MOSFILM
SHINE, SHINE, MY STAR
Screenplay by Yu. DUNSKY V. FRID, A. MITTA
Directed by Alexander MITTA
Director of Photography Yuri SOKOL
Production Designer B. BLANK
Painting, sculpture, masks by
artists A. SPESHNEVA and N. SEREBRYAKOVA
Music by B. CHAIKOVSKY
English subtitles by T. Kameneva
Oleg TABAKOV as Iskremas
Starring
Oleg YEFREMOV Yevgeny LEONOV
Yelena PROKLOVA Leonid DYAcHKOV
Leonid KURAVLYOV Vladimir NAUMOV
In 1920, various bands were plundering the south of Russia.
One of those bands was the bane of the town of Krapivnitsy.
No one knew where it came from
or where it went after its raids.
But each time,
as a cloud of smoke rose into the sky from the demolished monastery,
horsemen were tearing down the night roads,
with peasant huts enveloped in flames.
But our story is not only about this.
In the same year of 1920, a White regiment, falling behind its main army,
was forcing its way to join Baron Wrangel in crimea.
It had to go through the Red rear,
and through the town of Krapivnitsy.
Yet we'll begin our story with something else.
Shakespeare
Act One
Iskremas arrives in Krapivnitsy.
Comrades.
Comrades!
People's experimental theatre
"Art of Revolution to Masses" -
Iskremas -
is giving its free performance!
Come and see William Shakespeare's "Julius caesar"
as adapted by Vladimir Iskremas!
You are Romans.
Your emperor has been killed. Killed by revolutionaries.
But the tyrant's friends are still around.
And one of them, Antony,
gives a speech over caesar's body.
Antony -
that's me!
But remember, Antony is a cunning and crafty enemy.
And we all together will be judging
that apologist of monarchy and minion of tyranny.
A cinematographic reel,
"Drama on the Sea".
All come here.
O Romans!
Fellow citizens!
Friends!
Attention, please, I came to the forum
to glorify our caesar not, but bury him.
He was my friend, a true and dear one, but Brutus...
comrades, why are you leaving?
If I were juggling tomatoes, you would be standing gaping.
Yet in real art you take no interest. But why?
Oh, woe, the bandits!
Gee up! Come on!
Mister!
Wait, mister! Mister!
Mister, wait! Stop!
Mister! Mister!
What is it? What's the matter?
I see you got a horse just like my father's.
It must be that same horse. Please, give'm back.
Are you crazy? I bought him from a gypsy at a fair.
It's my horse.
Mister, I see it's our Lysko. Gimme him back, be kind.
Lysko! Lysko!
He's not Lysko. He is... Pegasus.
I mean he's Pegash, but I call him Pegasus.
Pegasus! Pegasus!
He's tired. Pegash! Pegash!
Mister, gimme back my Lysko.
Hey! Hello?
Hello? Anybody here?
Who's the master here?
Well... I'm the master.
You still standing?
Well, stand if you like.
Gimme back my Lysko, and I'll go.
Listen, let's do it like this.
Tomorrow we'll go to that... revolutionary committee.
Let them decide whose horse it is, yours or mine.
For now, come on in and get a good night's sleep.
Here.
Eat some.
- What's your name? - Krysya.
Is that your nickname?
Nah.
The nickname is Kotlyarenko.
And my name's christina.
My bosses were Polish. They called me Krysya.
Go on, eat.
Those bosses were good.
- Only them tuned me out. - Why?
I knocked off their baby.
What do you mean, knocked off?
No, not to death.
Let him off my hands, he got a bruise.
And they turned me out.
I see.
Where are your parents?
Dead of typhus. It's been a year that they died.
It's sad.
All right, let's get acquainted. My name is Iskremas.
It's not a christian name.
That's right, it's a pseudonym.
In full it sounds like Art of Revolution to Masses.
The acronym is Iskremas. Understand?
Nah.
Well, it's all the same to me.
I see you're a smart girl, Krysya.
Let's agree, then: The horse is not yours, it's my horse.
- No. - All right.
You'll sleep here. No one will touch you here.
But you must give me your word that you won't run away with my horse.
We must trust each other.
Is it a deal?
Sure.
Act Two
Iskremas loses a lot,
but he gains even more.
The world is beautiful!
Pegasus? Pegasus!
Pegasus!
Krysya.
Oh, mister, don't kill me!
Krysya, they've stolen our horse.
You know, perhaps it's even good that they ran off with our Rosinante.
I'll stay put here for a month.
I'd like to be in Moscow for the seasors opening, but fate wills otherwise.
Well, goodbye, Krysya.
- Farewell for good. - Mister?
Can I stay with you?
What do you mean...
...with me?
Just like that.
I'll wash for you and cook for you.
And you'll pity me, give me something to eat if anything's left.
No, it's out of the question.
Well, I would love to, but try to understand,
how can you stay with me if I have neither house nor home?
Take me, mister.
You'll be lost without me, an odd cookie that you are.
And this is a nice place, so quiet and good.
Some quiet place, and what about the bandits?
They shoot only those who are for Reds.
Once they find out you're for Reds, they kill you and burn your house.
What if I'm the Reddest of activists?
No way!
Oh, holy Jesus! Are you crazy or what?
Why waste the paint, you slant-eyed idol?
Just look at him, good people, showing off his stupidity!
Have pity for me, good people!
Because of this fool, I'm ruining my life, suffering all that shame!
Those crazy ideas his sick head is having!
Just look how he daubed that tree!
It has to be cut down, it's dead.
Oh, woe is me...
It's the end of the apple tree. Who did it to it?
The bandits threw bombs around.
You'd better have given the apples to the piglet, you slant-eyed idol!
I wish you've burned instead!
Just look at that Red warrior, the defender of crippled ones!
Excuse me, are you the local wall- painter?
Just imagine, what an amazing man!
The people's malice deprived those fruit of the joy of ripening.
And he, from the fullness of his heart, gives them thatjoy.
What do you think he is?
An idiot.
Silly girl. He's a man of a beautiful soul.
But you can't see it. No one has ever taught you to see.
Excuse me, please.
Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Vladimir Iskremas.
An artiste. I'm passing through on my way to Moscow.
I would like to organize here a revolutionary experimental theatre.
Would you agree to help me paint the sets?
I've already found a place for it.
Drama on the Sea!
For women it's woe, for men it's glee!
A city dame knows no shame!
And here comes a Moscow dandy!
Beware, ladies, mommies of your dear babies!
Here he is!
He doesn't waste any time, alluring ladies with his charm.
That's what the city is about:
As man leaves, his wife with another goes out!
You're crying, aren't you?
Stop it! Arert you ashamed of yourself?
Let me be.
I've seen it 5 times already. There comes such a pitiful moment.
While she was making merry,
she lost her own baby!
That's the intelligentsia for you, pardon-merci.
Her own child was drowned like a kitten.
Gritsko, will you go watch it again?
No, it's the 6th time I saw it.
It's just an outrage.
Believe me, it's some disgusting,
militant vulgarity.
No, guys, we must do something about it.
You don't approve of it, dear colleague? You shouldn't have.
People love me. I give them spectacle, they give me bread.
You know, it's just incredible!
Yes, it's simply stunning!
I could never imagine
that such things might be flourishing in our day.
People are yearning for genuine art.
And you're cramming them with the devil knows what!
Get out of here!
From now on, Shakespeare and Mayakovsky will reside here.
Excuse me, but by what right?
I'm paying the rent.
What?!
Comrades, he's asking us by what right?
I'm an emissary of the revolutionary theatre.
What you're doing is the profanation of art,
therefore it's the latent counterrevolution.
Anyway, I have a rev. Committee's mandate. I requisition the premises.
A mandate...
Well, if it's a mandate, then, of course.
But don't forget that, as well as I could, I was also sowing the seeds
of the reasonable and the good.
I was watching you. I saw you crying.
How did you get that in you?
All that was an utter trash, a fake.
I'll open to you a real, beautiful world.
Act Three
Quite unexpectedly, a misfortune befalls Iskremas.
You see, Fedya, now that we have no kerosene,
no salt, no matches,
when we have nothing but typhus,
the philistines are backing up from the Revolution, scared of it.
And I, as on the first day, am saying to it: "Hallowed be Your name!"
The art I've been dreaming of all my life,
became not only possible but necessary.
The Revolution has given me inner freedom.
Yes, we need new artists now.
Perhaps not I, but someone else, a talented and great man...
Who am I, after all? A daring disciple?
But I'm searching, groping for my way
to the new art of the Revolution.
A man comes to tear the blinkers off their eyes, and they...
Yes, I'll take the theatre out onto the expanses of the squares.
Crowds of many thousands will be my extras.
No, why extras? They'll be my heroes!
We should stage Blok, "Mystery Bouffe", Verhaeren.
The Revolution doesn't need the old trash.
We were better off under the tsar.
There we go. Who taught you this?
My bosses were saying so.
Sure, your bosses were better off under the tsar.
And now we're better off, because we're the bosses.
We got a guest. Why won't you treat us to something?
We haven't got anything.
I saw you boiling potatoes.
We got no potatoes.
Shame on you. It was him who brought us a sack of potatoes.
We got nothing.
Well, you know, she's some incredible creature!
Stubborn, stupid, malicious like a guinea pig. Just imagine, Fedya.
She can't even remember my name.
Tell us what my name is.
Yakiman.
Iskremas.
My name is Iskremas.
Here, the potatoes. Why were you lying?
If we feed everyone, we ourselves will die of hunger.
Shut up. You'd better never even open your mouth, all right?
Please.
You sit with us too, Krysya.
Go on, eat.
Look at this maggot, Fedya.
Yet I'll make a good actress out of her.
Because, as a phrenologist would put it, she's got that artistic bump.
Yes...
Your town is a desert thirsting for rain.
And my performance will be that rain.
I'm going to stage here...
...something like a mystery about Jeanne d'Arc.
What?
You think they won't come to see it?
They will.
They'll come in droves.
Five hundred years ago,
the bourgeois and moneybags
sent to the stake the beautiful Jeanne,
Jeanne from Arc,
the heroic Jeanne d'Arc!
Everyone come here!
Come here, good citizens!
She raised the banner of uprising over France!
And for that, the exploiters of the people
burned her at the stake!
Honorable citizens!
We shall burn her, that sorceress and witch!
Come here!
Everyone come here!
What is it?
They caught a sorceress, and are going to burn her.
- It's a new priest. - Not a priest, it's comedy.
Comrades, come to see our performance
that'll take place at the former cinema booth!
We're chasing that band like a fox by its tail, but it's still on the loose.
What are we going to write to the center?
That's where it got me, that band, like a thorn in my flesh.
Comrades, may I speak to you?
Wait a bit, we're busy.
Excuse me.
Look, Ohrim.
We're trying to figure out where they swoop down on us from.
But what if they don't swoop from anywhere?
What if they're among us, from our town?
Excuse me, comrades. May I speak to you?
Wait, wait.
Oh, come on, there're no such people here.
It takes fighters to be in a band, and we got only women and kids.
Excuse me, comrades, but I'd rather...
- What do you want? - Comrades...
Well?
The theatre's on fire, comrades.
Oh, what's going to happen to us?
What is it, good people?
Calm down.
Wait a second.
Be calm, comrades!
Children, put torches in the water!
There, you see?
Comrade chairman, please revoke his mandate.
We have never given him any mandate.
- How do you like that! - We'll deal with it.
Have you put it out? Why make so much noise?
But what did really happen?
The first try is bound to be a flop, but it was really grandiose!
What? What do you mean by that?
You occupied the theatre without any authorization, and burned people, too.
You tarred a girl like a pig.
Don't you see? I wanted to scare the philistines, stir them up, sort of.
- I couldn't do it with Bengal light. - What light, then?
Real art needs real fire,
the fire that rages, that burns!
That was the idea of the performance, and the wing caught fire by accident.
So it means that your idea is silly and harmful for the people.
No one goes into a wooden barn with fire.
If you don't know it, you should have asked people.
I don't need any fool advising me.
- And what do you mean by that? - What I mean?
Can't you guess?
All right, I see.
Come on, guys, put this citizen under arrest.
Don't you touch him, leave him alone!
He's a wretched soul, foolish like a little baby. Don't you see?
Let's go home, uncle Yakiman.
Wait, Krysya! Arresting me?
My own power arresting me?
I'm as devoted to the Revolution as you are.
No way!
You can't do it, I'm just passing through.
But I think you'll have to remain our guest for a while.
He's an arsonist! Perhaps it's Wrangel who sent him here.
The artiste!
We had one artiste here, a rabbi.
Oh no, he was a Brahmin demonstrating Indian tricks.
A swindler, that's what he was!
Took with him two kerosene lamps with glass from our theatre.
Please, may I occupy this premises now?
After all, I'm doing cultural work among the masses.
The peasant is on a farm,
the worker is in the industry,
and the bourgeois blood-sucker is on the Black Sea.
Comrades, just look at that overseas carpet knight.
He was sent to Russia by the Entente.
Good, it's just right on target.
Those are the outrages that the world bourgeoisie engages.
That's how we'll drown, for all to see, Baron Wrangel in the Black Sea!
That's much too much. A poor child was drowned.
- What has Wrangel to do with it? - We'll correct it.
Act Four
The Whites are in town.
Comrades! Comrade working gypsies!
You must radically change your treatment of horses.
Quiet, quiet! We'll deal with it.
And you, comrade working villagers,
must radically change your treatment of gypsies.
Comrade Serdyuk, the Whites.
What Whites? Are you drunk? A band?
No, not a band.
I'm telling you, a White regiment is approaching our town.
How come? We're 300 versts away from the front.
I don't know how come, but they're coming with a tsar's standard,
wearing shoulder-stripes, and they've got artillery.
Come on, move!
There you are, at last!
I've had neither water nor food since morning!
Where am I? In the White's counterintelligence?
I'll explain it to you.
At the moment you're actually in the White's counterintelligence.
- So are we. - The Whites are in town.
I'd like to apologize.
Yesterday I was, so to speak, too harsh with you.
You mean when you called me a fool?
- You see, I... - You were right.
If I wasrt a fool, I wouldn't be here now.
We keep squabbling, but once there's trouble, we're in it together.
Never mind. We'll see yet who gains the upper hand.
Who's the artiste here? Come out.
Well...
So I'll be the first.
Farewell, comrades.
Comrades, if you happen to be in Moscow, tell Lunacharsky that...
It's a real palace!
Iskremas - is that your last name?
A masterpiece!
- Something French? - Not exactly.
Mister artiste, I'd like to ask you for a favor.
To mark the return of the lawful authorities, put up a gala performance
for the officers and the happy citizens.
Mister artiste, we're on our way to crimea, to Wrangel.
We're just camping here,
but people must think we've come for good.
I'm afraid I can't be
of any help to you.
But, maestro, it's kind of impolite of you.
I've pulled you out of the can. I'm your savior angel.
Excuse me, what's your name and patronymic?
My name and patronymic is mister staff-captain.
Mister Staff-captain, my theatre is the theatre of Shakespeare...
Oh God, what Shakespeare?
Prince!
What Shakespeare, maestro? What are you talking about?
Who would understand him but you and me?
Put up for me a variety show,
with some dancing, singing, apache dance, - something in that vein.
Seryozha.
Our ladies here will help you.
Where will we sleep?
You can make the bed right here.
You're not going to sleep till morning again?
I'm afraid not. Must billet troops, give forage to horses,
make a couple of executions.
I've talked the artiste into giving us a concert.
There's a bath here.
I gave orders to warm the water, so go take a bath.
- Where's the soap? - In my suitcase.
And still I think I can't be of help to you.
Is it your ideology?
It's against my convictions.
What a country!
All land-surveyors are Robespierres, all dentists are Dantons.
Mister artiste, you're lucky
to have gotten in the hands of an intelligent man.
Today we've caught two of your commissars.
- The prince would've shot them already. - I quit smoking.
And he will be judging them.
Yes, I will. I'll have them hanged, but by the law.
So, mister artiste, shove your convictions into your pocket.
I recommend it from all my heart.
And go prepare your show.
You know... I'm not sure I can make it.
You can.
Stop being difficult. You'll make it fine.
Krysya!
Krysya, meet an acquaintance of mine.
She is a nice and kind woman.
Please, madame.
Krysya, stop looking at me like that.
Yes, I'm a drunken pig.
My little one.
Krysya, I don't want you to see this.
Give us something to eat and go to the neighbors'.
Wait.
Something is missing here.
I know. A cucumber.
Krysya, do we have a cucumber?
We do.
We do!
What's up?
What's the matter?
Oh, you artistes!
Krysya, I'm a coward. I'm a nonentity!
I've betrayed my art!
Three young handsome pages were leaving
Forever their dear native shores.
With tears their eyes were brimming,
The sea breeze tasted bitter and coarse.
I'm in love with her fair tresses, -
The first said, suppressing his sobs, -
I'll go and die under a precipice,
Where the wave continuously throbs.
No, I wasrt scared of their threats.
That's not the point.
All right, they would've shot me. No big deal!
But I'm an artist, I'm supposed to practice my art every day,
like a violinist doing his tedious scales.
The one who adores his queen,
He goes to death in silence.
If I hadrt agreed, they would've found some scoundrel
who would've staged something dreadful.
"A Life for the Tsar", for example.
Oh God! What are you doing?
Who needs this saccharine snivel of yours?
Here.
Go on.
What was it you were singing?
Three young handsome pages were leaving Forever their dear native shores.
I don't see what you want from us?
I did this number in Rostov, at an officers assembly.
- They lifted me to a pedestal. - Who lifted you? Ivan Poddubny?
But, mister director, it would look like music hall.
That nonsense will acquire a sinister meaning.
And that's exactly what we need.
You will sing and move in this manner.
Is it clear? Let's start working.
One, two...
Three young handsome pages were leaving
Forever their dear native shores.
With tears their eyes were brimming,
The sea breeze tasted bitter and coarse.
Now repeat after me, and...
One, two, three...
Once again, please.
One, two...
Three young handsome pages were leaving
Forever their dear native shores.
With tears...
Together with me. Please.
With tears their eyes were brimming, The sea breeze...
I said together with me. With...
With tears...
Pull yourself together and do it with me.
Are you doing it on purpose?
With tears their eyes were brimming, The sea...
With tears their eyes were brimming,
The sea breeze tasted bitter and coarse.
Excuse me. Once again!
And with a full step, until you learn it. Fast!
Stop! Once again and with a full step!
Up your knee! Out your toe!
One, two...
Three young handsome pages were leaving
Forever their dear native shores.
With tears their eyes were brimming,
The sea breeze tasted bitter and coarse.
Repeat after me, please.
Mister director.
Just a minute. Quiet!
- Yes? - May I speak to you a minute?
Go on working, please.
Have they freed you? Did they let you go?
Not a chance.
- We escaped, the chairman and myself. - I see.
We're doing our guerilla bit.
I'll wait here till the rain stops. Do you mind?
No. Have a seat, please.
Comrade Ohrim, you can rely on me.
I'm here not of my free will.
It's some idiocy. Go on, work!
Excuse me.
- Comrade director. - Yes?
Tell me please.
Can you tell if a mars good to be an actor or not?
Why are you asking?
Well, actually I'm a teacher.
But theatre is my dream.
Well, how should I explain it?
A star in the sky of life.
My goodness, it's raining outside,
it's slush all around, with bombs blowing up.
And here you have a festival of graces!
Anyuta! Margarita Vasilyevna! What a feast for the eyes!
Very original! Very!
Excuse me, what's that?
A homemade bomb.
We ran out of the factory-made ones. On my signal, run out through the hall.
- And where's your despot and tyrant? - Over there.
Must have retired with a chorus girl.
Well, we're going to disturb their tete-a-tete.
Let's go, gentlemen, the rain has subsided. We got business to do.
There we go.
We'll talk about theatre some other time.
You can go now.
Goodbye.
You know what...
Please do it the way you did before my interference.
Oh, Fedya...
Bath is like a pagan temple.
It cleanses not only body, but soul too.
And we do need this cleansing so much!
Deals with one's conscience...
compromises...
Greetings from a neighboring muse!
How did this character get in?
Kick him out of here!
Fedya! Vladimir Pavlovich!
I know that after bath you'll have crayfish.
So I've got some moonshine for you!
- To hell with him. Let him stay. - Thank you.
In hard times, we the intelligentsia must, so to speak, consolidate.
I can steam bathe like hell, but my crown won't take it.
Hello to you. What a jolly company.
Hello.
Men! They're not crayfish, they are ichthyosauruses!
Little crocodiles.
How did you say it, Volodya? To arms, my fellow-countrymen!
I should have guessed it. And I thought you were a wall-painter.
- But it turns out you're just... - I like it.
Nothing personal.
But you know, Volodya, every flea market is cram-full of such pictures.
Come on, people will remember of you and me
only because we were contemporaries of this man.
All right, all right.
Yes, one day the mankind will have their eyes opened
and these pictures will hang in the Prado, in the Louvre.
We'll have your exhibition in Moscow, in the Red Square!
He's my tormentor. May his eyes burst, the slant-eyed idol!
Has ruined his life, and my young life, too.
And who is this crazed one to you?
My stepfather.
He's a good-for-nothing, too.
Does he make passes on you?
No, I say he's good for nothing.
And this is his woman.
To V.P.
With wishes
for finding your calling.
Komissarzhevskaya.
May they find their plague!
Whatever you may say, but the future belongs to cinematograph.
Your twitching flicks will never be able to replace
the majestic plasticity of a live body.
Why?
The magic of spiritual contact, the umbilical cord
of direct communication with audience - that's what the theatre is about!
And your cinematograph is just machinery, just wretched muteness.
You geniuses! But I'll tell you.
Cinematograph is an art, too. It feeds you.
Fedya, come on, tell him!
You snake!
Never mind, Fedya. Never mind.
The better times will come.
And in this godforsaken town
I shall stage a play that'll be a revelation, that'll be dynamite!
Moscow and Petersburg will be jealous of us!
You will paint fabulous sets for me.
You'll paint the curtain and decorate the hall.
Each spectator will be presented your picture, a small one.
And they'll take them home, to their old parents and small kids.
Let them, too, partake in real art.
We'll take Pashka in our theatre, too.
He'll be selling tickets.
Why? Why tickets?
Pashka, my dear.
Fedya and I are being propelled in life by lofty ideas,
and you - by your bowlegs.
That's not true.
I've got an idea, too.
Such as?
To survive.
Fedya.
Tell him.
Bring us some sauerkraut.
Shine on and on, shine on, my star.
The star of love, the star of relish!
You're my dream the most cherished,
No one will be with you on a par!
The magic brilliance of your light
Illuminates my entire being.
If I'm to die, then on my grave-site
Shine on, my star, with a new feeling!
Watch your step here.
Hey, anybody?
Mister Stanislavsky, what a pleasant surprise!
I was just passing by, heard some voices, and decided to drop in.
Was curious to see what was going on here...
A feast in time of the plague?
Please, sit down, gentlemen. Give your feet a rest.
I'll sit down too, if you don't mind.
I know, you'd like me to leave.
But I feel like staying here for a while.
Sit and chat.
Sit down, I said!
Sit!
Well, move over a bit. Step aside.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
A familiar hand.
Was it you who painted the revolutionary committee?
What sons of bitches.
You want to be nice to them, yet everyone aims at kicking you.
Vakhrameyev.
You...
Take him to the cooler.
And quick!
Move it!
Well?
Don't take it literally...
- Sit down, mister artiste. - Thank you.
He's an artist, and this is allegory.
Don't worry, two boors are out. One will sit under the other's guard.
Please.
Have a drink.
You can join us, too.
Thank you.
You surprise me, Vova.
You can't see an intelligent man.
Your health.
Hey, come back.
Not this way. Over there.
One who was really terrific, that was Slonov.
- Did you hear the shot? - It was a regular shot.
An empty stage. No one on the stage. Complete silence.
Only one figure in pink tights. An unforgettable sight.
What's up?
He ran away. May I?
What do you mean, ran away?
He couldn't run away far.
The cossacks are getting angry.
The spirit, so to speak, released by the revolution from the bottle,
and, therefore, attracted to the bottle.
Oh God, what's going on?!
Oh, dear God!
You hangman!
You've killed him! He was an artist!
And you killed him! You killed a talent!
Bastard! What a bastard you are!
What do I have to do with it?
You're even worse than him!
He is a dumb pig. He goes where he's sent.
And you're an intelligent villain, the worst there can be!
Uncle Iskremas, he'll kill you too!
Why are you staring?
I hate you! You hear? I hate you!
Don't get angry with him.
I hate you!
He's just upset, distressed.
Please, don't. What are you doing?
Are you finished?
Listen, you clown. I'll make you...
I'll make you play a role, not Romeo, and not Juliet either.
You'll play a cuckoo. You know what a cuckoo is?
And so, mister artiste,
you'll be a cuckoo and we'll be the hunters.
You cuckoo,
and we shoot.
Each of us will have a full can'tridge.
If you stay alive, you're lucky.
He won't.
Let's start, gentlemen.
Mister artiste, cu-ckoo.
Cuckoo!
Cry cuckoo!
Come on, don't drag it.
Cry cuckoo.
Don't keep silent. Cry cuckoo.
Come on!
Cry cuckoo!
Cu-ckoo.
Still alive?
If alive, make yourself heard.
- Cry cuckoo! - Cry cuckoo!
- Cry cuckoo, dear cuckoo! - Cu-ckoo!
Gentlemen, that's not the way to do it! Let me shoot, for God's sake!
Quiet, gentlemen, he's down on the floor.
Shoot.
Brave man.
Well, mister artiste, are you happy about your miraculous escape?
We played a joke on you, we fired blank shots.
I wouldn't spend a good bullet on you, shithead.
It was hysterical!
What a crank, my God!
I beg your pardon, why blank? I was firing live can'tridges.
Prince, what do you mean, live can'tridges?
I misunderstood.
Did you hear that? The prince shot with live can'tridges.
You could shoot us all dead! We've explained it to you in plain Russian!
But I misunderstood, gentlemen.
Prince, I was sitting across from you. You might have killed me.
I misunderstood.
He misunderstood. Asshole!
For this, I'll take you by your throat with one hand, and your tongue with...
I'll tear your mustache off, you dumb mug!
Stop squabbling, like stupid goats!
What do we do with him?
With him?
Beat the crap out of him and throw him out to hell.
How good, how fresh were the roses!
And Russia blossomed, not yet knowing the rule of the boorish commissar.
Who among us had not succumbed to burning passion?
Yet we remained always pure in heart.
The child has perished in the deep of the sea.
But would the fate of those alive be any better?
Her father and mother will be tortured by the cheka.
So may the White Knight avenge them all!
Oleksa, hold the kite!
- When do the officers supper? - Serdyuk said, at 9.
That's when we surprise them. Serdyuk and his men will give us a hand.
Get up!
Now we'll put the balm on the shoulder.
Now we'll put the balm on the back.
What's that?
Reds are taking the town.
They were hiding in the grove since last evening.
How do you know?
Women in the market were saying.
It's such a big secret, such a secret...
Look, I have to be there, with them.
You're not going anywhere.
You are sick.
What a pity, so much glass will be broken!
Spoiling our own property.
And where will we get new glass?
They'll have to pay me dearly for the repairs, very dearly.
Charge!
Gentlemen!
Gentlemen, wait!
Gentlemen!
Wait, gentlemen! Stop!
Gentlemen!
Comrades.
Act Five
Iskremas puts up his performance and dies.
The Whites had been in town, now the Reds are back.
When will our time come, the Greens'?
Wait, the time's not ripe yet.
We're tired of sitting at home. Before, we used to get out at least at night.
The boys are wondering if you're still our leader or you've sold off to Reds.
Stop barking, or I'll shorten your dirty tongue.
The boys are asking when we're going to do the real thing.
I'm telling you: Wait, the time will come.
Just imagine a whole sea of people around you!
All that is people, the whole nation, the whole France!
They came to look for the last time at their Jeanne.
They pity you.
But they're in the shackles of fear, the heaviest shackles in the world.
And though you're going to be burned, from your scaffold
you're calling on the people to forget about their fear and be heroic.
What, have you swallowed your tongue?
People, forget your fear.
Perhaps I couldn't explain it well, but it was you who overcame your fear.
What's so funny? They haven't overcome it.
You are Jeanne!
You are the revolution! Come on!
People, forget your fear.
I guess it easier to teach a parrot or a crow to say it!
Then stop torturing me! Because I can't do it!
Vladimir Pavlovich, I tried to do my best.
Believe me, I don't know what to do.
All my life is one continuous torture. I'm torturing myself, too.
Because I'm convinced we need this,
you and I, and everyone.
I know it's hard for you to imagine this square full of people.
That there're judges who're going to sentence you,
that there're people who'll be watching your execution.
But you've got imagination, just try to picture it.
Over here is Bishop cauchon, the Frenchman.
He looks like a pig.
Next to him is an Englishman, sort of a red ferret.
The sentries that are guarding you.
And people all around.
And them, those animals, they belong to the past.
The past has always hated revolutions.
And the people don't understand yet what you want to tell them.
And in those last moments of your life
you find the most precious words for them.
You'd better burn me like last time, in the marketplace. I can stand it.
But I can't playact.
You remember Fedya?
Remember how they killed him?
You didn't get scared then, did you?
You rushed to me, so you got it in you.
No one has to teach it to you. Just remember how it was.
Boys!
Get up from the earth, or you'll get yourselves radiculitis.
Come here!
We'll have a Red studio here, and you'll be Red actors.
Come on!
You're in the hands of enemies, they want to break you by torture.
Faster, boys!
They're moving in on you from all four sides.
They want you to go up the scaffold meek and broken,
they want you to beg for mercy.
Move faster, help Krysya!
They're already exulting!
But in such moments a person finds the strength he wasrt aware of,
and then he performs what is called a miracle!
Come here.
You see, it's not only about you.
You're not alone. You're one for all.
And you go to the stake as a victor!
Right! Right! Right!
Come on!
People!
Look! I'm not afraid! Don't you be afraid either!
I want to save you!
I must save you!
I can save you!
- Will you take me on to act too? - Ah, Ohrim!
- Or am I too bad for you? - Hello.
You really want to help us?
Very much so.
Only where are we to play? Not here in the courtyard, really?
No, for our performance, Ohrim, I've found another place.
Right here, Ohrim.
The war has destroyed and distorted this church.
And we'll sanctify it with our art, the revolutionary way.
No, this is a bad place.
Let's get out of here.
You shouldn't do anything here.
Ohrim, do you really think it's a bad place for our performance?
And you said you were dreaming of becoming an actor?
You'll never be an actor
if you don't understand that it's a great place for our mystery.
Interesting.
All right, let's stage it here.
Today we'll play a mystery about Jeanne!
Come and see it at the monastery!
Who's responsible for the curtain?
And check the ropes! Careful!
Can you imagine what'll happen if this falls down on us?
Ohrim, Ohrim.
What are you doing here?
While you got silliness on your mind, Onishchenko's been arrested in town.
You're lying. I would've known it first from Serdyuk.
And what if Serdyuk has you under suspicion?
Perhaps he does.
I want to dedicate today's performance to the memory of Fedya.
Before we begin, you'll go up onto the stage and say to the audience:
"We dedicate our performance
to the memory of an artist who died for the revolution."
Can you remember it?
Ohrim, what's the matter?
I'm cold.
Why aren't you made up?
I still have time.
Shit! You want to do what you like, but they won't let you.
You want to live as you like, they won't let you either.
Who won't let whom?
Everyone to everybody.
Please, comrades, we've been waiting for you!
Mashenka, don't forget to crush some cherries, for making wounds.
Come on in.
And finish up with the costumes!
Well, Ohrim, shall we show it to comrade Serdyuk today?
We shall.
Vladimir Pavlovich, can you answer a question for me, as a good friend?
Sure.
What is it so precious that the Red power has given you?
I'd put that question in a different way: What can I give to it?
- It is my power... - And I think it's not yours.
If I hadrt seen you fighting the Whites, I would've thought that you...
Why harping on the same string: Reds, Whites. There're other colors, too.
- Greens, for example. - Yes.
Those who are against both Reds and Whites.
Since our dispute is of purely theoretical character,
I can inform you that the Greens are bandits,
their power will be a bandits' rule, and their art - a bandits' art.
What do you know about it?
Batko, our men are here.
Get them seated.
Ohrim, where are you going? Ohrim!
Quiet. Quiet.
All the Red bosses are here. Batko said we'd take them out.
Quiet. Quiet, guys.
Hello. Hello.
Hello, Pyotr Ivanovich. Is this your grandson?
Such a big boy!
Come on, sit with me and watch the actors.
There you go.
What are you doing, bastards?
Quiet! Stop the rehearsal!
Who are these people, Ohrim?
There'll be no show today, Vladimir Pavlovich.
I mean there'll be a different show, not quite suitable for you.
So go and hide, or you'll get hurt in the turmoil.
Put the machinegun up.
Are you crazy? There're women and kids there!
Let go.
I said, get out of here! Run, understand?
Those with the grenades, come here.
Petro, raise the curtain.
Brothers!
Friends!
The hour of our freedom has come!
Whoever moves, will get a bullet in the head!
Serdyuk, drop the gun!
Hurray, comrades!
Get them while they're blinded!
Comrades! Don't be afraid!
Don't be afraid of them! There're more of us!
Oh, I don't want to live!
Why did you leave me alone?
Hush, Krysya, I beg you.
So you're not dead?
No.
And what's this?
Cherries.
I crushed some cherries.
Arert you ashamed? I thought I'd die from grief.
I understand, but you see...
When a bullet whistled past me, I thought
how good it would be if it had killed me.
What a beautiful, tragic death it would be.
So I played that finale.
So you...
Just pretended to be dead?
Yes.
It looks like that.
Oh, girl, it's really bad.
Of course, I've avenged his death with my own hand.
I took revenge on the officer, and on Ohrim, the vermin.
But I couldn't save him.
The artiste!
He proved that art can work miracles.
Get together an orchestra. The whole town will be burying him as a hero.
Oh, what a shame!
I'm so ashamed of myself!
What shall I do?
Vladimir Pavlovich, don't you torture yourself.
You've saved them.
Go to Serdyuk and confess. Say it was a joke.
They'll just laugh and forgive you.
I don't want to be a laughingstock. Can you understand it?
I don't want to be a liar. I don't want to be forgiven.
I'll just go away and disappear for good.
Will you take me with you?
Epilogue
Vladimir Pavlovich, where are we going?
Where?
I don't know.
Oh, God!
The world is so big. There must be a place for an artist in it.
Go to sleep, child.
Child...
I'm pining over him, I can't live without him,
and he calls me a child. Child...
If you say "child" once again, I'll go away.
Go away for good.
You know...
I guess my play was not so good.
And my shame wasrt that big.
Perhaps today is the last day of my childhood.
And I'm thinking of the future not like I used to.
Without those childhood fears and breathtaking hopes.
And all that was shameful, pitiful and frightful...
...it wasrt for nothing either.
You know, it's like making paper -
throwing into a mill all kind of old stuff, scraps, rags,
and getting clean, white sheets.
Sit down and write.
Gee up! Come on!
Go! Go!
Good day to you, comrade artiste!
I say, good day to you.
Your horse is running good. Why didn't you run away?
- I'm not used to running from you. - Good.
And where's that slut, that ward of yours?
She stayed in town.
Too bad. Well, at least you're here.
After all, there's justice in the world.
No Judas can escape judgment.
Stop playing the fool.
The End