“When people die they disappear, but not Dragan Nikolic,” someone wrote on social media regarding the fifth anniversary of the death of one of the greatest Yugoslav actors and certainly the greatest charmer among them. A symbol of the Belgrade spirit, an unsurpassed rascal, and above all a great artist, Gaga Nikolic left us on March 11, 2016.
Besides having the good fortune to interview him several times, an added value was that we were neighbors. Not infrequently, I watched him from the window of my rented studio apartment, dressed as if for the Cannes Film Festival, going to the “Talija” cafe to meet his eternal friend Bora Todorovic.
During the bombing, we extinguished our fear in the “Dublin” cafe, right next to his entrance, relentlessly playing darts and drinking beer. All bad thoughts and forebodings would vanish when Gaga walked out, dressed as if for a fashion runway, sat at a high table in the garden—or rather, on the sidewalk—ordered a whiskey, lit a cigarette, and gazed into the distance. We would then look at him more than at the dartboard. And we knew everything would be alright because he was there, next to us, calm, charming, and elegant.
Every time he had a different suit, scarf, kerchief, shoes… He sat in that Vracar establishment, on that low-traffic street, as if in a Hollywood frame amidst general hopelessness. Prompted by his appearance and often observing him from the window in the morning as he passed through the entryway in a sailor shirt, I wondered if the clothes make the man. It seems Gaga “made” those clothes.
When I was writing the romanticized biography of Pavle Vuisic, Gaga was a precious interlocutor; we spent some time talking only about Paja. Once he called me to consult about some tabloids that were dragging him through the mud (yes, yes, the tabloids attacked Gaga too). I cannot describe how I felt when, for no reason at all, he gave me that long-sleeved sailor shirt of his. I still keep it today as my greatest relic.
When he left us, I did not want to share these memories; instead, I found three women who knew him from a different perspective and had never spoken publicly about Gaga until then. These are his colleague Merima Isakovic, the bartender at the “Atelje 212” buffet Branka Golubovic, and costume designer Ivanka Krstovic. These are their stories.
Merima: A boy, mischievous, but never vulgar
One of the most beautiful and talented Yugoslav actresses, who entered the Academy at sixteen and a half and shone in the film “Jovana Lukina,” played with Dragan Nikolic in “A Certain Other Woman.” Merima Isakovic quickly won over the theater audience, but she had a serious car accident and remained paralyzed at the age of 21. She gave me her first press interview for the ex-Yugoslav region after recovering in Russia, China, and Ukraine about fifteen years ago, from New Zealand. Now she is on the Gold Coast of Australia, where she helps people as a psychotherapist for sixteen hours a day. This is her story about Gaga…
“I almost don’t even remember exactly how I met Gaga. From the first moment, it seemed I had known him forever. The theater comes to mind, laughter on stage, we first-year students of the Theater Academy are extras, and I am chosen among everyone to walk across the Atelje 212 stage as a student extra with a cigarette in my hand. The problem: I am the only one in the class who is a non-smoker. I remember, I go from position A to position B at the rehearsal, we are all following the director’s instructions nicely, when someone’s hand lightly touched me. I turned around and saw Gaga’s face and a wide smile: ‘Little one, you’re going to set the theater on fire.’ In his hand, he held my cigarette which I had obviously lost while walking across the stage. I didn’t see him for a long time after that, only for us to meet again on the set of the film ‘A Certain Other Woman.’
Gaga was always Gaga to me. My pal. A smile full of mischief. He loved to confuse me with some comment. He would say:
‘It is wonderful to see someone’s cheeks still turn red.’
His jokes had a mischievous tone, but vulgarity never seeped through. Gaga carried within him the purity of a boy and the heart of a friend, walking the paths of spirit and the vigils of theatrical dreams with bare feet.
A live catfish stirring the soup with its tail
The first time we talked about the river was during a play that one of the directing students was trying to build. He mentioned the Sava and how much it meant to him. I told my story about the river, my Danube where I fished with my grandfather. I told him how I would return every fish back to the river and how my grandpa smiled through his mustache, saying I was a river squirrel saving fish from fishermen. Yet, by some miracle, grandpa managed to bring a fish or two home, and he would tell me he bought them on the way while we were returning home and I was napping in the car. I missed my grandpa. A lot. Gaga told me:
‘You must come to the Sava. You must meet Dule Glavonja. He is just like your grandpa.’
So I arrived at the Sava. A river of rafts and fishermen who, over Dule Glavonja’s magical soup, share fishing tall tales. He introduced me as ‘the girl from the Danube.’ I enjoyed it as if I had been born there. As I stepped onto Dule Glavonja’s raft, I heard: ‘Child, watch out for the bones’ and a large plate of fish soup was in front of me that instant. A fish tail was sticking out. I remember Gaga telling me: ‘You know how the best soup is made: a live catfish has to swim in it to stir the soup with its tail. Otherwise, it’s no good.’
During the filming of ‘A Certain Other Woman,’ the Sava became my home. I bought a raft near Dule Glavonja and the wonderful, dear Pavle Vuisic. My Ada, a German Shepherd, was constantly with me. Gaga didn’t tell anyone I was an actress. I remained ‘the girl from the Danube.’ When I bought the raft, the fishermen heard that ‘Ahmed’s raft was bought by an actress.’ It was almost a day of mourning when they found out. I was preparing the raft, painting, cleaning, and they thought I was a student and that the ‘actress’ had paid me to fix up the raft for her. I practically moved to the raft and there was my new family of fishermen: Dule, Isa…
They would tell me to leave a pot on the edge of the raft some nights, and in the morning I would find cleaned fish in it. As a sign of gratitude, I would bake pancakes in the evening and take them to old man Dule’s big raft to share with the fishermen. They still didn’t know I was the ‘actress who bought the raft.’ Gaga enjoyed the whole enigma and constantly teased them about how, well, an ‘actress’ would be in their neighborhood one day.
Pancakes with rosehip jam
The day came when all the work on my little blue raft was completed. Old man Dule invited me for soup. The fishermen were sitting as if they were holding a forty-day memorial service. I didn’t understand what was happening. They sat in silence; only an occasional slurp could be heard. I felt sadness and I remember how I almost cried myself without knowing why! I asked Isa if something had happened to old man Dule Glavonja. Dule turned to me: ‘Gaga was here yesterday! He said to us: Look, by God, how the little one fixed up that raft! Almost done. I asked him if that means the actress is coming soon, so this child will leave the raft, and Gaga answered me: I don’t know exactly when, ask the little one, she’ll tell you.’
My heart jumped. The realization that they would be so sorry if I left the Sava was wonderful. The family warmth they radiated spread across the river. I decided to accept the game that Gaga had started. I said: ‘Tomorrow I finish the work. The actress will be here at noon.’
That evening I called Gaga and told him to come tomorrow, if he could, to Dule’s raft. He laughed, knowing exactly what would happen. The next day I finished the work and baked a bunch of pancakes. I took off the rubber boots in which I usually cruised the raft and went to old man Dule Glavonja’s raft barefoot. The same faces: the same fishermen and friends. Gaga was there. Again, the same atmosphere of silence and anticipation. Soup in front of us, pancakes in the middle, rosehip jam with a big spoon on the side. Occasional slurping is heard. The soup is eaten. Old man Dule breaks the silence: ‘Well, what now, like she won’t even come for soup?’
‘Who?’ Gaga asks as if he doesn’t understand.
‘Well, that actress!’
‘Is it, child,’ he addresses me, ‘where is she?’
‘Who?’ I say.
‘Well, that actress,’ old man Dule mumbles.
‘Well, she’s here,’ I said.
‘Where here?’ Dule asks.
‘Well here, with a pancake in her hand,’ I said and handed a pancake with jam to old man Dule.
I will never forget the confused expression on his face and the wide eyebrows, hanging like clouds over his eyes that pierced me: ‘You, an actress?!’
‘I am an actress. It’s me, old man Dule, if I may admit it,’ I said laughing.
His face lit up, he turned and hugged Gaga: ‘Well, you really are a donkey! My heart almost stopped, man, I thought some woman with a little dog and high heels was going to move into the raft. Well, child, may you be alive and well!’
Stories for children who do not want to grow up
Gaga and I always met on the Sava at old man Dule Glavonja’s table, over soup and a wonderful chat. It wasn’t as often as I would have liked, but every meeting was wonderful. We would talk about life, the river, fishermen, my grandpa, roles, actors. Gaga often talked about Milena and how they met, how he grew up as an actor and as a man alongside her… They had a raft somewhere above old man Dule’s, but I never saw Milena on old man Dule’s raft. Gaga talked about how he met Bata Zivojinovic, how friendship is important in an actor’s life, how it keeps us from getting conceited…
When I remember those conversations now, it seems to me that he talked with me like a child for whom he didn’t want to grow up. As if he wanted us all to remain kids of the theater, children of dreamed stories. We talked about acting as an art of dreams. Gaga advised me to guard my dreams and not to look back at those who do not dream through theater. In those moments, it looked as if he were 100 years old and preaching. He would say: ‘The smile of life is gifted to us actors and the honor to share it with others.’ He spoke with boyish curiosity about books, stories, verses. Gaga had the years of little boys and girls and the years of old men from the river. He always remained my good friend, my pal from the Sava.
Shortly after filming ‘A Certain Other Woman,’ my traffic accident happened. Gaga came to the hospital. He was pale as a ghost: ‘How are you, little one?’
‘Great, don’t worry, I’ll come to the Sava.’
Years of surgeries and rehabilitation followed… While I was in Russia for treatment, pictures of my Ada arrived from the Sava—my German Shepherd whom my family of fishermen looked after as their own puppy. Isa and old man Dule sent me letters with pictures of Ada, the signatures of all the fishermen, and with the paw prints of Ada’s puppies.
The memory of Gaga and that time are beautiful memories of my first steps, childhood, the life of a girl who was an actress on stage and in film with a full heart, but at every other moment remained a child of the Danube and Sava. I rarely hung out with actors outside the theater, except when we would stay after a show. My friends from elementary school still remained my friends to this day. A couple of wonderful actors also became and remained mine, and I have kept those friendships in my heart. After the injury and long treatment, my life took new paths, but I followed the careers of my dear friends with a smile. I returned to the stage with ‘The Glass Menagerie’ and again touched dreams on the boards that mean life. Gaga and Isa came to the premiere directly from the river. After the play, Gaga told me with a big smile: ‘Little one, now you really have set the theater on fire!’
Old man Dule was not in good health so he could not come. I remember the sadness when old man Dule passed away. As Gaga said, he is surely making the best soup in heaven, with a live catfish stirring the soup with its tail. Now, I thought with a smile, probably both of them are sitting up there on some heavenly raft, over that famous soup, and smiling at us with a full heart.”
Branka: He called me “cattle,” out of affection
There was neither a smaller space nor a larger amount of significant people who paraded through, more authentic jokes, more intellectual discussions, laughter… than the Atelje 212 buffet. One of the trademarks of that cult place was Gaga, and there is also his favorite bartender Branka Golubovic, the keeper of the greatest acting secrets.
“Whenever he comes to the buffet, he says: ‘Waiter, cattle!’, and I: ‘Speak, pig.’ That’s how every one of our meetings began. That was the love between us; he only told me: ‘Waiter, cattle!’ I met him as soon as I arrived here in 1983, I don’t remember which month it was, and then we started addressing each other with ‘cattle’ and ‘pig’ and that stayed until the very end. And he knew how to enter a crowded buffet and wave his hand to me: ‘Hey, Branka, give me a whiskey, and ask these others…’, and everyone expects a round, and he continues: ‘And ask them what they are doing here during working hours.’
He was full of love; when my head hurts, he would: ‘Come so beautiful Gaga can kiss it, so it passes.’
That was the old buffet; it never closed, all day and until six in the morning, it was full non-stop. It was a crew that had a serious tempo.
I always stayed until the end, and the end was when they decided. And it was fun; those were intellectual giants. I was never in a hurry to get home. Greats like Bata Stojkovic passed through here, and Aligrudic, Ljuba Moljac, Zoki Radmilovic, Tasko Nacic, Butkovic, Bacic, then Pera Kralj, and Beautiful Gaga, and this child Madzgalj. Whenever the song ‘The ship sails…’ played, I ran to the stage to listen to him. He had a divine voice. I watched Gaga in ‘Azdaha’ and in a play with Ceca Bojkovic, but I had a lot of work, so I didn’t make it often. Tirke came, Oliver Mandic, footballer Cvele, Mihiz, Dusko Kovacevic, Brana Crncevic. I loved listening to Mihiz very much. There was a small bench; he would sit, start, and we would all become all ears. People from the radio, decorators, craftsmen came here, and Gaga hung out with everyone.
He mostly drank ‘twelve-year-old’ whiskey, and he also liked some domestic brandy. If we didn’t get it, then he would bring a flask, come for ice, and take it to rehearsal. He had a bit of stage fright. He was always elegant, never sloppy; I remember his leather jacket…
He was the leader of laughter. Out of the blue, he would fire off: ‘What was Ljubomir Draskic’s nickname again?’, and these people would take the bait: ‘Muci.’
‘Well, pull my… [rhyming joke].’
Whenever it was a Serbian New Year, the trumpeters waited for him in front of the door. I remember, Mira Trailovic had some rehearsal, the trumpeters can already be heard from the street, they enter the buffet, Mira comes down, yells: ‘There’s a rehearsal,’ and he tells the trumpeters: ‘Hit it harder, let those at the rehearsal hear it too.’ No one could stop him.
Gaga let me go
Ruza Sokic was working on a piece with Mira Trailovic and Ruza complained to him how she had some obligations and had to leave, and he says jokingly: ‘Go ahead, say that I let you go.’ He didn’t even think she would actually leave in the middle of a rehearsal, but that happened. The whole ensemble went crazy; later Mira Trailovic scolds Ruza, and she says: ‘But Gaga let me go.’ And since then that famous phrase arose: whenever someone needs to leave early, they just say: ‘Gaga let me go.’
When he got drunk, Gaga was not aggressive, unlike Prele. When Prele drinks, then everyone through the door, ‘scram.’ Once Baja Bacic was there, I called him ‘honey cookie,’ and Prele goes around and screams at the top of his lungs, and Baja wants to stay. I hide him behind the bar, Baja drinks, Prele bangs glasses by himself, and the two of us don’t speak out of fear.
Gaga and Pera Kralj had a more cheerful tone when they were drunk; there was more humor.
Pera Kralj knew that I didn’t like to be photographed, and he constantly came with a camera and pursued me; we chased each other around the buffet. Pera teased me constantly. I had some slips of paper with bills and suddenly I see they are gone; I open the fridge and find them in the freezer: ‘What are the slips doing here?’
‘Well, so the prices freeze,’ Pera shouts.
The buffet lived without great friction and with a lot of charm.
The actors also drank on credit, but they paid regularly when the salary arrived, and they always tipped me. The whole previous crew was bohemian and chivalrous. I listened to stories about plays; the buffet was an artistic laboratory, things were created there. Female fans came, and Gaga enjoyed that, but with him, everything was at a high level; he knew how to carry it skillfully.
I have forgotten many of those episodes, some are not for telling, and I’m sorry I didn’t write it all down, but my colleague Novica is here, so he reminds me.
Dangerous phoning
Novica, who has run the buffet for 40 years, recalls how it used to be a rule that whoever didn’t come to the buffet didn’t even live that day.
“While he played in France, Gaga performed in a different city every night, and as soon as the play ended, he called the Atelje from the first phone booth and asked for anyone from the buffet, just to hear them, to pick up some energy.
There was only one phone here, where the porter’s lodge is now, and when someone goes to make a call, silence immediately falls in the buffet so that what they are saying can be heard, and the one on the phone then starts to whisper. That was a standard joke. And so Dragan was talking once and when he finished the conversation, he loudly continued to simulate a conversation: ‘Look, you have to have an abortion, I can’t take care of that, what do I care!’ And then a general show begins. Or when he finishes a conversation, and when it isn’t heard what he is saying, then Muci throws in: ‘Is it Ziza?’, alluding to the famous episode from ‘Otpisani’ with Ziza Stojanovic. Back then it was whispered how the two of them couldn’t get out of the role of lovers so quickly. He and Bora were constantly competing over who was more popular with young ladies, so they agreed that whoever dies first, the other one should write down how many women were there and how many cried.
Gaga was not musical; he didn’t have an ear for music. Once Djuza and he were watching a rehearsal where Gorica Popovic, Mira Pejic, and Ljiljana Dragutinovic were singing. Gaga was delighted: ‘Oh, man, how these women sing,’ and Djuza looked at him: ‘How do you know?!’
He also adored hanging out with children. When there were children’s New Years, Tasko Nacic was Santa Claus; Gaga would pick up Caci’s children and some other kids, bribe them with some chocolate, and persuade them to sing: ‘The white path is dusting, is dusting, the children are f…ing Santa Claus.’
They made decisions to go home with difficulty, not only because they loved to sit, drink, and joke but also because of the informal rule: ‘The one who leaves first is in for it.’ He would immediately find himself as the target.
Unfortunately, many have left, although that doesn’t mean they won’t ‘be in for it’ from those who remained.
Ivanka: He was a style icon and very fine
Costume designer Ivanka Krstovic says: “Dragan Nikolic was besides everything else—what a stupid cliché!—also a style icon.” She worked with him in the series “Wounded Eagle” and a long time ago in the film “It Will Be Better.”
Ivanka recalls: “When it comes to the costume, actors can be demanding; they want to wear this, and they won’t wear that at all. Gaga really agreed to everything. He was handsome, so everything he put on looked good on him, and he was of such a noble nature that he never made a problem about dressing. Once I brought a suit and the pants were tight on him, but he didn’t complain until I noticed he had unbuttoned a button. I asked why he didn’t button it, he says: ‘This is tight on me.’
‘Well why don’t you say so, man?!’, I was almost embarrassed by how fine he was. In ‘Wounded Eagle’ he rode a lot and very well; he had perfect boots and the riding suit fit him divinely. He was nearly 70 then, but he was a boy. That’s how he dressed too. I always loved to see what he was in; I remember this combination: red Chuck Taylors, red suspenders, a white shirt, white pants… That looked on him as if it had come out of the shop that moment, but actually nothing was new. But he was so meticulous that everything looked better on him than it really was, and on top of everything, it was good.
I was working on a play in Tivat, and Milena and he were at the sea; they had a house nearby, and he came to the dress rehearsal. Suddenly I see a fascinating appearance approaching: a white shirt, white pants, white Chucks, even a white sweater thrown over his shoulders—it all shines, almost as if it were starched. Few people could pull off such a combination.
The white hat of Mr. Gaga
Once he brought a hat to the set: ‘I bought this hat in South America and I would like to be filmed in it.’ It looked good on him; it’s that white cloth hat with a green lining, which he wears almost all the time in ‘Wounded Eagle.’ Another time I brought a suit belonging to my son, who is tall and thin, but Gaga managed to get into that suit. It looked nice on him and he knew how to wear it.
And when we were doing that film ‘It Will Be Better,’ it seems to me he brought some white shirt and said he would like to stay in that. Most actors don’t like giving their own wardrobe. He was not one of those.
At one time I kept a boutique across from the television station and then he would stop by and animate the women who happened to be there; he helped me sell the goods. He was unrepeatable.”
Author: Aleksandar Đuričić Photo: Wikipedia