Original subtitles

What is it?

What ?

Hey !

- What is this mess? - It's going to flood everything!

- It's the flood! - Open up, comrade Latounsky!

- Something has to be done. - Break down the door.

Let it pass!

Stop! What is happening?

You are flooding us!

We will never be quiet here, my word.

Call the militia!

Mom !

Shh. Everything is fine.

Don't be afraid, my little one.

Some boys broke the window.

- Madam. - Yes?

Where are you?

I don't exist.

You are dreaming.

Lie down.

Put your hand under your cheek.

I'll tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a lady who had no children.

And no happiness either.

At first, she cried a lot.

Then she became mean.

"Marguerite placed the hammer on the support...

from the window and flew away.

Confusion reigned around the building.

On the asphalt of the sidewalk, littered with broken glass,

people were running in all directions and shouting."

"... uttered exclamations.

In the buildings opposite, dark

figures appeared in the windows.

- They were trying to understand..." - Still writing.

Police officers were arriving...

Is it a love story?

Among others.

You should go to bed.

It's good that it's about love.

You are also there, Praskovya Fedorovna.

Really ?

And Doctor Stravinsky?

Of course.

How can we not talk about him?

He has a story with a patient.

With which? With you?

With a proletarian poet.

Lately, all patients are poets.

It's no longer a madhouse but...

Damn, what's it called? Gorky often talks about it on the radio.

Ah yes, the Writers’ Union.

Be careful... Hop!

I would like to read it to see what you have scribbled.

Absolutely. I'm at the end.

And there you have it.

That's it, you

can go to bed.

Ah, damn! What an idiot!

Damn.

All that time spent writing... My God !

We'll read that, we'll read all that.

That's going to be some reading, but if it's about love...

On this full moon night, the master

wonders if other patients are, like him, awake...

He likes to wander on the balcony and observe the stars...

And one day, she called me "Master"...

Sleep overcame the poet.

Suddenly, the window grille slid noiselessly to the side.

A mysterious figure appears.

She was hiding from the light of the moon.

She pointed her finger at Ivan and warned him.

Shh.

Can I sit down?

- Occupation ? - Poet.

What is your name ?

They call me Homeless.

And then what?

You don't like my verses?

Exact. I absolutely hate them.

Which ones have you read?

And you ? Why are you here?

A year ago, I wrote about Pontius Pilate.

Are you a writer?

I am the Master.

She sewed it for me with her own hands.

"She" ?

What is your name?

I no longer have a name. No more identity.

I ended up giving it up,

like all other things in life.

- Hello Sir ! - Ladies.

Would you sign it?

Are you interested in contemporary theater?

- Gala. - Gala.

It's the big show of the season.

I have been in Moscow recently.

Besides, I'm an actress.

- I want to play in your theater. - It's not really mine.

Good luck.

- Good morning. - Forgive me for being direct.

Are you a member of the Writers’ Union?

Let's admit...

They play real American jazz in their restaurant.

- Good morning. - Good morning.

Good morning.

And would you like me to invite you?

- Good morning. - Good morning.

Moscow bows to you.

THANKS.

The guard is tired, fellow playwright.

Good morning.

- Please excuse me. - So see you this evening.

At 8 p.m. in front of the restaurant.

- Everyone is waiting for you. - Yefim Romanovich has arrived?

He won't come.

Good morning.

How are we going to do the filming without a director?

I'm coming.

The actors have learned their lines and you can correct them.

You are the author. Pilate is waiting for you.

- Sorry. - Excuse us.

Wait a minute.

We have to take this.

What's going on? Can't you see we're rehearsing?

The piece would be cancelled.

What ? I don't understand anything!

Put the accessories back in their place.

Are you crazy or what?

You don't recognize a People's Artist?

- We were asked to dismantle the set. - What ?

Who told you that?

No but...

That's not true!

Here's to you, Comrade Rimsky.

First charge.

Grigori Rimsky!

It's nothing.

They are dismantling the set.

The show was banned by

order of the Police Station.

- But it had been approved. - Don't worry.

From one day to the next, it changes.

- For what reason? - I just manage the finances.

Comrade...

Contact Comrade Likhodeev.

But he's not there.

He's on a business trip.

- Again ? - For 10 days.

- Where to find it? - Do you know the Piguite house?

Apartment 50.

It is noted. THANKS.

Tremble, vermin of the White Guard.

Fire !

Remember Commander Sitnikov!

Charge!

Fire !

Stepan Likhodeev?

The comrade is not there.

I was told he was here.

He left for several days in Yalta.

Grounia!

- Water! - Stepan Likhodeev!

Grounia...

- It is not available. - I'm thirsty...

Grounia!

I see that...

Water...

Grounia!

Mikhail Alexandrovich.

How did you know I lived here?

I didn't know. I came to see Likhodeev.

Grounia!

We are neighbors now.

Your theater director and editor in the same apartment.

- Practical ! - Except he doesn't see me.

How so ? He doesn't receive? This is where he receives.

They made a mess yesterday!

Let's not stand here.

The meeting will start soon.

What meeting?

Oh yes...

I've only just moved in.

The previous tenants have left the apartment.

I jumped at the chance.

You are going to leave, trash of intellectuals!

You have three pieces!

You don't have much longer!

This apartment is cursed. Cursed.

It's Annouchka.

She is disturbed.

She takes the class struggle too seriously.

Mikhail Alexandrovich,

my play was banned.

Don't worry.

We are not subject to the same authorizations

than the theater.

If the show is banned, everyone will want to read the play.

And the piece is there, dear comrade!

Published in our latest issue.

I assure you, as vice-president of the Union,

that if you had any problems with this work,

I'll be the first to know.

Well done !

Thanks to Nastasya Lukinitchna

for his excellent report

on the collection of maritime stories George the Navigator.

We are looking forward to it.

Let's move on to the next item on the agenda:

debate on artistic and political components

from the play Pilate.

The author is invited to come on stage.

Please sit down.

- Here ? - Yes.

I call Mr. Critic, Ossaf Semyonovitch Latunsky.

Above all,

I would like to remind, my dear

comrades, that the main goal of

Soviet criticism is to analyze the

true class message of each literary work.

Now, let's get to the bottom of it.

As the Party makes significant efforts

to free our great country forever from

harmful prejudices, reactionary and

religious, a member of the Writers'

Union advocates religious obscurantism.

He writes a play on Pontius

Pilate and Jesus Christ,

modestly named here Yeshua Ha-Nozri.

By sheltering behind a historical background,

he criticizes Soviet power.

- Allow me... - I'm not finished.

Sit down.

If you allow it,

I will quote this Ha-Nozri.

“All power is violence exercised on people.”

What does the author mean?

That the power of the proletariat is also violence?

Yes, it is violence.

But just violence

and necessary.

The whole room is like this, comrades.

Pilate is a harmful and extremely dangerous work

which has nothing to do with Soviet literature!

Well done !

The debate continues.

A little improvisation!

We cannot say that Pilate is left or right.

Bli bla bla! Blou bli blah!

Now is not the time to write verses.

We must respect the agenda.

One last little poem.

What good is paradise or the Élysée?

We prefer Crimea!

Besides, where are our holiday vouchers for Crimea?

And for the housing problem, we would like explanations.

Calm down or we'll send you out.

I calm down.

THANKS.

We continue the debate.

Boris Petrovich Meigel has the floor.

How is it possible that such a reactionary piece

thatPilate

could have been published

and then staged?

It seems that due to lack of thrushes, we eat Pilates.

But our task is not to prohibit.

This would rejoice our enemies, who are only waiting for one thing:

showing that there is supposedly no freedom of expression in the USSR.

Our task is to help the author,

to guide him

so that he may put himself at the service of the working people.

As Comrade Lenin said:

"The intelligent man is not the one who does not make mistakes,

but he who is able

to correct them quickly."

Comrade Meigel!

Allow me.

Please, comrade Berlioz.

First of all, as an editor,

I am behind the publication of this piece.

As such,

I would like to sincerely apologize to my colleagues

for being so politically myopic. Please excuse me.

I propose to withdraw without delay

the whole draw

of the sale.

I am convinced

that after appropriate work with the author,

real in-depth work,

we will be able to ensure that the

piece once again becomes a quality

work and takes a good ideological direction.

Well done !

All that remains is to hear the author.

Can I speak?

- Of course. - You have the floor.

My piece is already completely written.

Effectively.

Why don't you use your talent

to write something that would

actually interest Soviet readers?

You could describe the exploits of the hardworking people.

Turns out I never worked at the factory

nor in any mine or field.

I've never cut oats.

How do I describe a universe that I don't know?

As far as I know, you haven't

visited ancient Judea either.

But, if I may, I am a historian.

Well, write us the history of the revolution.

I'm afraid you don't like it more.

I have other verses!

- Now is not the time! - It's very short.

Forget Jesus, Soviet poet!

Dedicate yourself to the mechanical pump!

Gasification! Electrification!

Production ! Industrialization! That’s our jargon!

Gentlemen, comrades, silence!

Comrade!

Comrade!

Where are you going ?

Over there.

My old man!

You are absolutely right.

I wanted to support you, but I didn't have time.

It was strong.

- Or stupid. - Eh ?

Question of point of view, of dialectic.

Don't worry. And if they really urge you,

write them a novel about the kolkhoz, like

And the rye sprouted. And then, there you go.

It will take you a week, no more, eh?

What a resort!

They knew how to live back then!

Hello, big cat!

- What's his name? Bourgeois? - Behemoth.

Is he yours?

He visits me sometimes.

I'm going to do the same.

Watch out, head.

In my community apartment,

we have to go to the toilet at specific times.

I'm an artist. I can't stick to a schedule.

It’s a writer’s paradise here!

After today's purgatory,

even translating poems for children will be forbidden to me.

And I won't be able to afford this paradise anymore.

Please,

don't let yourself be buried.

Their strength is in our fear.

In 15 days, they will have forgotten everything.

You need a distraction.

For example, tonight at the restaurant, we're playing...

- Jazz. - Jazz!

I promised to bring her home.

Who ?

An ambitious young

actress who would like to conquer the capital.

My favorite guy.

And not mine.

I won't let you down.

I'll take care of it. I would do anything for a friend!

Thank you for welcoming Harlem

swing who will perform Hallelujah for us!

You are welcome...

- Good evening. - Good evening.

- Thank you. - Good evening.

Oil, gas, energy...

Satisfied, Soviet man only has to chase away the enemy.

Aloïsi Mogarytch, screenwriter.

And here is Gala.

Enchanted.

It's an honor.

Um, please.

Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.

- Champagne? - Yes.

Just a small cut.

Champagne makes me hell.

I'm taking the risk.

Please excuse us for a moment.

-Champagne. - Right away.

Look, I found out.

Many were shocked.

And many are on your side.

Listen, we can make our disagreement known.

- By doing what? - By demonstrating against censorship.

For the freedom of literature.

I support you.

THANKS.

Tomorrow, at 10 a.m., in front of the Union.

But there will be the big May Day parade.

- Exactly. - So.

This will be the perfect time.

Otherwise, it will be the fate of us all.

As Dumas said: “One for all, all for one!”

We will attack, we will win, we will conquer the world!

Let there be only our beauty to match our talent.

Let's raise a glass!

Tell me, isn't that the director of your theater?

- Likhodeev? - It's him.

I need to talk to him.

Comrade, please show me your card.

Now it is no longer valid.

I have to ask you to come out.

- What is... - You need to get out.

THANKS.

Would you be a writer, by chance?

I was told it was a restaurant for playwrights.

Writer, yes.

Your accent tells me you're from Germany.

Yes, from Germany, among others.

- Bye. - Good night.

Are you coming with us?

Where are they all?

They had promised to come.

“One for all, all for one.”

They must still be in bed.

I'll come see you.

I was walking along this boulevard.

Thoughts raced through my head.

Should I start composing opera librettos?

Booklets or no booklets?

I regretted leaving science

behind to pursue an uncertain career.

But God knows that the love of

literature was the only reason.

- Happy May Day! - Can I go this way?

The avenue is closed during the demonstration.

A little flag or a flower?

No, no fuss.

What if I wrote a letter to be let out of the country?

What's the point of keeping a writer?

whose works are banned in the USSR?

You can't pass.

- I would have just... - We have to wait.

Our nation knows how to take the necessary measures.

Yes to the five-year plan in 4 years!

There is no such thing as a writer who can remain silent.

If he stays silent, it’s because he’s not a real writer.

What if a real writer keeps silent?

He dies.

No more coal, no more flax, more harvests!

No more tractors...

- Get him! - Comrade, stop!

There were thousands of people on Tverskaya Street,

but she only saw me.

She gave me a look

like full of pain.

I was less struck by its beauty

that by this extraordinary solitude

in his eyes that no one seemed to see.

Do you like flowers?

No.

Are you not sensitive to the beauty of flowers?

I like flowers,

but not these.

What else do you like?

The ocean, Except I never went there.

How can you love what you've never seen?

Are you a writer?

You guessed it.

And you ?

An angel?

No...

A witch rather.

I realized that no one

would never please me as much as this woman.

I knew that the day we met,

without seeing anything of the city, under the walls of the Kremlin.

We spoke as if we had left each other the day before,

like we've known each other for years.

You're not afraid to say that to a stranger?

Tell the truth, it's easy and enjoyable.

So you are a writer. What do you write?

Right now ? Nothing.

- I have an idea in mind but... - But ?

- She is condemned. - All the more interesting.

Tell me about it.

This is one of my favorite places in Moscow.

He will soon change, too.

Imagine: all the major works are finally

finished, there are these gigantic

buildings, these huge monuments, trams on Bronnaya Street.

And here, along the Patriarch's

Ponds, the editor-in-chief of a

literary magazine, Mikhail

Alexandrovich Berlioz, and his

young interlocutor, the poet Ivan Ponyriev, are walking,

who writes under the pseudonym Sans-Abri.

After the Alexandrovsky Garden,

I took her to the Patriarch's Pond.

The Patriarch's Pond!

This is where everything changed, that the horror began.

What are you talking about?

That's where we met him.

The consultant.

Tell me about it, please.

They approach the kiosk.

They want sparkling water. But there isn't one.

They take apricot juice.

And it is here that they meet him.

Who is that? Tell me about it.

You should know that long before Jesus,

a whole series of sons of God were born.

Berlioz had commissioned an

anti-religious poem from Sans-Abri for

his next edition and had launched into a

sort of presentation to enlighten the poet on this subject.

Neither of the two great historians of

Antiquity ever mentioned the name of

Christ even though they were his contemporaries.

They knew the times he was supposed to have lived.

I see.

There are almost no oriental religions

where we also find a virgin bringing a son of god into the world.

Christians have not invented anything new.

They created their own Jesus in exactly

the same way without him ever existing.

This is where the emphasis must be placed.

You opened my eyes to this story.

I'm going to rewrite everything.

Please forgive me.

Please forgive my intrusion.

I'm just a complete stranger and I'm interrupting you...

But the subject of your conversation fascinates me to the highest degree.

I can't help but intervene. Can I sit down for a moment?

So, if I'm not

mistaken, you

claimed that Jesus never existed?

You are not mistaken.

That's precisely what I said.

How interesting!

Do you agree with your interlocutor?

100%.

Perfect.

Does that mean

you are atheists?

Of course. We are atheists.

I thank you with all my soul.

Wait !

Why do you thank him?

For this information of the

utmost importance, very

interesting, for the traveler that I am.

And what do you do with the proofs of

the existence of God which, if I'm not

mistaken, are at least five in number?

You talk in particular about Kant's proof.

She's not very convincing!

Your Kant, with his proofs, I would send

him to a re-education camp for three years!

Ivan!

- What ? I'm serious. - Shh.

He's right. Let him go to camp.

However, if you say that God does not

exist, then who is it that governs

everything: people, life and,

overall, the order of things, earthly existences?

Who makes the globe spin?

It's the man, with his own hands!

Not the man, let's see!

Man cannot plan for a period

as short as a thousand years.

He cannot even vouch for his own tomorrow.

If you get sick, for example,

aggressive lung cancer...

You're not laughing anymore, are you?

Or even worse:

a man slips and, lo and behold,

he gets run over by a tram.

Are you going to tell me that man will have

foreseen or decided what happens to him?

- Man is mortal. - Yes !

It's undeniable.

Of course he's mortal. But this is only the lesser evil.

The problem, is when he dies unexpectedly.

He is unable to predict what he will do that evening.

There you are exaggerating.

I know what I'm going to do this

evening, unless, of course, on

Bronnaya Street, a brick falls on my head...

A brick!

Nothing of the sort will happen to you.

You will never get a brick thrown over your head.

You die in a different way.

Do you know how I'm going to die?

The head.

It will be detached from your body.

How so ?

Are they going to take it away from me?

Interventionist enemies?

Tonight I will be at home, Sadovaya street.

This is completely excluded.

For what reason?

Because Annouchka has already bought the sunflower oil.

And what's more, she already knocked her over.

What does this have to do with sunflower oil?

And which Annouchka are you talking about?

Comrade, you would not have stayed

in a clinic for the mentally ill?

I tell you he's crazy!

Yes. Yes...

And more than once, Ivan Nikolaevich.

How do you know my name?

Who doesn't know you?

Do you want a cigarette? What brand?

The national brand. The blue ones. For what ?

You are welcome.

I told myself that this consultant

was not a tourist. He was a spy.

Are you German?

You speak Russian well.

And what is your specialty?

Where are you based?

- Where are you going to live? - At your place.

And the Devil, it doesn't exist either?

Stop! The devil does not exist.

It's very curious.

As if nothing exists with you in this country.

Teacher,

stay here for a minute with my fellow Homeless Person.

- I have to make a call. - GOOD.

Then we will accompany you...

Go call.

I'll tell you one last thing. The Devil exists.

You can take my word for it.

Know that there will soon be proof of this.

You will soon discover it.

Alright.

Stay with him.

I'm calling for backup.

You are looking for the turnstile, comrade?

It's this way, sir.

On this side. The rail access turnstile.

Straight ahead. In front of you.

Straight ahead.

A little bottle to thank me

of this information?

Eh ?

Go away, idiot!

The head rolled so far that it

was not found until the evening.

THANKS.

You didn't lie. Your imagination is overflowing.

- What happens next? - Afterwards ?

I don't know yet.

You absolutely must write the sequel.

Thanks for walking me home.

Wait.

I live in Mansourovski alley. There is a house - which we enter...

- I'm married.

Through a gate.

You must write.

I'm counting on you.

"Chapter one: Don't talk to strangers.

In a torrid spring twilight,

at the edge of the

Patriarch's ponds, two citizens appeared.

The first, dressed in a gray jacket...

Chapter Four: The Pursuit.

The poet rushed towards the turnstile

as soon as he heard the first screams."

He is dead!

He is dead! The tram cut him in two.

I ran after hearing the first scream.

The German completely slipped my mind.

I only had one question in mind: how was

it possible, a minute before, to speak

to Berlioz and then find him in this state?

Don't stay in the middle!

- Get out of the way! - He's dead!

Berlioz!

What is it?

He jumped under the tram!

Don't crowd around!

Get out of the way.

Has anyone found the head?

- Oil has been spilled. - It was Annouchka who knocked her down.

Don't touch that!

- It’s Micha! - Put that down.

- Give me that. - It’s Micha!

Don't come any closer!

It's him!

He's the one who killed him!

Get it!

What are you waiting for?

Everyone move away.

Move away from the body.

Get it!

Police ! He's running away!

Stop!

Stop! Stop, I tell you!

You have to catch it!

Don't let him escape!

Stop!

He's a spy!

He's here! He's here!

He's here!

By car.

No cats allowed! Cleared !

I told you to stay out!

Is this wrong or what?

Get off, you dirty cat!

What is this cat? We have to catch it.

Catch that cat!

Stop!

We have to catch the cat! He's a spy.

Stop him! He's a spy!

Stop!

Comrades!

Help! A spy!

- So, my friend... - Let me pass.

It's going to be hard to catch up, young man.

Comrades! Comrades!

Let me pass!

Leave me!

Listen to me...

Silence ! Listen to me!

Why didn't the militia arrest him?

He is among us.

Who that,

fellow Homeless?

The consultant.

And this consultant, in front of the Patriarch's pond,

just killed Micha Berlioz.

He killed our Micha!

- Mikhail Alexandrovich is dead? - He was killed!

You have to catch it!

He will cause other terrible misfortunes!

Please excuse me.

Specify, please.

Who is guilty?

Who killed him?

The consultant!

You have to catch it and you

don't do anything except party!

It's not possible!

No ! You have to go!

Listen to me, comrades!

Call the police immediately!

Ask...

- five motorcycles with machine guns! - Comrade, calm down.

I am calm.

- Spare us... - You don't understand!

I will not spare you.

Panteley! Call the militia!

Out !

Stop him!

Let me go!

We will teach you!

They were my colleagues from the literary club.

That's how I ended up here.

It's all a bit of your fault, dear friend.

You shouldn't have behaved so licentiously.

Who was this guy?

That day, at the pond,

you have met Satan.

It's not possible.

Satan does not exist.

You should be the last person to say that.

You are here, in a psychiatric clinic,

and you continue to assert that it does not exist?

What else is he going to do?

We must quickly neutralize it!

You've already tried. That's enough.

As for what he's going to do, trust him.

What a shame it wasn't me who met him!

Why would you want to meet him?

I'm coming !

So, are you still writing?

Always.

I just finished a new chapter.

There is work.

They are everywhere.

Here, there are a few roses left.

Sorry, it's over there.

Down.

Please excuse this mess.

I didn't take the time to tidy up.

Good...

Do you want some tea?

Ah, damn...

There are no more.

There is no more tea.

Can I take a look?

You are welcome.

Do you already have a title?

A provisional title: The Prince of Darkness.

So it can change.

The Grand Chancellor?

I'll think about it.

I know why his name is Woland.

It is one of the names of Mephistopheles in Goethe.

"I am a part of that force which, eternally,

desires evil and which, do good forever."

I'll leave you alone.

Please forgive my intrusion.

I'm just a stranger and I'm interrupting you, but your

conversation fascinates me to the highest degree...

- Jesus never existed. - You are welcome.

Imagine that Jesus really existed.

We still need to have proof of its existence.

It's useless. Instead, listen to the following.

Covered in his white cape with a blood-red lining,

walking with a horseman's shuffling gait, early

one morning on the fourteenth of the spring month

of Nisan, under the covered portico which

separated the two wings of the palace of Herod the

Great, appeared the procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilate.

Your story is very interesting, but it

has nothing to do with the Gospel texts.

I personally attended these events.

Anonymously. In complete discretion.

I'm counting on you not to tell anyone.

He acts a little shy around you.

So as not to offend the author, we say:

“That must have taken a lot of work.”

What are they doing in there? Jerchalaim and Pontius Pilate?

You didn't mention them.

It's from my play. Her name is Pilate.

After we met, I figured I could bond

between the two stories.

Odd...

Very strange, yes.

Do you already know the ending?

No not yet.

I already have the idea for the next chapter,

but I don't know any more.

Hello ?

Yes, it's me.

When?

Okay, I'm coming.

An urgent call from the theater.

It looks like they want to reauthorize the part.

Can I accompany you?

You will tell me about the next chapter.

The following chapter is also linked to theater.

Well, not really in the theater, but to Stepan Likhodeev.

He wakes up in his apartment which is

here. The previous owners were evicted.

NOW, it’s reserved for the state’s elite.

This apartment enjoyed a rather strange reputation.

Two years ago, its

occupants began to disappear.

Disappear ?

The next chapter will tell how Stepan Likhodeev

mysteriously disappears from this damn apartment.

A heavy bell thundered inside this head.

He felt nauseous, with the impression that

it was linked to the sounds of a phonograph.

He ran a trembling hand down his leg

to see if he was wearing pants or not.

Hard to say.

Grounia!

Grounia!

From the pyramid!

And water.

very kind Stepan Bogdanovich.

Please forgive this outfit.

Follow the old

and wise recipe:

cure evil with evil.

Sausages!

Hop!

Sorry.

Stepan!

If I'm not mistaken, you drank too much yesterday.

- Port after vodka, right? - Sorry.

It was not intentional.

Do you even remember my name?

Woland.

Professor of black magic.

Yesterday we signed a contract for seven

performances and set a meeting at 10 a.m.

As you can see, tadam.

..

I am here.

Hello ?

Stepan Likhodeev?

Yes. It's me. I don't know what's going on.

There's a guy at my house,

an artist.

A certain Woland.

He tells me about tonight's show.

Grounia...

I'll be there in half an hour.

Don't worry, Stepan Bogdanovich.

This cat is mine.

- Grounya? - Oh yes...

Grounia.

She's not here.

I sent her back to her parents.

She was complaining that you didn't give her

never holidays. It's a vacation for him.

That's better.

Comrade! Comrade!

Comrade!

Are you blind?

We don't sit on people! Finally !

From what I see, you are a little surprised,

dear Stepan Bogdanovich.

However, there is no reason to be.

I present to you my entourage.

These people need space.

That means one of us is too many here.

And it seems to me, the one who is too much,

- it's you, my dear. - Of course !

For some time now, he behaves like a pig.

He gets drunk, he fornicates!

Why all this?

He doesn't understand anything about the task entrusted to him.

He thinks he's allowed everything, yes.

I don't understand how he became a director.

He is director as I am archbishop.

You don't look like an archbishop.

Please allow me, sir, send him to the Devil?

Yes !

The honor is yours.

Go away! Go away, demon!

Go away, you dirty creature!

Everything is fine. Calm down.

- Everything is fine. - Please, where am I?

In Doctor Stravinsky's clinic.

But where exactly?

- In Yalta. - In the sanatorium.

Yalta.

I don't know where the money came from!

I have nothing to do with it!

I had rubles, not dollars.

I never made a single dollar!

I always had rubles, never dollars!

No... Professor!

Professor, it's not me!

There is a committee meeting today.

How many free rooms do we have left?

Ten, plus two who have just been released.

So much the better, because we have to welcome new people.

Don't want to take off your hat?

Praskovia, let's

double her dose.

The symptoms of schizophrenia do not improve.

We have to catch it. Otherwise, he will kill again!

Who is our new arrival?

This gentleman is a poet.

Stepan Bogdanovich!

- How do you like Yalta? - Why Yalta?

When Likhodeev abuses alcohol, he says he is in Yalta.

Woland was kinder to him than to Berlioz.

Likhodeev deserves indulgence.

He drinks so as not to see everything that is happening at the theater.

Look at this.

I'm sorry.

But you can devote yourself to the novel.

Should I invite you to dinner?

At breakfast.

Tomorrow morning with the new chapter.

That,

plus this... and this.

- It's what ? - Your remuneration.

And he's not happy.

When a show is banned before the premiere,

often, we pay nothing.

There is at least something there.

For six months of work?

One minute.

Ivan Savelievitch.

- Do you allow that? - But anyway, what are you doing?

So...

Here. Tickets for the premiere.

No, no fuss.

Tickets are rare.

Accept them.

You can resell them.

- The complete works of Sytine. - Yes.

Place them on my table so as not to damage them.

THANKS.

Come this way.

Why not have dinner in the morning?

Where does this feast come from?

Let's say I won the lottery.

I never thought you could dance.

I thought you knew everything about me.

Are you a witch?

Attention.

According to family legend, my great-great-grandmother

was tried for an affair with the Devil.

I imagine you flying at night in the sky of Moscow.

On a broom?

Maybe.

What if I got shot down like an enemy flying object

by the great Soviet aviation?

You are completely invisible to them.

So you don't see me?

Yes, I see you perfectly.

And I see you...

naked.

What if I made you the heroine of my novel?

Well, that wouldn't be quite you,

but I would call her Marguerite.

So she must have a lover.

An author who writes a novel about Pontius Pilate.

He is gifted,

this writer?

She likes him a lot.

This is the most important.

Does she have a husband?

He is a great specialist

who made a very important discovery for the State.

He is young, handsome, generous and honest.

He adores her.

But she never loved him.

Can you button me up?

That's not all.

The day they met,

she wanted to commit suicide.

I have to leave.

Very quickly, she became my secret wife.

She arrived in the morning

and left again at sunset.

When she arrived, she put on an apron

and prepared breakfast in the anteroom.

“The administrator was upset.

After the call he received, he was

certain that a gang of thugs was up to no

good and was linked to Likhodeev's disappearance."

For the morning feast...

No one knew about our affair.

Neither her husband nor her relatives.

“And he was looking forward to it.

The procurator appeared..."

During the storms of May, in front of the

windows, the water was rushing into the corner of

the courtyard, threatening to flood the last shelter.

The lovers lit the stove.

I wrote, she reread what I had written.

She repeated in a singing voice the phrases that pleased her.

There you can put something else.

She predicted glory for me and encouraged me.

She started calling me “Master”.

According to her, this novel contained his whole life.

We loved each other so much that we became inseparable.

We were sure that destiny had

arranged our meeting, that we were

meant to be together and never be separated.

“Pilatism.”

What is this ?

This is what Soviet critics think of my work.

Why do you collect them?

I'm proud of it.

There has never been so much written about me.

“A devotee disguised as a writer.”

- O. Latunsky. - It's my favorite.

"We must cauterize with the hot iron of the Soviet

press this vile tumor of the counter-revolutionary spirit

which lies behind the respectability

of literature."

- Do you know where he lives? - Who?

- This Latunsky. - House of Writers.

For what ?

Marguerite! What are you going to do?

- Break his windows. - With a hammer?

What if he lives high up?

Let's not take what this reviewer says too much to heart.

The intention is not bad. He does his job.

What should we do then?

Make him a ridiculous character?

Good idea.

This is your method. I have mine.

Marguerite!

I hope he's home.

No. Wait a minute.

Good morning.

Let me introduce you to Aloïsi.

Screenwriter.

For the cinema.

Daisy...

His lover.

And his muse.

What could such a muse inspire?

"The third crouched down next

to the dead man and stared at him.

A few seconds later, not a soul remained alive.

The corpse of the condemned man lay, arms crossed."

Your novel doesn't just talk about ancient Judea.

He speaks of our times!

Our leaders talk to themselves like this.

They understand each other half-heartedly.

It's true...

I already recognized the head of security.

And your Pilate is...

No.

At the studios, people disappear. And no one dares to ask questions.

Everyone is afraid.

“Perhaps they are cursed?” Like your cursed apartment.

If I were you, I wouldn't read

this to anyone. You never know.

Not even to you?

Wait... Do you want to read my new script?

The central idea is that of the director.

But I created some interesting stuff.

It's a musical comedy set in a kolkhoz

with a Hollywood style, you know?

Oh yes. What is it about?

A tractor driver falls in love with a milkmaid.

She is a member of the local choir and dance ensemble.

One fine day, a control commission -

arrives in this village. - Everything is

collectivized and at the end, everyone dances happily.

Got it.

We can't all be intransigent.

You don't pay alimony.

I'm sorry.

Do you want to go to the theater this Sunday?

There is a musical, Forward to

the future, in place of my Pilate.

It can give you inspiration.

Not this time.

I present my scenario to the Reading Committee.

Ahead...

towards the future!

For my country, I join the Party!

Soviet comrade, don't forget what you owe to mechanics.

The time has come for the end of the old world!

We are going to build a brand new one!

Dear friends, I can't wait to see

what this new world has in store for us.

Which year will we visit to see

with our own eyes how our

beautiful country lives in the future?

I propose December

30 of the year 2022.

Here we go!

A hundred years have passed

since the founding of our great

and indestructible Soviet Union!

Ladies, please,

where are we?

In the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics!

How many Republics in the Union?

All.

All the Republics of the world!

Tell us how you live

in the future.

Instead of telling you...

We're going to sing instead!

Travel around the world

You won't find another country

Where such equality reigns

Between people!

I'll be right back.

In our dreamland

He never lacks anything

Here freedom reigns...

Don't leave!

Good evening, comrades!

Good evening !

- Pardon. Who are you ? - That's it for you.

- I don't understand. - Read !

It comes from the Great Leader!

Here!

Stand well in front.

“Dear friends, We have

a small change of program. You will admire

a very famous artist from abroad,

- Mr. Woland." - Woland, Woland, Woland!

“For a black magic session.”

Black magic does not exist.

It's just that Maestro Woland, you see,

masters the art of illusion to perfection.

He will give you a demonstration

and prove to us that it's not magic...

but a presentation of the demystification of illusion.

SO ?

We invite

maestro Woland to begin the black magic session.

Well done ! Well done ! Well done !

Tell me, my friend,

dearest servant,

in your opinion,

the Moscow population has not changed significantly?

- You are right, sir. - They have changed a

lot outwardly.

Like the city itself, in fact.

We saw the appearance

of trams, automobiles...

However, it seems to me that the

most important question is: have

these city dwellers changed internally?

Yes. You are right.

A question of the utmost importance.

But we talk too much, dear friend,

and the public starts to get bored.

Show us one simple thing to start with.

A simple little thing!

Sir, well done!

SO...

Hop! He no longer sees anything.

He no longer hears anything... at all!

Fly, my little balloon.

Bring joy to the battalion!

Fly, fly...

Money! Money!

More money! Get it! Treat yourself.

Money!

- Tickets! - These are mine!

It's a gift!

There will be something for everyone!

- Help yourself. - Comrades, stop!

Stop, finally.

Please don't.

Comrades, please!

We have just witnessed what

we call collective hypnosis!

Which proves that black magic does not exist.

Comrades, these tickets are real.

There is something...

This one is starting to annoy us!

Pardon ?

He has an annoying tendency to criticize.

Think again...

He's ruining our session!

What are we going to do with him?

Tell him to shut up and send him away!

- Out ! - Forever !

Rip off his head!

Ladies and Gentlemen, We're going to rip his head off!

We're going to cut off his head!

Don't worry. It will fall on its own.

Put yourself in your place.

That's enough.

It's not funny.

- Ready ? - Always ready.

Caught !

I have it! I have his head!

So, Azazello,

will he continue to bother us?

Stop torturing him.

Sir!

What are your orders?

I see that these people are like those before.

They love money.

They have always had a great passion for him.

Mercy sometimes finds its way to their hearts...

They haven't changed that much.

They have been corrupted by the housing issue.

Take my apartment,

take my paintings, take everything, but give me back my head!

Give him his head again.

THANKS ! THANKS !

What's going on?

Now that we're rid of this nuisance

and you have your pockets full of tickets...

What did they do to you?

Let's open a big store

for ladies!

Hello, Moscow!

Our modest store carries out a free exchange

Soviet dresses and shoes

against the latest Parisian creations:

Guerlain,

Chanel No. 5,

Mitsouko,

Black Narcissus...

Evening dresses,

cocktail dresses.

Who will be the bravest?

Come and enjoy it, ladies! You are welcome !

- I would like to try. - Stay here.

Come and be pampered.

Well done, well done, well done!

We will transform you into a model of elegance.

Welcome to our luxury workshops.

Here we go.

Abracadabra!

You are welcome.

Join us.

Abracadabra!

Each in turn.

What elegance!

Let me go!

Malotru!

What would you like ?

My wife has the flu.

Can I go in his place?

You are welcome. Go ahead, sir.

Forward, ma'am.

Attention, ladies and gentlemen,

our store will soon be closing its doors.

I understand that you are disappointed.

But be careful, there is good news.

All the items in the windows are yours!

I've had enough of your prohibitions, despot, bourgeois!

We have everything in abundance

What to wear What to eat

We have everything in abundance

What to wear

Something to eat!

Impossible not to sing?

Satan is the master of the ball.

The master of the ball.

How did you find Forward to the future?

It must have taken them a lot of work.

Why did you go see this?

For inspiration.

And that too,

Is it for inspiration?

In any case, I wrote a new chapter.

Shall I read it to you?

- “Black magic…” - Not here.

You need to get some fresh air, to go out a little.

I had a dream last night.

It was in a strange and unfamiliar place.

Half-bare trees and a log house.

The door of this house opened

and you came out,

ragged,

messy hair,

eyes sick, anxious.

You waved at me.

I rush towards you,

current from clod to clod.

And that's when I woke up.

It was just a dream.

Margarita Nikolaevna, is that you?

I was wondering if that was your hat.

Natacha, it's not me.

She's another woman who looks like me.

Did you understand me?

Natacha, my housekeeper.

I would like to fly away somewhere.

At the sea?

Where there would only be us.

Every time I come here, I'm afraid.

Fear of arriving and not finding you.

I decided.

I love you more than my life. I don't want to lie anymore.

I would like to stay right now,

but I don't want to act this way.

- I'm going to tell him everything. - I refuse.

I'm not good enough for you.

I don't want you to take so

many risks to disappear with me.

- Is that the only reason? - The only one.

This is the last thing I remember in my

life, this strip of light in the

vestibule and, in this group, his

wild locks, his beret and his determined eyes.

“Hold on for a few more hours.

Tomorrow morning we will be together."

We'll fly out of here.

We'll meet at the airfield.

The last words she said to me.

I love you.

And what’s next?

Password ?

“Yalta.”

Stepan Bogdanovich, come and welcome your guests.

Your Gala is actually a vampire.

My little Ema, do you like caviar?

- I adore. - Enjoy.

Well, what a surprise!

What are you afraid of, my dear?

Come in! Take off your coats.

My little Gala, take care of our guests.

Cheers, comrades!

At a party at Likhodeev's,

there is no room for decorum.

Cheers, comrades!

Ours!

Is this Berlioz’s room?

Isn't he there?

He left us.

I'll open it.

You are talking about Hector Berlioz, the French composer?

He is buried in the Montmartre cemetery.

I don't know any other Berlioz.

Ossaf, what joy!

Stepan Bogdanovich.

Welcome.

My friend, welcome.

Dear comrades, look who's joining us.

I'm glad to see you.

- See you later. - I'm coming.

I'm just doing my job. It's nothing personal.

Obviously. I understand everything.

A toast!

I have prepared a little surprise for you.

A new theater and cinema

star will appear for you.

I named Lyubov...

Have you thought about Orlova?

No, comrades.

Lyubov Bengalskaya! Let's applaud her.

Oh, Baron Meigel.

Sorry, comrade.

Dear friend...

Let's go.

Wouldn't it be this writer who asked to leave the country?

What did he write in his letter?

Gentlemen!

Let's toast!

Let's drink to communism.

- It's swollen. - Famous

in accommodation reserved for the elite.

Well done !

Cheers, comrades!

Sorry !

The fire roared in the fireplace.

The rain beat against the windows.

It was that evening that everything really changed.

Open!

Open up, come on!

Open or we'll break down the door!

Open, we tell you.

We know you're there!

We're going to have to break down the door!

Open. It's an order.

We will have warned you.

Comrades, hurry up! Two

minutes before departure!

Have you decided to get rid of material

evidence of anti-Soviet propaganda?

It's no use.

We know everything you wrote.

There was no need to burn it.

We know everything about the tram that killed

the vice-president of the Writers' Union or

the demonization of the supreme representatives.

- Who told you all this? - Don't interrupt me.

Who ?

What if it was your mistress? How, already?

Marguerite?

- That's not true. - What is true?

The truth is what will be written in this file.

From day one, it seemed unreliable to us.

It was obvious right

away, he wasn't one of us.

It was visible.

I didn't even know it was Jesus.

Who else do you think?

He told me it was Iéchua.

I'm an actor, you understand?

I play what I'm asked.

Who is part of your counter-revolutionary group?

The theater director, Likhodeev?

Did he encourage you to write this scandalous play?

You visited him recently.

He has nothing to do with it.

I was invited by Professor Woland.

Stop confusing us.

We checked. You were alone at Likhodeev's house.

Woland does not exist in real life.

Believe me, it exists.

Stop making yourself out to be

crazy or I'll put you through hell!

Who are you ?

“I am that force that always

wants evil but produces good.”

If I'm not mistaken,

That’s what Goethe wrote, right?

Your situation is very perilous.

Section 58.

Betrayal and espionage.

Some of our leaders

carefully follow all of your work.

Up there,

They like it when we stroke them in the direction of the hair.

They like it. Do you understand?

I know yes.

We're going to make you a member of the Writers' Union.

You will have a salary,

then a dacha,

a car with driver.

You will have everything.

The risk you took

is insane.

And yours, not at all.

How ?

You will be sacrificed

during the ball.

What ball?

The ball at Satan's house.

You will be the main entertainment

for the guests.

And the queen of the ball will drink your blood from Berlioz's skull.

My dear, you are completely delirious...

Sir Woland

just waiting for you.

I see you've gone crazy.

Dear friend, have you ever had hallucinations?

And these evil forces

that you describe in your novel,

Do you think they really exist?

Where is the evidence?

We will help you.

Let's start with 30 mg of morphine.

Today you will feel

much better.

- Can I ask you a favor? - Which ?

Something to write about.

It's forbidden.

Diagnosis:

dissociative identity disorder, paranoid schizophrenia.

I prescribe electroconvulsive therapy.

Let's start with 100 volts.

"Chapter one:

Never talk to strangers.

In a torrid spring twilight,

at the edge of the ponds of the Patriarch,

two citizens appeared."

140.

This is so as not to lose the leaves.

"The poet rushed towards the turnstile...

Chapter 19."

- You will feel better. - Hide it!

“Dressed in a gray jacket…”

That's enough for today.

She doesn't know where I

am and she never will.

You could give him some news.

She would receive a letter from an asylum.

Should letters be sent from such an address?

A letter from a madman.

You're joking, dear friend.

See you at the parade, honey.

No.

It would make her too unhappy.

I absolutely refuse it.

LEFT ! LEFT ! One two three !

Aloisi?

What happened to him?

What are you talking about?

- Is he alive? - How can I know?

Have you told anyone about the novel?

You are crazy. Go away.

That's enough! Go away !

No...

Tell me where he is.

Praskovya Fyodorovna...

I'm done.

I would like to ask you something.

If, one day, a woman comes

and she asks about me,

give him this manuscript.

- Her name is... - Marguerite.

And you are the Master, if I read correctly.

It's time.

Go to bed.

Tomorrow morning you will have more treatments.

You have to sleep well first.

I came to say goodbye to you.

Sorry, but I can no longer be your neighbor.

I will keep my word

and I won't write any more poems.

I'm interested in something else.

I want to write about different topics.

You know, here, I understood a lot of things.

So much the better. It's good.

It's very good.

Do you hear?

The storm?

No.

A voice calls me.

I have to go.

"Freedom."

I don't know how I would run

the clinic without you, Praskovia!

You should be given a promotion.

Professor Stravinsky!

Yes ?

How did you get here?

I'm listening to you.

This is one of your patients. A writer.

Sorry. I cannot disclose

information about our patients.

- How did you get in? - I have to see him.

- I beg you. - Sorry. I can't help you.

Please leave the clinic immediately.

Take our comrade back, Please.

I know he's here.

Don't touch me! You killed him, didn't you?

Insults are often the

reward for a job well done.

Praskovia, let's get back to work.

I'm coming, doctor.

Wait !

I'll take her home. Go back to work.

- Are you Marguerite? - How do you know?

I recognized you.

I was asked to give you something.

- Who? - Who ?

The Master.

I have to see him.

Madam, your husband called.

His train won't arrive until tomorrow.

You are free for this evening.

Thank you, Natasha.

"In a torrid spring twilight,

at the edge of the Patriarch's

ponds, two citizens appeared.

Berlioz had ordered an anti-religious

poem from Sans-Abri for his next edition.

From here, she could see the Manège.

Marguerite squinted her eyes in the bright sun.

A year ago today, on this same

bench, she was sitting next to him."

Mikhail Alexandrovich Berlioz,

the president of Massolit.

So these are writers who follow the coffin?

Yeah, sure.

Is the critic Latounski in the procession?

I see you hate him, this Latunsky.

Huh,

Margarita Nikolaevna?

I am here to extend

an invitation to you.

You are expected this evening at the home of an illustrious foreigner.

No one will know anything about this visit.

You can take advantage of this opportunity.

Can I find out about him?

Here. Take this.

You will need it.

“Marguerite was sitting at a

work table, naked under a bathrobe.

On a sheet torn from a notepad,

she wrote in pencil, without

crossing out, in big, hasty letters...

Forgive me and forget me. I'm leaving you. Don't look for me.

Misfortune has made me a witch and I am leaving. Farewell."

This evening, at 9:30 p.m.

sharp, please, after having

completely undressed, apply

this cream to your face and body.

"Using her fingertips, Marguerite put a little cream on her hand.

The smell of forest and marsh grass grew stronger.

The cream spread easily and, it was

Marguerite's impression, evaporated immediately.

After a few applications, She

looked at herself in the mirror.

Margarita Nikolaevna, everything is fine ?

What is...

Allow me to introduce myself. Koroviev.

You are surprised at the absence of light.

For economy, you think. No not at all.

It's just that my lord doesn't like electric light.

After you, madam.

You are welcome.

I wonder how this all got in here.

This is very simple for anyone

familiar with the fifth dimension.

It is easy to expand your space to the desired dimensions.

There is a tradition.

The queen of the ball must necessarily bear the name Marguerite.

And it’s important that she’s from the region.

I hope you will agree to take on this position.

I accept.

You are welcome.

Messire apologizes for receiving

you without manners in his room.

This one, I put it there.

Failure.

Come in, come in.

You are welcome.

Come in, dear madam!

The game is off to a bad start, Behemoth.

The situation is serious but not desperate.

Follow me to the bedroom.

I salute you,

magnificent and majestic queen.

Come in then.

Please excuse my familiar expression.

I salute you, sir.

The blood.

Blood always takes its toll.

“Marguerite was worried.

She could not see her surroundings clearly.

She understood that the room where they prepared her for the ball

was of black glass and lava stone."

It's a difficult mission.

If you don't like someone, you don't have to show it.

We shouldn't notice it. Nothing is worse than negligence.

You are welcome, put your foot here.

Your lovely little foot.

So. Like that, it's perfect.

Where are the guests?

Only 10 seconds until midnight.

They will arrive.

Majesty, let me give the signal.

Yes, go ahead!

The ball!

Monsignor Jacques and his wife.

He is a most interesting man.

He became famous in 1450 by poisoning the king's mistress.

Come closer.

The queen is delighted!

She is enchanted!

Enchanted!

Mrs. Tofana.

She was very popular among beautiful Neapolitan

women, especially among those tired of their husbands.

It happens, doesn't it?

Yes. I confirm.

Madame Tofana sold bottles of water.

The woman poured this water into her husband's soup.

The day after, she was free as the wind.

Come closer.

The queen is delighted!

The queen is delighted!

The queen is delighted!

The queen is delighted.

New guests.

All fresh.

It's the general. He wanted to get rid of a man.

He ordered his secretary to

spray his office with poison.

It's a great honor. Our respects, black queen!

- We are delighted! - Honored.

The number of visitors was endless.

The guests arrived in an incessant ballet.

The hours passed.

None of these criminals, poisoners,

cutthroats, pimps, jailers, cheats,

executioners, cockroaches, felonies

and perverts did not interest Marguerite.

Their names were mixed up in his head.

Their faces transformed into an abstract form.

Marguerite's legs gave way.

At every moment, she feared she would burst into tears.

Come closer!

The queen is delighted!

The queen is delighted!

This is Frida.

She was a waitress and was abused by her boss.

Following this, she gave birth to a boy.

Very happy.

She took him into the forest,

put a tissue in his mouth

and buried him alive.

By the way, here's your handkerchief.

You are welcome,

take it.

So.

Don't hesitate.

- Frida... - Come closer.

Come. We'll offer you some champagne.

Come and have a drink.

My name is Frida!

"Escorted from Koroviev,

she found herself in the ballroom.

We no longer danced there.

Countless guests crowded between the columns.

At the last sound of the bell coming from who knows where,

silence fell over the audience.

It was then that Marguerite came back to life

Woland."

What was predicted

has been accomplished, Mikhail Alexandrovich.

You never made it home.

Your head has been separated from your body.

These are undeniable facts.

And facts are the most stubborn things in the world.

You have always been an ardent defender of the

following theory: when you cut off a man's head,

his life stops and he fades into a form of nothingness.

What a stupid theory!

They are all equal.

Everyone will be treated according to their beliefs.

If you disappear, I will

use your skull as a cup

to drink in your memory.

The cut!

We're ringing! It's him.

I'm coming !

I'm coming !

Enter. You are welcome.

Give yourself this trouble.

I have the honor to introduce to you the very dear Baron Meigel.

Hurry up. The guests are waiting for you.

This way.

Come closer, please.

Tell me, dear baron,

rumors are circulating about your excessive curiosity.

Evil tongues have used angry words:

snitch and spy.

This will lead you to a sad end within a month.

So we decided

to spare you this painful wait.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I drink to your health!

Drink.

Drink. It's like wine.

Fear not, my queen.

The blood was absorbed into the earth.

And where it has spread, vines are already growing.

Please, Your Majesty.

Sit down.

Sit down.

Honestly, tell me if we've exhausted you too much.

Not at all, sir.

The night of the full moon is a night of celebration.

Tonight I'm having dinner in company

of my loved ones, of my servants

and my guests.

Drink without fear.

Maybe

do you want something...

No.

Nothing, sir.

Unless you still need me.

In that case, I will gladly do whatever you ask me.

Well done !

That's what needed to be said.

You have passed the test.

Remember:

never ask anyone for anything. Never anything to anyone.

And even less to those more powerful than you.

It’s up to them to propose.

To them

to give you everything.

So, Margot,

for being my queen,

what would you like ?

Have no fear.

Don't be embarrassed.

I was the one who suggested.

Tell me

your wish.

So can I really ask something?

Go ahead, my queen.

I want people to stop bringing Frida the handkerchief

with which she suffocated her baby.

You are a woman of great morality.

No, sir.

If I ask you such a thing, it

is because I gave him hope.

That doesn't add up.

Margot, what do you

want for yourself,

proud and strong woman?

I want my lover,

the Master, back.

And let everything go back to the way it was before.

Send us back to the basement of the Arbat.

Doing business as usual is never really possible.

But we will try.

It's you!

It's me.

Have no doubt.

You look suspiciously like a witch.

I am one.

And I'm happy about it.

Gentlemen, I have nothing to do with it.

I'm just fixing the stove.

And I consider it my duty to remind you

that the cat is an ancient and untouchable animal.

Well, untouchable cat and ventriloquist,

come a little closer.

Bring him down!

It's the end.

Don't come any closer.

Let me say goodbye to this life.

The net.

Not in the fire! It's going to explode!

It's a funny town, isn't it?

Sir, to tell you the truth, I prefer Rome.

"Darkness from the Mediterranean

had covered the city that the procurator

hated so much."

I think we're even.

Yes.

It's time.

The hour has come.

Let's go.

Listen to this absence of noise.

Listen to it and enjoy it.

Enjoy what we never gave you.

The silence.

"I am a part of this force

who always wants evil

and yet produces good.”