Actor Kārlis Arnolds Avots: “I hope I did justice to the story behind the medals”

You initiated and co-wrote the film Ulya, which received a standing ovation at Cannes and was selected to represent Latvia at the Oscars. How did this project come about?

About 10 years ago, I joined a new acting class in Latvia, and they were working on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s novel Crime and Punishment. I was at my mother’s house rereading the novel, and I knew that all the significant roles – Svidrigailov and Raskolnikov, and all the other beautiful characters – were already taken. I didn’t want to compete with other actors for the roles that had already been distributed. Then I read about the old lady that Raskolnikov visits, and I thought I could play her. I shared the idea with my mother, and she said: “You would be a very tall old lady, like Ulyana Semyonova.” The thought really struck me. I went outside, sat down, and cried. I realised that this was the story I had been looking for.

How did you find a director to make it into the film?

At first, I wanted to do a theatre show, but I was unknown back then and people thought I was a bit crazy. I was a student who wanted to play a female character, and nobody took me seriously.  But then I proved myself to be quite a normal theatre actor, and I met Viesturs, the film director. He’s the artistic director at the Dailes Theatre, and he invited me to work there. I told him I would work for him if he would let me do a production about Ulyana Semyonova in which I would play the lead role. He said: “Alright.”

Was he the first director that you pitched the story to?

No, he wasn’t. I went from one director to the next like a madman. All of them were curious and intrigued about the story, but also quite apprehensive, for all the good reasons.  Viesturs had a reputation for loving impossible things, so I knew the project could appeal to him. At first, he wasn’t very interested in it, but we made another film before – Janvaris – and he heard me talking about this idea to our film DOP, Wojciech Staron. When he saw how excited Wojciech was, he understood there was something in it. I pitched it to him as a theatre show, but he said: “It sounds really cinematic; you should try and write something.” I didn’t know anything about writing, but I wrote a 15-page concept, and we won the national contest for the film funding. I then wrote the first five drafts of Ulya, and after that, we worked with professional scriptwriters.

Did you know Ulyana Semyonova personally?

Yes, I’ve known her since childhood. My mother is a rugby coach – all my family is very athletic – and she studied at the Academy of Sports in Latvia. Ulya is well known there, and my mother would sometimes have lunch somewhere near her. I have always admired Ulya and dreamt about her. I found her amazing: her warm, gentle personality in this really strong, big body. The contrast between such power and such a warm and generous heart intrigued me. I never saw her play, but I read about her since I was a boy. When I moved to Riga, I became her neighbour.

How did you first meet her?

I wrote her a letter. At that time, I was still a student with this crazy idea that nobody was paying any attention to. I decided to take things into my own hands. I sat down and wrote a letter explaining to Ulya what she meant to me, how I had read every article about her, and how moved I was by her story. Re-reading the letter, I thought it read a lot like a love letter, so I asked a Latvian female theatre director and a writer for her opinion. She said: “Kārlis, you have to make it more formal; otherwise she will think you’re either mad or in love with her, or both.” We rewrote it, and I went to where she used to work. She was running a social fund for former Soviet-era athletes who fell on hard times. It was the first time that I  saw her in person. I remember her large, beautiful hands on her small laptop. The image struck me so hard that I couldn’t say a word. I left the letter on the table and just ran away.

Was she involved in the project?

Yes. The second time I met her, it was in her apartment. I asked her if she had read the letter, and she said: “Yes, Kārlis, of course I read it, and I still keep it.” It meant the world to me, even though she did not answer my letter back then. I suppose she thought my behaviour was very strange, suspicious, even. When I told her that second time I met her, years later, that I wanted to be her in the film, she approved right away. We had a strange chemistry. We relied on each other. She saw my eyes light up when I spoke about her life, and she understood how much it meant to me. She was very happy to learn that the project got financed. I didn’t know she wouldn’t live to see the film, but I know she felt my love and compassion and valued how I spoke about her. Of course, it’s extreme and radical that I’m the one playing her, but I’m convinced no one could have done Ulya more honestly than I have. I truly love her, and I did it for all the right reasons and from the right place. I did it from the heart, and she felt that.

Did you feel she was fragile? Did you seek to protect her through your interpretation?

She was fragile, but she was happy too. She learnt to laugh at herself, and I think that was one of her best qualities. She took life with irony, and she had a brilliant sense of humour. Basketball was a blessing for her because it brought her a community and friends. She was loved and admired. It was much easier to get an appointment with the president of Latvia than with Ulya Semyonova. A long list of people wanted to see her. I think her soul, her appearance, everything about her is just so beautiful. I hope I conveyed that in the film. I wanted my interpretation to be respectful. For the first time in my life, I was terrified to see a film I’d made, and I chose not to see Ulya until the very last moment. I was paralysed with fear that I would somehow cause her harm or that I would not fulfil my dream the way I wanted it done, or that I would see something I didn’t want to see. I asked my sister to accompany me to the screening. My heart was racing, and I was shaking so much that I had to ask her to drive. I hope I did justice to the story beneath the medals and trophies.

Did you feel that she possessed a special kind of innocence?

Of course. She came from a family of Old Believers, and I’m still moved to imagine her first coming to Riga at 14 or 15, wondering at the tall buildings and the electric wires. She had never seen anything like that before. There is something of an Enigma of Kasper Hauser by Werner Herzog in her story; someone who is experiencing life, trying to fit in, yet so far from it. I felt immense innocence in her, and I tried to incarnate it.

Did she have a very strong faith in God throughout her life?

Yes, she was a believer, but not like her parents. She had strong faith, but not in the conservative, Old Believer way. I was told she loved having a drink with her teammates or smoking a cigarette on a balcony. She would tell us how light her hand was the next day and how fluid the movement was when she made the free throw. She liked playing with a small hangover now and then. She knew how to celebrate, and she was really loved as a person. I enjoy visualising her having a smoke with her girlfriends on the balcony. When she died, there were two ceremonies. A public one where I said a few words, and another in the Old Believers’ prayer house, respecting all the Old Believers’ traditions.

How come you said the eulogy at her funeral? Were you that close?

We were quite close, but the Basketball Society asked me to say a few words about her. Her family was in favour as well, so I did. It was very important to me, and  I remember cancelling a shooting to speak at her funeral. Now, we are working on a monument for her in Latvia. I feel that Ulya is so much more than a film. It tells the story of our meeting, my trying to approach her, sometimes being really close to her, and then having to say goodbye.

How did you prepare for the role?

I studied a lot: I made screenshots and printed pictures of her in different physical positions, of how she smiled, how she looked when she was tired, etc. But the biggest part of becoming her was meeting the people around her: her teammates and very close friends. The stories they told me somehow went right under my skin. I wrote the first five drafts, then walked around my room, picturing the scenes, and imagining how they would feel. I rehearsed a lot on my own. I was really inspired by Kabuki theatre, where men play women, not by trying to become women, but by transmitting a different structure of energy, a poetic energy and a controlled inner life. It reassured me that it was possible. I believe that our biological or gender identity is just one part of us, but what really matters is the soul. When I played Ulya, I tried to channel her inner world. But I also changed physically; I lost quite a few kilograms. I tried to reduce my muscle mass to come as close as possible to her body. I’m physically a big guy, weighing about 100 kilograms.

How difficult was it to access her inner world?

She had many layers, but at the same time, she was my neighbour, and I was portraying a real person’s experience. Right before action, I visualised her sitting in the room right next to me. This made me very tender because she mattered so much to me. It took two summers to meet so many people who had known her, and by the time we were shooting, I had absorbed it all. I just had to be and convey the love I had for her in different ways.

Do you find part of yourself in her?

I do, a substantial part. I’ve felt like a misfit and an outcast all my life.  I think the beauty of the film lies in its universal message. Every one of us has already felt too skinny, too broad, too short, or otherwise off the social norm. It’s about trying to accept yourself and not always succeeding, and about learning to laugh at yourself too. I tend to put myself against the world sometimes, so something in her story immediately appealed to me.

Did you ever ask her for advice about your acting, about playing a certain scene, for example?

Not really. She saw the pictures after we had done the first part of the shooting, five days in winter, but she didn’t want to read the script. She knew which part of her life we were showing in the film. She laughed and cried about it, but it was her life, and she was proud of it. She understood in her bones what it was all about. And she trusted me. It didn’t feel necessary to ask her, and I was afraid of frustrating or frightening her. I wanted to reassure her, and I really projected a lot of self-confidence. I told her this film would go to Cannes, and it did. I don’t know why, but I was absolutely confident that Ulya would be shown and seen at important international venues.

The film is shot in black and white. What motivated this choice?

We were trying many different things at first. Colour worked somehow, but when we tried black and white, we realised that all the photos from that period were black and white, and we wanted to stay as close as possible to the character and her world. Viestur found his father’s negatives from that period, and that strongly influenced him too. In the end, it was Viestur’s and Wojciech’s choice. Black and white is also more poetic, and that is an important dimension of the film. Wojciech really elevates the film as a camera operator, but also on so many other levels: he helped us fix the script; he helped us direct. He’s a brilliant man and a professor. After the first film we made together, I wanted to follow him to Lodz to study with him. I really admire him.

What was, what was the most difficult thing for you to do in this film, physically, psychologically or emotionally?

Honestly, the biggest challenge was the limited time we had. Our budget in Latvia is so limited that we only have a certain number of shooting days. Sometimes, a really important scene had to be shot right at the end of the day, and we had so little time, often only two takes. It can be really frustrating when you want to achieve something with a scene. But as an actor, you need to learn how to use this constraint to your advantage. We had around 30 days of shooting altogether, but I guess poverty breeds creativity in Latvia. Other than that, I had to be aware of certain things, for example, my Adam’s apple or the veins in my hands. I was careful to keep my chin down, and I held my arms in the air to make the veins disappear. Also, I had to speak Russian, and I’m Latvian. I do speak Russian, but Old Believers speak Russian without an accent. But all these challenges are easy to overcome when you do it for the right reason. They didn’t bother me.

Despite her size, Ulyana Semionova was very feminine. How did you approach this awkward coming of age of a girl who didn’t look feminine, but was very much a woman?

She was very feminine, but I wasn’t focused on that. If I tried to play a woman, it wouldn’t have worked. I concentrated on her inner world and on her soul. I felt something very congenial between our souls, and of course there is a lot of femininity in me as well, as there is in every man. I obviously respected the codes of gender identity, but I had never had it as my aim to be a woman in this film.

Are you happy with the final result?

It’s awkward to speak about a film you’re in and say that you are satisfied. I’m really happy that it was selected for Cannes. I think I would have been hurt if it hadn’t been. I want Ulya to have a special place in the history of film, as a brave and poetic film, both beautiful and touching. I’m happy we managed to make an art-house film that is very visual, but also a narrative film that touches your heart. I’ve seen people moved by it, and I’m proud of that.

Has this film changed you personally, and how do you think it will impact your career?

I’m not sure. I think it has changed me. This project was my Hamlet moment: “To be or not to be.” I’m very honoured that this film – about someone brave and caring – will define me as a person and as an actor. At least I hope it will. I started working right after we finished Ulya. I found myself an agent, and I’m happy with the work I’m doing.

Where will we see you next?

I’m in Ireland, where we’re shooting the second season of the Vikings, a TV show called Bloodaxe. It’s from creators Michael Hirst and Horatio Hirst. We’ll be shooting here until November, but I hope to sneak away for the Rome film festival premiere of Ulya. I won’t be able to attend the Latvian premiere on September 15 because we have a big shooting day in Ireland, but I hope to make it to Paris.