanding.
Garo found him deeply offensive, but fortunately the professor didn't take offence.
"Of course, of course, I understand. You have my word that my lips are sealed." He smiled, picked up the script and leafed through it, marveling at its size: "There are many pages for a miniseries."
"Many scenes will be cut in the final montage," Garo explained, "but in the script we put all the possible scenarios: this offers us greater freedom of action in leading the story in one direction or another, and allows us variations in progress. This is why we ask you to review the entire script, even if it may seem like a waste of time."
“On the contrary, that of the cinema is a world that I have always found very fascinating. Of course I’ll need time for a review and I’ve to reconcile this work with my students' exams..."
Legasov flipped through a large, battered-looking agenda full of bookmarks, but Charkov raised his hand again.
Garo wanted to cut it off with a letter opener.
"First of all, it’s necessary to discuss your fee: since you already know how a tv production works, I’ll not insult your intelligence by reminding you that there is a budget to be respected and external consultancy is not an essential part of the production."
Valery understood perfectly well what the cold lawyer was trying to tell him: "Ask too much and this will end up in nothing."
He wasn't really interested in the fee, to be honest: he already had a job that paid well, that was an interesting diversion for him, as well as an opportunity to do some scientific information to a wider audience than his students.
"I'm not an expert," Valery shielded, shrugging, "make me an offer."
The sum pronounced by Charkov was so low that Garo started: people who did location scouting and set decorators were paid more. He was about to speak, but Legasov smiled and said he accepted.
"Very well," said Charkov.
Garo spoke again: “Once the script has been revised by you, it will return to Valdimir Pikalov, the screenwriter. It may be that not all of your suggestions are accepted: a tv production has its own rules about the pace and the cut of the story, which don’t always coincide with reality. It’s an entertainment product, not a university lesson: I hope this is not a problem."
Legasov chuckled, amused: "Oh no, I know that the scientific explanations are verbose and certainly not exciting."
"And it may be that Pikalov contacts you or wants to work with you to polish the script more."
"I'm available."
"Then I'd say that's all."
“Just one thing, if I can ask. Do you already know who will play the leading scientist in the story?"
"It will be Boris Shcherbina."
"Sh-Shcherbina?" Valery's mouth opened in a perfect "O".
"Something wrong, professor?" Charkov asked.
"No, no... it's just that... it's a very important name... I wasn't expecting it."
Hell, he certainly couldn’t confess to the two men sitting in front of him that he was a fervent admirer of the Ukrainian actor.
Charkov narrowed his eyes: "Well, it's a very expensive production, we want everything to be perfect and that nothing can ruin it." He took two copies of the contract out of his briefcase and handed them to Legasov, "Read each clause carefully, before returning a signed copy."
Having said that, he got up, buttoning his jacket.
"Yes... yes," replied the scientist, blinking, a little perplexed.
Once outside of Legasov's office, Garo lost his patience definitively.
"What the fuck was it? You almost threatened that poor man!" he snapped in the elevator.
"You think about doing your job, and I think about doing mine," replied the lawyer with ill-concealed impatience.
Once out on the street, Charkov asked to be taken to his next business meeting, but Garo laughed at him.
"Not a chance."
"Excuse me?"
“You were the one who said me to do my job, and it doesn’t include chauffeuring you around Moscow. Call a taxi."
Charkov shook his head with a heavy sigh: creative people, they were so sensitive. Fortunately, there were men like him to stem their chaotic behaviours.