site.btaGeorgi Partsalev Centenary: Laughter Is Serious Business

The centenary of actor Georgi Partsalev, who famously said laughter is serious business, is marked on Monday. Born on June 16, 1925, in the town of Levski, he became one of Bulgaria’s most celebrated stage and screen actors.

CHILDHOOD

As a child Partsalev dreamed of the stage. He loved reciting, appeared at every school celebration and, aged six, moved the audience to tears as Quasimodo. In an amateur production in his home town he starred in a classical tragedy whose finale required his character to shoot himself. A stage-hand named Marincho was meant to bang a sheet of metal backstage to mimic the shot. When the final scene came the young actor pressed the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger, but no sound followed. He tried again, a second and third time—still nothing. Partsalev then grabbed a knife from the table, shouted “I am slitting my throat,” and collapsed; only then did the belated bang ring out. The next day townsfolk joked, “Here’s the man who shot himself with a knife.”

The incident demonstrated his ability to make audiences laugh. After graduating from secondary school in Pleven, he wanted to pursue drama, but his parents did not allow it.

MEDICAL STUDIES

“I believed I lacked the necessary talent and had no one to mentor me, so I applied to study law, dentistry, and medicine. I was accepted into all three programs, excelled academically, and chose medicine. Although I studied for several years, my passion for the theatre resurfaced while I was in Sofia, where I spent much of my time attending performances. Eventually, I joined several amateur theatre groups,” Partsalev said in 1983 in Otechestvo magazine. He performed on the stages of the People’s Theatre, the Slavyanska Beseda and Rakovski community centres and in the troupe of the Proletary factory.

Partsalev returned to his hometown during a winter holiday, where news had spread that he was now a doctor. His father, Ivan Partsalev, was proud. One day, a cart arrived outside their house carrying a sick man whose sons asked the young “doctor” to examine him. Partsalev hesitated, explaining that he was only in his first year, but his father insisted. He checked the man’s pulse, examined his pupils, measured his temperature, inspected his tongue, and stated confidently, “He will recover.” He refused any payment, but the next day the sons brought a demijohn of red wine, saying, “Thank you, Dr Partsalev. You comforted Father so much that, on the way home—may he rest in peace—he died smiling. The wine is for you.” In his fifth year at Sofia University’s Faculty of Medicine, Partsalev failed to enrol for the next term and left his studies.

RETURN TO ACTING

He was drafted to military service in Madan with a labour unit laying rail tracks in the mines. There he met actor-director Encho Bagarov, who later became his stage partner. In his third year of service he transferred to the Theatre of the Construction Troops in Sofia, where he stayed until 1955. When the Satirical Theatre was formed in autumn 1956, Partsalev joined its company and appeared in landmark productions such as Mihal Mishkoed, Golemanov, The Government Inspector, The Death of Tarelkin, Confusion, January, The Bus and The Bath. His first screen role came in the 1958 film Lyubimetz 13, followed by The Tied Up Balloon, The Whale, The Five from the Moby Dick, With Children at the Seaside, A Poor Summer, Farsighted for Two Diopters, (1976) and The Three Reservists.

“I recently visited the monument to Cervantes and his famous heroes in Madrid, lit a cigarette and bade that role farewell for good,” he told Standard newspaper about his unrealised dream of playing Don Quixote. “I feel a sadness inside. I believe I can play dramatic and tragic parts, but I was never given the chance. Directors no longer trust me, and audiences do not want me in such roles; my name and presence are linked to laughter. I tried once with Ivanka Dimitrova in The Gin Game at Theatre 199 and realised again that I can draw tears,” Partsalev told Otechestvo.

Partsalev died on October 31, 1989.

OTHERS ABOUT HIM

“I am proud to have known him. To me he was a true aristocrat,” singer Lili Ivanova said in 2004.

Tatyana Lolova described him: “Black glossy hair, shining dark eyes, long curled lashes, thin moustache, slender figure. Elegantly extravagant, reserved and generous, awaited, loved, radiant, sometimes sombre. Expressive wrists, long fingers covered with rings. In tails or village breeches, the centre of boisterous company. Never alone, yet lonely. Gentle and sometimes rough. There was no corner of Bulgaria he had not visited—small or large halls, meadows and stadiums. A distinctive voice, imitated yet inimitable. Romantic, vivid. Don Quixote—a dreamed role. Dreamed, never played. I was beside him on stage and screen, in variety shows and in the life of the sad clown who gave out laughter.”

Stoyanka Mutafova recalled: “We were in Vidin during a harsh winter. That morning, we arrived at the station just as the train was leaving, and we had a performance scheduled in Sofia later that day. The ice made travel difficult. We took a taxi to Dimovo station in an attempt to catch the train, but it had already departed. We then ran along the tracks as the train picked up speed. In desperation, we spread our arms across the rails, risking our safety. The machinist looked out, initially assuming we were attempting suicide, then recognized us and stopped the train. We boarded, and Partsalev told me: "See what fame can achieve? Who else can halt a train? Yet you always remain in the background." I will never forget his other words: "Stoyanka, you are kissed by God. Do not wipe off that kiss." I am grateful, because he was the first to make me popular,” she said in 2004.