Felix Ivanov 1950-2022 | In Memoriam

By Michael Milligan

Former drama faculty member Felix Ivanov died May 14 after a brief battle with cancer. He was the much beloved stage combat teacher at Juilliard from 1996 to 2008 (including a few years before that as a visiting teacher), but those of us who studied with Felix knew him as much more. A true renaissance man, he was an accomplished movement teacher, musician, actor, director, clown, martial artist, sage, and generous mentor to many.

Born January 28, 1950 in Moscow, where he studied and taught music, drama, and movement to actors, Felix came to the U.S. with his wife, Olga, with whom he had founded the Wheel Theater, as part of a cultural exchange in 1991 and stayed for the rest of his life. In addition to Juilliard, he taught at the Moscow Art Theater School, North Carolina School of the Arts, the Actors Center, SUNY Purchase, Rutgers, and other drama schools including Syracuse University for the last 14 years. As a professional choreographer, he worked on more than 150 U.S. theater productions at top houses around the country. 

Early in my second year at Juilliard, frustrated about acting, and struggling to find myself as an artist, I was moping in the hallway when Felix and I began a a conversation that was about acting but also about art and somehow about everything else as well—which is to say, it was the kind of conversation that Felix seemed to dwell in. 

In that conversation Felix revealed to me what Walt Whitman called “the origin of all poetry.” He took my notebook and pencil, drew some stick figures, spoke about Chinese calligraphy, Stanislavski, Michael Chekhov—he pointed to the stick figures, each demonstrating some unique gesture. And he said, “You see their energy, how they feel, yes? You see the energy with which I drew them. Now watch.” And then he shifted his body subtly, but miraculously. “You see the character, yes?” He shifted again and became something else. “See? No need to ‘play’ anything. The body knows everything.” He shifted again and again to become someone else and someone else again until the mask of individuality fell away and the Universal was revealed. He continued, “You see, it’s not Hamlet, to be or not to be. You are actor. So you already choose. To be.”

No need to intellectualize, no need to write a tortured hundred-page character biography. He transmitted knowledge with the sheer power of his personality, presence, and example. He opened the door for me as he did and would do for many others. I could transform like that right now, right here, in this space. The image in my mind—I can become that.

Felix was a great revealer of mysteries, a true servant of Dionysius, who, as Stanislavski said, loved the art in himself and not himself in the art. He was the greatest kind of teacher, which is to say he was a true friend.

I was fortunate to be with Felix and Olga in the last month of his life. He was sleeping a great deal, drifting in and out, when suddenly, he beckoned me: “Michael, Michael, remember.” And he started doing his movement exercises in his bed. “Impulse from the ground, move from center. Up. Down. Right. Left.” He repeated it over and over like a prayer until he became one with his teaching. The final lesson over, he took my hand and said, “From the bottom of my soul, I thank you for coming. I have to go now, but we’ll see each other soon.”

Dear Felix, I know I speak for many when I say, “from the bottom of my soul, thank you for coming and sharing all you are with us. We’ll see each other soon.”

Michael Milligan (Group 30) is an actor and playwright