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Since Vadim Baranov stepped down as
advisor to Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin,

Tsar, the legends about him haven't
waned. They've multiplied.

Most men of power get their aura from
the position they hold.

When they lose it, it's like a plug has
been pulled.

Baranov was a different breed.

Some say he retreated to a monastery in
Mount Athos.

Others swore they saw him in Ibiza.

surrounded by coked -up models.

Still others insist they spotted him on
the front line in Donbass.

Vadim Baranov went through life in a
swirl of enigmas.

The sole certainty was his influence on
the Tsar.

In his 15 years of service, he
contributed decisively to the growth of

Tsar's power.

He was known as the Wizard of the
Kremlin.

The new Rasputin.

He would show up unannounced at the
president's office in the middle of the

night to handle urgent matters.

Perhaps the Tsar himself would call him
in on his personal line.

Occasionally, the two of them were
joined by a prominent minister or the

some state -owned conglomerate.

but in these witnesses never shed any
light on the Tsar and his advisors'

nightly activities.

When I returned to Moscow a few years
after his disappearance, Baranov's

still loomed large.

The press persisted in attributing to
him the most baffling measures taken by

the Kremlin.

As for me, I had just published an essay
in Foreign Affairs that created

something of a stir.

It was called Vadim Baranov and the
Invention of Fake Democracy.

Lawrence Rowland.

If you need anything, just dial 9.

Thank you.

Have a good day, Mr. Rowland. You too.

I took a year's sabbatical from Yale to
write the first biography of Yevgeny

Zamyat, one of Russia's great writers.

and an early antagonist of Stalin's
communist regime.

I walked in the pale winter light,
leafed through old books.

Zamyatin became my obsession.

He was a visionary, and not just when it
came to Stalin, all subsequent

dictators as well.

From Silicon Valley oligarchs to China's
one -party state, from Mark Zuckerberg

to Xi Jinping.

His dystopian novel, We, inspired George
Orwell's 1984.

Just outside the city, gloomy, never
-ending woods stretched all the way to

Siberia.

I felt a mix of curiosity and
apprehension.

In Russia, things generally go pretty
well, but when they go bad, they go

bad.

Good morning.

Good morning.

Please, follow me, Mr. Roland.

May I take your coat?

I will bring you something.

Thank you.

Thank you.

I didn't know you collected old books.

I don't collect them, I read them.

There's a major difference.

So you're a reader of Semyatin.

Then I have something to show you that
you will truly appreciate.

Do you know what this is?

The letter Semyatin wrote to Stalin.

Asking permission to leave the USSR.

Dear Joseph Vissarionovich, just as the
Christians created the devil as a

convenient personification of all evil,
so the critics have transformed me into

the devil of Soviet literature.

I mean, I've understood too much too
quickly. I made the rash decision to

about it.

Please, have a seat.

You read it? Of course.

You even took the time to make notes.

I'm honored.

Let's not get carried away.

However, compared to the others, you did
understand something. Not much, but

something.

Thank you.

You said you consider yourself an
artist?

Let's just say I play a supporting role.
I'm retired now.

You don't miss the adrenaline?

Trust me, there is no greater joy than
waking up every morning, having coffee,

and taking your daughter to school.

How did the others take it?

My leaving.

Badly, of course.

Courtiers forgive everyone.

Thieves, murderers, traitors, but not
deserters.

What? You don't want what we're willing
to kill for?

And the Tsar?

The Tsar is a different story.

My father feared this library.

It belonged to my grandfather, Christine
Grazia Machiavelli, with skeptics that

disillusioned hardly the Soviet doxa.

But to his credit, he never tried to
deny me any of them.

Your father? He ended up director of the
Academy of Social Sciences for the

Communist Party.

His one goal in life was to avoid being
awakened at dawn by the KGB banging on

his front door.

In his position, he shouldn't have had
to worry about that. No one was safe in

the Soviet Union.

No one is safe in Russia, period.

Not me.

Not even you.

When I was growing up, the most sought
-after privilege in Moscow was the

Kremlin Ovka, a food basket reserved for
the Communist Party's senior officials.

What we are eating today?

Salom pireshki.

Lamb cutlets.

Ultimately, my problem is that I had a
happy childhood.

And in Russia, that's not normal.

All the Russian elite experienced Soviet
poverty before they gained access to

villas on the Côte d 'Azur.

And they still haven't gotten over it.

Even the Tsar.

Me, the kid who grew up in a shoddy
common alca at the back of a gloomy

courtyard in St. Petersburg.

Now I'm invited to Buckingham Palace.

Things have changed.

Not that much. For you Westerners, money
is essential.

What matters in Russia is your proximity
to power. The Soviet system was based

on privilege, not cash.

Yesterday there wasn't any. Tomorrow,
who knows? So you might as well just

it all.

Do you know what a Votushka is?

It was a telephone without a dial that
allowed party leaders to communicate

directly with you. Having one meant
you'd made it.

This is a Votushka.

Gray, like everything Soviet.

If you think Moscow's gray, you should
try Washington. Oh, God, they're not

there. They're dead.

Anyway, I'm banned from entering the USA
and Europe.

Is your father still alive?

No. He might have subsisted in this
world for a long time, but then along

Gorbachev and his glass of milk. Glass
of milk.

Oh, he didn't have to listen to
Gorbachev to know that he was about to

the Soviet Union. It was enough to look
at him.

He took to the rostrum, they handed him
a glass of milk, and he proceeded to

double the price of vodka and try to get
everyone on milk.

In Russia, can you imagine?

I wonder everything spun out of control.

That was it for communism and for my
father. He lost everything.

His job, privileges, reputation.

What about you? What did you do in those
times?

My father wanted me to be a diplomat,
but I was never keen on studying.

I did odd jobs, found television sets,
cassette decks, and resold them.

Business was good.

I started to make more money than my
father, a lot more than my father.

I was just a know -nothing kid. That's
why I was better suited to the new

In the early 90s, Moscow was a dynamic
city.

The place was filled with hope for a few
years, just a few.

Banned books were coming out every week.

Solzhenitsyn, Pasternak, Bulgakov, art
magazines and literary reviews were

selling in the millions.

The Russian appetite for freedom was
insatiable.

So I enrolled in the Russian Institute
of Theatre Arts in Moscow and began

living the messy life of a thespian.

We were barely 20 and a whole new world
had opened up to us just as we were

finally strong enough to conquer it.

We were so excited we never slept more
than three or four hours a night.

We were convinced it was finally our
turn to rebuild society on new

Thank you.

We could see plays from Europe.

We'd meet the actors and directors and
talk with them all night long.

You really think that freedom will
change everything and you will live in a

world of culture and poetry?

Our generation rejected the system. Our
parents, they kept their heads down. Not

us. You will not like what I'm about to
say, Ben.

Communism was the reign of culture and
poetry.

How can you say such things? And
communism, being a loser, was the only

be a decent human being.

You will not accomplish it, at least.

Hush, comrade.

Chaos, despair, threat.

That's you in my head. Chaos, despair,
threat.

That's you in my head. Unshook, unbound,
in the... No,

no! They will never know.

Husband or comrade, you're a brain
wreck.

There is a shot to tie your tongue
around your neck.

I'm serious.

I'm serious.

No.

No. They will never know. You can't know
what I mean

when I say naughty, naughty, naughty.

Thank you.

because it doesn't have Dalton.

Okay, well, that's interesting.

This must be pretty important.

What exactly impressed you?

You?

Your performance.

What performance?

Well, wasn't that you singing?

You called that singing?

Well, what do you call it?

Trendy bullshit.

Well, I did that as a favor.

For who?

The KGB agents watching out.

I'm happy to give them something to
spice up the reports.

It's a shame you have talent.

Because I do what New Yorkers did 15
years ago.

Oh, you're a real Soviet.

You think the world's just waiting for
you.

And you're not a real Soviet.

Well, my parents were poor and crazy.
They were hippies. They

carted me around from commune to
commune.

Now they're old and thick, and they
don't believe in the role, have you, any

longer? And I'll tell you one thing. I'm
not going to end up like them.

I'd like to talk to you about a role
which you deign to take me seriously for

second. A role?

What?

You mean like the kind offered to
actresses? Yes, like the kind offered to

actresses. Well, unfortunately, I'm not
an actress.

And I have no desire to be one. I might
even say I've done everything in my

power not to be one.

Do you know you have guineas in the
absence?

An icon.

The most conventional avant -gardist.

I'm not into that stuff.

All due respect, you're missing out. I'm
putting on a version of his novel, We,

at the Institute of Theatre Arts.

You take breaks?

I might be warming to you a bit.

Do you have a car?

Yes.

Take me home.

I'm done with this party.

In a hurry.

I don't know how I managed to make

contact with planet Xenia, but I knew
immediately that even if I were to live

thousand years, I'd never meet anyone
else like her.

All right, everyone, we're going to take
it again from the top.

Places, please.

This is D -503 places. Let's go.

Which scene should we start with? The
scene we've been doing all night, Yuri,

the mirror scene.

And should I sit down or lie down?

You should be lying, and then when you
feel the lights are in the integral, you

may sit up.

All right, it's all in the repetition.

This was excellent. Thank you, ladies.
The dinner scene was far too casual. I

need something more mechanical.

Is the integral ready?

All right. Keep your actions going until
you feel the light from the integral,

at which point you all stand up and walk
towards the windows.

Milana, ready!

Yes!

This is a bad case.

It appears he'll have developed a soul.

Is it very serious, Doctor?

Untreatable. But what exactly is it? I
don't understand.

How can I explain?

Take a surface.

Here, this mirror.

You know, a regular mirror reflects
reality.

This one observes it and retains the
trace of everything.

My brother, as you all know, down below
in the system... They're building the

integral spaceship.

Down with the integral, down with air!

My brother, the integral must be ours.

And she will be ours.

When she rides the Skyward for the first
time, we will be the one aboard.

For we have with us the builder of the
integral.

He left the city and came here with me
to be with you.

Long live the builder!

Her ambitions may have been vague, but
in any case, Muscovite avant -garde

theater had little chance of satisfying
them.

I know. I lived in Moscow during those
years.

There were no limits.

Everything was collapsing and being
rebuilt at once. It was a fascinating

terrifying time.

Xenia and I lived in our artistic bubble
while life outside was rife with

possibilities.

Nearly every day, some former classmate
would come to me with an idea, a

business proposition.

First on his grandfather's bicycle, then
in an armored Bentley surrounded by

bodyguards.

That's pretty much how it happened for
Dmitri.

Sidorov. Sidorov, yes.

Dmitri Sidorov.

I'd known him in high school.

Now he was head of the Uncommunist
League at the university.

Don't think he was a party apparatchik.

In the late 80s, the student cooperative
was the incubator for Russian

capitalism.

I liked hearing about his adventures.

I wanted to write a play about
entrepreneurs like him.

You seen Dimitri?

Stolen five minutes ago. Check the box.

They were a new social class emerging
out of nowhere in a matter of months. It

was pretty remarkable.

Did you see him?

Listen, this cafe was my first business,
but obviously I used it as a launching

pad for more lucrative endeavors.

Not all of which were legal.

But yeah, there is no more legality.
That's over. Forget it. Let me tell you

story. No more writing. Close your eyes.
Pretend I'm your mama.

Once upon a time, I come across a supply
of cognac. You mean fake cognac. Fake

real. Who cares? That's not the point. I
put it on the market for $50 a bottle.

You hear that?

No one wants it. I mark it up to $500.
They're fucking fighting for it.

I'm sure you didn't stop at con yet.

Computers, acid wash jeans, tourist
trinkets, software, all of it thanks to

student cooperative.

A few minor cons.

I struggle to believe you. Can't fool
you.

These are some stories to make your
audience laugh. It's a play.

It's a play.

In actual fact, I came up with this
scheme to facilitate the flow of

between state -run businesses. In a
nutshell, I borrow money and lend it to

others for a fee, basically what is
known as a bank, but...

No one in this country knows what a bank
is.

Tough questions.

Yeah, you could say that. In essence, I
created Russia's first commercial bank,

and I'll tell you how I did it. I found
a book, Commercial Banks of Capitalist

Countries.

Remarkable work.

It explained simply and in great detail
how the banking system works, and I

said, hey, I like this.

Would you describe yourself as greedy?

Absolutely, yes.

Absolutely. I didn't used to be, but I
grow greedier now by the day. It's an

asset in my line of work. I have a
banker's personality. I love money.

Nice suit.

Nice shirt.

Good read?

Uh, we're behind the times.

You still have your mustache.

Journalists are always behind the times.
I don't need to tell you about you.

Bloody hick mustache.

He did well to save it all.

How's the play coming along?

My play about you?

Yes. I won't write it.

Why? Because it's over now.

You can't tell me the truth anymore.

You're right.

But you know I never could tell you the
whole truth.

No, but you used to tell me a bit more.

So, this is the famous Dimitri.

I see no other.

But Dean says you're worth 80 million
rubles a year. Is that true?

Could be, I don't know.

He also says you're a star.

Is that so?

There's nothing wrong with that.

Elise Norton.

A bit too flashy to be elegant.

Flashy? She says to go with the fucking
bear on her head.

In the world I'm moving, it's better to
be flashy than elegant. You get more

respect.

That explains your dreadful tie.

Eugenia Maranero of Naples. Va bene.

Bellissima cravata. Never heard of it.

Of course you haven't. Just one tiny
boutique.

But it travels the world to make ties to
measure.

They make ties to measure.

In the world I'm moving, they can.

You like champagne?

It's too flashy for you.

I should have known from that very first
encounter that my fate was sealed.

Xenia would choose Dimitri, his
vulgarity, his energy.

He felt it immediately, and so did I.

But for a long time, I refused to
believe it.

Yes?

Coming, coming, coming.

Bad time?

Dimitri, I wanted to surprise you. Come,
come, come, come, come, come, come,

come. Let's go, let's go. Are you
hungry?

I have those flashy things.

Come here.

Maybe you put me in the play, I'll show
you.

From that moment on, Dimitri became a
frequent visitor to our house.

And there I was, thinking he came out of
some deep -rooted respect for the art

Xenia and I had chosen to dedicate our
lives to.

As if culture still had the power to
exert any influence over the real world.

The sleek, shiny world of money was
Dimitri's natural habitat.

Nothing could turn him away from it.

But he wanted Xenia, so he was willing
to spend a little time with us in the

ruins of the City of the Dead.

As the months passed, Xenia became
increasingly receptive to his lodges.

Everything that initially defined our
friendship.

Books we shared, concerts.

The all -night discussions had fallen by
the wayside in favor of more money

-centric activities.

Gallery and discotheque openings,
dinners at White Sun or Hermitage.

Xenia was getting higher by the minute
on Dimitri's lifestyle.

Hold on.

I remember waking up one night and
gazing at her for a long time.

I felt so tired, even though I hadn't
accomplished anything yet.

I nurtured the illusion that Xenia would
perceive my greatness.

But as the days passed, I noticed that
the way she saw me was changing.

What began as a vague look of irony was
morphing into contempt.

You're stronger than I am because you
don't love me, I wanted to tell her.

My pain only augmented her boredom.

Do you want some water?

Dimitri, I've told you ten times you
drive too rough.

I know no other way.

Let Vadim take the wheel or I'll
hitchhike home.

Do you want to go in the back?

That's sweet of you. but I get even
sicker in the back.

Is there something I forgot to tell you?

I'm listening.

I'm leaving.

Is that all you can muster? You saw me
in the car with Dimitri. Do you think I

missed that?

Huh? Yeah, it's been over between us for
a long time.

Come in.

You're not disturbing me.

I was afraid to wake you.

Have a seat.

Finally, I have an excuse to stay in bed
all day, reading the classics and

dozing. That suits me.

There's the illness.

This may surprise you.

But illness is not necessarily a serious
thing.

Serious things, like effort and work,
are the burden of people in good health.

Those who are dying have nothing more to
do. They can just enjoy their days.

I left Xenia.

I know.

You'll have a dozen opportunities to
start over.

I expected to suffer terribly, but I
feel lighter and strong.

You see, the theater is no longer enough
for me.

Losing Xenia has made me ambitious.

Ambitious now?

That's unexpected.

But all the better. I'll take it as good
news. I cannot bear the writer's

failure to affect reality.

I want to be part of my times.

Not just a witness.

You know what?

I leave your times to you.

With no regrets.

Oh, this is Sputnik. The only one
allowed inside.

Come here, Sputnik. Say hi.

My daughter loves him.

In the end, my father had an attack and
died very suddenly.

The ceremony wasn't exactly...

Headline news.

Four poor souls followed the hearse in a
beat -up car while the shiny SUVs of

the nouveau riche sped past them. He
died too late.

He probably would have wanted a nicer
funeral.

But in the end, he didn't give a damn.

At least, I hope he didn't.

I needed to get my mind off things.

And Moscow in the mid -90s was the
perfect place to do that.

Imagine all those young men and women
suddenly seeing a new world of

opening up before them.

They could become whatever they wanted,
amass fortunes, travel the world.

It was enough to make your head spin.

It was a time of incredible violence.

There was gunfire everywhere, and for
the most frivolous reasons, men of no

importance were escorted by private
militia until the day they were blown

high.

Turning my theater experience into a
career as a TV producer was like going

a horse and cart to a Lamborghini.

One day I was sitting at a kitchen table
rhapsodizing about Mayakovsky and

drinking hot tea.

The next, I was nursing a latte in an
open space designed by Dutch architects.

Forget Channel One.

Forget state TV. We're a private
company. Times have changed. We're going

game shows and politics, but different.

The Soviets...

trying to smother this country under a
lid of boredom. The first rule?

Don't be boring.

There's one project that stands out from
the others. This one.

Do you know why?

No.

Because it has all the Russian
stereotypes, not a single one left out.

The provincial babushka, the nihilistic
student, the ambitious slut. I read it.

It... Stinks.

I read them all and they all stink.

Especially that one. Except that it'll
work.

Remember, we're not just producing
shows. All the other institutions have

collapsed.

It's now up to TV to show the way.

Maybe a reality show about finishing
schools that teach young girls to

freshly minted millionaires?

Well, that's not bad. Does that
genuinely exist?

It totally exists. It's big and it's
getting bigger.

to buy my mom the most beautiful house
in Krasnoyarsk.

My dream is to be the trophy wife of the
richest old dog in Russia and live

my life in Monte Carlo.

She's the one. No, seriously, she's the
one.

Oh, it's an excellent project, and this
girl rightfully belongs in it.

At that time, the owner of RTP Channel
was a mathematician who'd become a

billionaire, Boris Berezovsky.

He bought an old palace on
Novokuznetskaya Street.

It was meant to be the headquarters of
his business, but Berezovsky did

something else with it entirely,
something far more special.

Made it a club of sorts, the Logovaz
Club.

It was very exclusive.

The creme de la creme of politics, big
business, showbiz and crime.

It's a bit of a scene. We're in the
Caucasus, we're in Chechnya, and I'm

standing in front of a warlord who has
taken Russian officers hostage. There's

no joke.

He's already beheaded one of them.

But it wasn't politics, it was business.
He wanted money, only cash. Right now,

I don't have any cash on me. I don't
walk around with...

wads of cash, but I notice him buying my
watch at the Patek Philippe Nautilus,

like the one I'm wearing tonight.

So I say to him, you don't have a watch.

Do you know how much it's worth? It's
worth more than your hostages. And he

says, I know exactly what it's worth.
It's worth $800 ,000 used. And that

floored me. He knew the exact price.
Rustam was no fool.

He said, if you take the hostages
home...

The publicity you'll get on TV is worth
more than $800 ,000, and he gave me this

vacuous soldier's stag zero bullshit.

So you come out ahead. Is it a deal?

So I gave him my watch. I took the
hostages home. It was the opening story

the evening news.

In those days, my modest achievements as
a TV producer got me the occasional

invitation to Logovaska.

Usually, Perzovsky would summon me for
an update on some project or to suggest

hire some random relative or equally
random mistress.

Come in.

Vadya. All right.

Our friend Vadya is a wizard.

With his help, we pulverize our
opponents.

So you're happy where you are?

Well, I'm not sure I understand.

In this country, you run the same risk
whether you have a dog in the fight or

no.

I'll tell you my story.

You'll see what I mean.

So I was perfectly content doing my own
thing. I'd built a smart, modern, clean

business. From what I hear, your
business was more of a scam.

You resold stolen cars right off the
assembly line.

I was only doing what everyone was doing
at the time. Only worse.

You weren't very choosy about your
partners and their methods, no offence.

Anyway, one day this bastard shows up,
tries to steal my business out from

underneath me, and what do you think he
does? Does he open a competing

dealership, try to beat me fair and
square like they do in the US or in

No, Boris, that's not what he did.

That son of a bitch filled an old Opel
with TNT, parked it on my route home,

as I passed, he pushed a remote, and
boom.

No more Berezovsky.

At least that was the plan.

Unfortunately, it didn't work out for
him.

And I ended up with my chauffeur's head
in my arms.

I survived.

But that day I realized that if you
don't grab power, power grabs you.

So I went to Switzerland for two weeks
to recover.

And do you know what I did when I got
back to Moscow?

You learned to play tennis.

It wasn't easy.

I hate the sport.

You hate all sports.

The old president, Boris Yeltsin, was in
decline.

He overdid it on the vodka, they say.

He had a sports club built on Sparrow
Hills that looked out over Moscow.

He spent all his spare time playing
tennis there.

It was the only way to get near him.

Let's face it, Boris was finished. The
elections were coming. His numbers were

in the dumps.

His whole retinue of petty schemers were
at rock bottom, and they quickly

understood that I was their only hope.

We hadn't lost yet.

You listen to me, Boris Mikhailovich.

Russia still needs you, your courage and
your integrity.

No one loves them anymore.

I save democracy, but democracy here
means that everyone has become poor,

except for a few smart devils like you
who've gone and filled the rich.

Well, if you give me control of state
TV, then I will give you an

election campaign like you've never seen
before. You're in dire straits now, but

in two months you'll be on top.

This is how I took control of Channel
One, ATP, as it's now called. And for

record, I kept my word. I revived him in
the polls.

What you did was sink his rivals.

A bunch of communist nostalgics taking
them out as a cinch. You were defending

your interests and those of the other
oligarchs.

Well, yeah.

It's true.

So what?

It's all part of the democratic process.

Right. When you have a very loose notion
of democracy.

So over the course of the rallies, the
old man began to enjoy himself.

The problem was that two weeks before
the election, he went and had a heart

attack on us. That was a close call.

The very day that he was supposed to
record his final speech to the nation.

Obviously, we cancelled everything.

But a few days later, the rumours began
to spread.

He had to show up. Except his doctor
wouldn't let him leave his residence. It

was too risky.

So we figured, keep up appearances.

We bring the Kremlin furniture to him.

Put the flags in the stands.

Federation flag on the left. Check the
distance.

The president is on his way down.

No, no.

Good morning, Boris Nikolaevich.

Come and have a see what we've done.

It's the perfect copy of your office in
the Kremlin. No one's going to notice

the difference.

Help him with the chair.

Russian citizens, it's why the

motherland... Let's try again.

...will take place. Misha, can you slow
down the prompter? ...for the future.

Russian citizens... Once again, please.

Russian citizens, the 3rd of July.

Yeltsin was re -elected by a landslide,
and then he fell back into lethargy. He

had two more heart attacks.

For four years of his second term,
Berezovsky was the real leader of

The oligarchs raked in everything they
could.

That's how my old pal, Dmitry Sidorov,
bought himself a fossil fuel giant for a

mere 168 million.

It would go on to make him 3 billion a
year.

Oh, yeah?

Berzovsky sensed the winds were turning.

Russians were tired and needed order.

They'd grown up in a motherland, and now
all they had left was a supermarket.

The challenge was to come up with a
solution before someone else did. So,

I have friends in the Kremlin.

And I lend a hand from time to time.

But the scenario has completely changed.

It's no longer a matter of supporting
the current regime. We need to invent

something new. Something and someone.

President won't make it to the end of
his term. Someone to embody it, of

That's the easy part.

But what we need...

First is a party for everyone to rally
around.

The Unity Party.

What do you think about you?

I already have an emblem.

The bear.

Emblem of the Raccoon Soul.

So, will you join us?

I don't know, Boris.

I like my job.

It's the same job.

I'm merely suggesting that you graduate
to the next level. Stop making up

stories. Start inventing reality with
me.

He's shown his matter at decisive
moments.

He's a modest guy.

You'll like him.

Director, Putin will see you now.

I know why you're here. Of course you
do. You're the best informant in Russia.

I've been thinking it over, Boris
Abramovich.

You see, the Secret Service has all the
advantages of politics

without any of the drawbacks.

I'm at the centre of the system here.

I'm well positioned. I hear, I see
everything.

I can effectively intervene to protect
the president with the president's

family. I've done it before. I'll do it
again.

Well, you take me out of here, you put
me in government, they chew me up, they

spit me out like every other prime
minister these past years, these past

right?

And you lose the most loyal guardian of
the state.

If we don't act quickly, within a year
there will be no more president, no more

family to protect.

The first thing that the new head of the
Kremlin will do is replace you.

Mind me.

I'm a civil servant.

Sure, I've given a couple of speeches in
public, but they were never

earth -shattering. The president steps
into a room and sniffs the air. Everyone

is on his side in two minutes.

laughing and they're crying like they're
having a chat in his kitchen. I'm not

that man.

I'm not cut from that cloth. If I may,
Vladimir Vladimirovich, that's exactly

what this is about.

A president has a one -of -a -kind
personality.

His human qualities were essential for
moving our country from the old Soviet

Union to today's Russia.

But he's all used up.

We need someone different.

A clean break.

If the president names you Prime
Minister Vladimir Vladimirovich, you

represent legitimate authority.

Russians need stability and security.

Your young, athletic, energetic
something about you says, I can handle

responsibility of command.

Your career in the Secret Services
guarantees you're trustworthy.

And being a man of few words will work
in your favor, not against you. Russians

are tired of carnival barkers.

and the campaign that we have in mind
won't be the usual rallies and empty

promises. We want to take the risk of
portraying you as a different brand of

politician. Vladimir Vladimirovich, I
don't know much about politics, but I do

know a few things about communication.

There are two dimensions in a society,
the horizontal axis that is daily life

and the vertical axis, which is
authority.

The Soviet system was vertical. Then all
of a sudden, since the end of the

Soviet period, it has become horizontal.

Too much horizontality is synonymous
with chaos.

Russians dream of verticality. A
psychoanalyst would say they are waiting

leader to obliterate the language of the
mother and impose the word of the

father once again.

Public opinion coalesces fast, but we
only have a few months to convince the

Russian people.

that you are the man of the hour.

And remember, you won't be on your own.

I'll be there by your side to help you
and to advise you whenever you need me.

It's a bag.

There's no rocket scientist, but now
he'll do just fine.

I nodded along and laughed with him.

But things were a bit more complicated
than what Berezovsky seemed to grasp.

When he addressed him with his own brand
of chummy joviality, I sensed

a hint of annoyance in Putin's gaze.

And then there was that flash of irony
when Boris promised to guide him every

step of the way.

It seems that the very idea of being
guided by this man was...

Wildly funny to the FSB chief.

Hurry up, Vladimir Alekseevich.

Vladimir Vladimirovich is waiting.

Good afternoon, sir.

Recommendations? Today we have excellent
tea scallops.

A bowl of kasha.

I have a lot of respect for

Berezovsky. I'm grateful for his offer,
but if I

embark on this journey,

I'll be relying on my own strengths, not
someone else's.

The Russian president.

cannot and must not be subservient to
anyone.

It's unthinkable to me.

Your analysis the other day was very
interesting, but first we should clarify

something.

If you accept my offer, you'll be
working exclusively for me,

Paddy Maleksevich.

Thinking about your concept of
verticality.

It's potent, but it cannot remain
abstract.

We need a well -defined arena where we
can restore the verticality of power.

Otherwise we appear helpless like all
the other politicians in this country.

Indeed, Vladimir Vladimirovich, but we
can't just snap our fingers.

There is always the unexpected.

The unexpected is always a result of
incompetence. Or at the mercy of

circumstance.

Circumstance? Staring us in the face.

Don't you see it?

The Islamic fundamentalists.

No longer content with just Chechnya.

They want Dagestan, Ingushetia,
Bashkortostan.

We let them have them.

In a few years, there'll be nothing left
of the Russian Federation.

I'm sorry, but I would think twice
before getting involved in that mess.

These past few years, Chechnya has
killed more political careers here in

than enemies on the battlefield.

None of them have put enough energy into
the issue. Those politicians want a war

that dare not speak its name.

A humane war, like the Americans do.

I'm talking about something else.

I'm not interested in winning the Nobel
Peace Prize. What interests me is

restoring integrity to the Russian
Federation.

I won't comment on geopolitics. It's not
my field of expertise.

What I will say, however, is that it's
political suicide.

I think you're mistaken.

I think you've let Westerners persuade
you that an electoral campaign has to be

two teams of economists discussing
PowerPoint presentations.

In Russia, power is something else
entirely.

That day, I didn't understand precisely
what Putin meant, but I left the lunch

with one certainty.

Berezovsky had just made the biggest
mistake of his life.

In the early days of August, Boris
Yeltsin chose a new prime minister,

to most.

The choice of Vladimir Putin was greeted
with general skepticism.

He was the fifth head of government
Yeltsin had enthroned in less than a

Our officers were located in the former
house of Soviets, dubbed the Russian

White House.

A giant block of naphthalene on the
banks of the Moscow River.

The whole floor had been freed up for
new hires.

Putin knew there were only a few weeks
left to harness public opinion.

He had no time to lose.

So that son of a bitch, the prime
minister, wants results on the ground.

Doesn't matter how.

Sorry, but the media doesn't set our
agenda. Politics does. We're here to

produce results, not limp excuses.

I have the polls you requested.

I need you to crunch the numbers. Okay,
I'll meet you in your office. I have to

see Krasinski first.

We're on the right track. Dimitri
Anatolevich, we shouldn't be on the

track. We should already be there.

Where's Krasinski?

Unfortunately, he couldn't make it.

What, are we not important enough for
him? He's abroad.

So who are you, his messengers?

We run the MTV network.

Please give Mr. Kuczynski the following
message.

The policies of the Russian Federation
are not to be decided in the offices of

NTV. That never crossed Mr.

Kuczynski's mind. I watch, Kukly, your
political puppet show. Sometimes I find

it funny. I laugh. I do.

Unfortunately, the Prime Minister
doesn't share your sense of humor.

He suspects Mr. Kaczynski may have a
bone to pick with him. No way. Never in

million years.

It's a shame he's not here to explain
that himself.

You represent the Prime Minister
Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin as a

That's not right. A deformed dwarf
manipulated by oligarchs. I think in the

minds of a gagman, he's more of a child.
Yes, exactly.

And you see that as grounds for
laughter, an infantile gnome. It's a

show. It's up to the Prime Minister to
determine the line between satire and

insult, especially during election
season. The Prime Minister has to

line that must not be crossed.

I believe Mr. Kaczynski can guess where
that line is. If not, he'll find out at

his own expense. Good day.

Of course, I was working 18 -hour days,
back -to -back meetings with the Prime

Minister, every single one of them
involving decisions of major historical

importance. But the deeper I sank into
the routine of governing men, the more

the world seemed to be rife with
misunderstanding and missed

And that's when the unexpected happened.

One autumn night, just after midnight, a
terrific rumbling tore through the

darkness of the capital.

On Guayanova Street, on the outskirts of
Moscow, hundreds of kilos of explosives

literally cut a nine -story apartment
complex in two.

Dozens of sleeping families were
swallowed up alive by the explosion.

Four days later, a second explosion
rocked the city at five o 'clock in the

morning, destroying another building in
the suburbs.

Over a hundred victims.

It was on September 11th.

Before that, the Chechen war had felt
remote. But when buildings started

up in the Moscow suburbs, Russians found
themselves with a war at their front

door.

Of course, you know what people say.

They say we were behind it.

By we, I mean the FSB.

It isn't just a rumor.

There's serious evidence to back it up.

Frankly, I don't know.

If this is a bona fide secret, thank God
nobody shared it with me, but why would

we have done that? We were certain to
win.

To instill fear, so that the Russian
people would feel threatened by the

Chechens.

And to justify the Second Chechen War,
perfectly timed a warm public opinion

to...

You know I don't like public speaking.

Right now, the people need to hear your
voice.

Here, on a state visit, not from the
Kremlin Palace.

You have to give them a sense of
urgency.

I'm not an actor.

I'll give them a simple statement.

Word has it you've ordered the bombing
of Grozny Airport in retaliation of the

attacks. Don't you think such actions
could aggravate the situation?

I'm tired of answering this kind of
question.

We'll get the terrorists wherever
they're hiding.

If they're in an airport, we'll strike
the airport. If they're in the shitter,

excuse my language, but we'll get them
in the shitter.

You have no idea the impact that one
sentence had on the Russian people.

Finally, we were hearing the voice of
command and control, and Russians hadn't

heard that in the longest time.

Stalin's voice.

Well, not Yeltsin's, in any case, or
Gorbachev's.

That day...

Putin became the Tsar.

We got scared. We won't conquer it. It's
too dangerous.

We have troops stationed in Pakistan.

They're ready for inspection. It's good
service and I'll do it with them.

If the Tsar wanted to bring in the new
year in Chechnya, well, then that's

we'd go.

At 1 a .m., we got into some Jeeps and
headed for the mountain passes.

3rd Division Lieutenant Colonel Fedorov.

Welcome to the base, Mr. Putin.

Men, what you're doing is so important.

People believe in you. I'm here to tell
you that.

We're proud of you. We're working hard.

I know what you and your men have done.
You've been very courageous.

I want you to know the Russian people
think of you and are proud of you.

Happy New Year.

We'll be right

back.

I would love to drink a toast to the
health of the wounded and to wish

present here a happy new year.

But we have serious tasks ahead, as you
all know.

We're not only fighting for the honor
and dignity of our country, we're

to prevent Russia from disintegrating.

Can't afford one second of weakness, not
one second.

We let our guard down.

All those who died, died in vain.

So I suggest we put our glasses down.

We will toast, but later.

Leaving before the end of my term, I
understand that it is necessary.

Russia must enter a new millennium with
new political leaders.

And I leave you all in the trusted hands
of Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin.

The Yeltsin era is over. Your friend
Berezovsky has to know I'm fed up with

these bullshit memos.

I thought he was our friend.

Boris is a very smart man, but his
intelligence is no safeguard for his

stupidity.

Better bring him in.

Boris Abramovich, come.

Sit. I've read your messages, some of
your memos.

You've always offered good advice and
more years.

Volodya, you made me wait an hour. Look,
you asked for this meeting.

Here we are.

Go ahead.

Look, I'll be brief.

We're becoming too negative.

Volodya, it's too dark. We're at war.
Fine, we get it. You're a great general.

You're going to lead us all to victory,
but let's make an effort.

Give these poor Russians a little bit of
hope, too.

Otherwise, rather than voting for you,
they're going to jump out the window.

Rallies and concerts and TV commercials,
posters.

We need to make a splash.

I'll pay for that.

I will, of course.

I heard you passed up free public TV
airtime. That's correct.

It's our choice, our strategy.

We'll see if the facts prove us right or
wrong. If you keep this up, people are

going to forget you're a candidate.

Don't be ridiculous, Boris.

I've been interim president for three
months with the government.

Our campaign is the news, what we're
doing, the history we're making.

Nobody believes advertising anymore.

Facts are the only advertising we're
interested in.

The Tsar had reinstated the power
vertical, and voters were grateful to

it. He was elected president of the
Russian Federation with no runoff.

Herzogsky stopped bombarding the Kremlin
with unanswered phone calls.

Naturally, his media mocked the pompous
inauguration ceremony.

But Boris was waiting for something
else.

The chance to show the Tsar.

who is really in charge.

I remember you like your medium rare.

Thank you for remembering.

Sir?

On August 12, 2000, the Kursk, one of
the world's largest nuclear submarines,

sank during a training exercise in the
Barents Sea.

There were 100 crewmen aboard.

Some of them died instantly.

Others were trapped at the bottom of the
sea.

This was the opportunity Barasovsky had
been waiting for.

We rented the helicopter to keep a
constant eye on the area where the sub

Has it been identified?

Yes, the information is just dropped,
but no rescue team is on site. That's

revolting. That is what we have to
expose.

Russian experts won't go on the record.

Then find them abroad. We have a crew in
Germany. They say NATO forces often

they help, but Russian Navy turn it
down.

They are spy ships.

Russia can't humiliate herself in front
of them. Can't humiliate herself in

front of them?

Go find the families, ask them what they
think. That's what we're doing.

TV's all about emotion. The emotions
with the families of the sailors. Can

imagine their anguish? Their loved ones
may still be alive, but they're trapped

inside a watertight container waiting
for a rescue that may never come.

The situation was out of control.

I rushed to Sochi. I couldn't understand
why Putin wasn't on the ground.

What would you have me do?

They're all dead, it's obvious.

Can't say it because we haven't been
able to reach them yet.

According to all the experts, there are
still survivors on board. That's a fact.

We have to save them. No one cares if
their dead or alive.

Berezovsky Circus is about hurting me.

Everyone is waiting for you to act. I
act when I decide the time is right.

Your composure has enhanced your
popularity thus far, but now it's

liability. The Russian people are
suffering, and you're not with them.

This is a serious matter.

Since the authorities are still refusing
to budge, RTP has created a fund for

the families of the sailors.

Call this number if you want to support
the relatives of the sailors. Realize

they destroyed the state, pillaged it
for 10 years, bankrupted our

army. Now they're raising money.

Fucking bastards. Why don't they sell
their fucking chalets in San Moritz?

Get that son of a bitch on the phone.
Yes.

You realize what you're doing?

Your network is giving round -the -clock
airtime to whores pretending to be

sailors' wives.

What are you talking about? You're out
of your mind.

They're not whores, they're the real
wives.

Estate television, Boris, and you're
conspiring against the presidency.

What does that mean?

Hmm? What does this mean, exactly? I'm
asking you a question.

I have a question for you, Vladimir
Vladimirovich. What the hell are you

vacationing on the Black Sea?

Shouldn't you be in Murmansk running
operations?

Where are you?

Laughing. Where are you? Huh?

Côte d 'Azur, right? What are you doing
in the Côte d 'Azur?

Oh, come on. I'm not the president.
Nobody gives a damn where I am. Plus, it

happens I am in Moscow.

Just think about it, Bellagio.

If you go and console the sailors'
wives, your ratings will go through the

And our network will put its full
firepower behind you.

Well? We're going back to Moscow, set up
that fucking meeting. We have no

choice.

And once this mess is behind us, we'll
take care of your friend Boris.

How could Boris have deluded himself
into thinking that he'd tolerate a

relationship of equals with one of his
subjects?

All the oligarchs got it wrong.

When they decided to bet on Putin, they
thought they were changing straw men and

not the whole system, yeah?

Taking off of Bazovsky's network was a
piece of cake.

He wasn't the majority shareholder. He
only had 49%. All it took was a call to

the CEO of RTP, and he was now to take
his orders from the Kremlin.

He doesn't mean you any harm. He
respects you.

You stay safely in Moscow, do whatever
business you like.

But you must stay out of politics once
and for all.

Politics is his business.

Putin is the pure product of the KGB.

His fiercest species.

He will put Russia in shock. and all
that we've done over the last 10 years

turn it into a normal country will be
swept away.

Even you, Vanya.

You're creating a regime that's worse
than the Soviet Union, at least back

The party could muzzle the KGB guard
dogs, but now the party no longer

The FSB is worse than the KGB. Who's
going to stop them? You?

Certainly not.

You've become one of them.

They're vicious animals.

They come from the void.

They've cleared their path with a
sledgehammer.

No rules, no limits, and they're hungry.

It's brutish hunger.

Well, they were humiliated. They're
descended from centuries of humiliation.

They have to grab everything right away
because they know the tables will turn.

Maybe, Boris.

I don't know.

What I do know is that Russia has always
been forged this way.

With an axe.

Cautiously, Berezovsky chose exile in
London.

Meanwhile, we were taking off for New
York.

When you reach the top, politics propels
you onto the world stage with no

preparation.

The world's greats become your peers.

But they're a closed circle.

They've had time to get acquainted,
learn the ground rules.

However much you may be feared and
respected in your own country, here,

just a new kid on the block.

The Waldorf Astoria is the best hotel,
and Portugal has booked us a whole

20 rooms.

Penthouse.

No.

Why not?

The top three floors are booked by the
year for the Saudis.

Just want to take more than an hour. 15
minutes at the TV studio, half hour

interview, 15 minutes back.

It's a good hit for us.

The U .S. President's motorcade

is on the move.

No one else can part.

How long does it last?

Depends.

So what's it like being a spy?

Not very different from being a
journalist.

Your job is to gather information, to
synthesize it.

You show it to the decision makers who
can use that information.

Did you enjoy it? Working in
intelligence allowed me to broaden my

To acquire certain skills.

Skills of management, focusing on
priorities.

A learning experience.

The Kursk tragedy shook everyone.

Can you tell me what happened?

What happened to the submarine?

It sank.

fucking martians would have seized power
in moscow the united states would

immediately see them as a legitimate
government just as long as they didn't

near their interests and defer to them
as the big boss see the trouble is they

think they won the cold war but the
soviet union didn't lose it cold war

because we freed ourselves from a
dictatorship which is not the same thing

We dismantled the Warsaw Pact. We
offered them an olive branch.

Not surrender.

They should bear that in mind.

Just once in a while.

The monarch respects you. I thought he
despised me.

He's a visionary.

Everyone has a place in his party.

So, what do you think of my
revolutionary avant -garde?

Kremlin isn't exactly quaking its spoon.

The Kremlin is very wrong. Sit down.

So, how was the trip?

Well, you know what it's like over
there.

Always fairly amusing, I guess.

Yes, New York can be fun.

As long as you avoid the Americans.

Which one do you prefer, Edward?

This one.

Okay.

Have you ever been to one of their posh
dinners? All the men have been to

Princeton or Yale. They all have
children who go to the same schools. At

when I was younger, I could screw one of
their...

Sparks from blonde wives in the
bathroom.

The discreet charm of the bourgeoisie.
It's the same everywhere.

Oh, well, yeah.

America has destroyed the bourgeoisie.
The bourgeoisie had values.

These people only believe in numbers.

They're boring as hell.

Imperialism isn't the problem. American
culture is.

You used to be attracted to it before it
swallowed you up and spat you out.

Watching Yeltsin turn Russia into a
cheap version of the American nursing

prompted me to form the National
Bolshevik Party. And you know why I

that? To infuriate you. Nice ball.

We bring together former Stalinists,
homosexuals, and punks,

anarchists. skinheads, religious
fanatics from Buddhist to Orthodox.

The hardest part is keeping them from
smashing each other's heads in. You can

sure they will sooner or later.

No, you don't understand.

These young people want to escape the
boredom of ordinary life.

They crave heroics.

And it would be a shame to waste that.

May I bum a cigarette, Sergei? Yes, sir.
I need a walk.

I'd always seen Edward Limonov as a
brilliant sociopath with no political

whatsoever.

So I wasn't yet ready to recognize that
he was right.

For the first time, I saw his reasoning
for what it was.

Not the result of rigorous analysis.

Far more than casual intuition.

Come in.

Vladimir Vladimirovich, Vadim
Alexeyevich is here to see you.

You may come in.

How are my ratings?

Elections are coming, Vadim.

You don't really need to worry. Around
60%, the closest candidate gets no more

than 12.

I'm not interested in them. They're
insignificant.

One Russian is more popular than I am.

Stalin.

I believe he's been dead for some time.

Well, you intellectuals, you insist on
denouncing the horrors of the gulag. You

think Stalin was popular in spite of the
killings. You're wrong.

Stalin was popular because of the
killings, because he knew how to handle

thief, a traitor.

You know what Stalin did when the Soviet
-run trains started to derail?

No, I don't. He had the head of the
railway shot for sabotage.

Didn't solve the problem, possibly
aggravated it, but it allowed an outlet

fury.

Fury is a structural given. There's no
point fighting it. It must be managed.

You want to feed the fury.

Yes. People want a head to roll.

Who? The most arrogant oligarch.

Dmitry Sidorov.

Your former friend.

I'm told he ran off with your woman.

This must make you happy.

It didn't last long.

Let bygones be bygones. You know he's
planning to sell a majority share of his

fossil fuel empire to ExxonMobil.

He's been working on that merger long
enough.

He'll make himself $20 billion richer by
putting our fossil fuel giant in the

hands of American investors.

You could say that our Russian company
will acquire international status. I

won't say that because it isn't true.
He's gathered a huge war chest to run

against me in the 2007 election.

How do you know?

How do you think? We tapped his foot.

Non -entity.

That's what he calls me when he speaks
to his friends in Washington, D .C. A

-entity. When he explains that when
elected, he will change the Constitution

dismantle the nuclear arsenal.

A non -entity.

Non -entity.

This man has fed me more mud than I can
swallow.

So I've ordered Dmitry Sidorov be
arrested tomorrow at dawn.

He's heading to Siberia. He has to stop
to refuel. That's where we'll take him.

Cameramen, photographers, they'll all be
on site. Your job is to orchestrate it

for the media.

This is it.

Here we are.

The news went all around the world. The
immediate effect was to remind people

that money can't protect you from
everything.

Of course, for you Westerners, this is
totally taboo. A politician arrested,

not?

But a billionaire?

Unthinkable. Because your society was
founded on the principle that there is

power greater than money.

My job was to fit Dmitry's fall from
grace into a successful TV format.

This wasn't difficult.

The masses have always loved to watch a
powerful man's head roll.

There's no bloodier dictator than the
people.

Once Sidorov was arrested, Putin's re
-election was a mere formality.

From that point forward, the Russian
government began undergoing a profound

change. The power struggle shifted from
the public stage to the Tsar's inner

circle. The state once again depended on
court intrigue.

There are those with an office close to
the Tsar's and those with a direct line

to him. There are those who accompany
him on overseas missions and those who

vacation with him in Sochi.

No detail can be overlooked, no matter
how trivial.

From seating plans at gala dinners to
waiting times in the president's

antechamber, nothing escapes the
courtier's attention.

I adapted to the new regimes. I adapted
to everything.

Some were far better at it than I was.

Like Igor Sechin.

Especially Igor Sechin.

Like many men of his kind, he drew his
strength from being underestimated.

When the period of the courtiers came
around, he was in this element.

Indeed, he was head courtier.

With Dmitry Sidorov in prison, the
problem was what to do with his company.

Sechin gobbled it up in a single bite.

Judicial receivership, a public auction
with just one participant, and it ends

up in the hands of a financial group so
opaque it doesn't even have a phone

number. Well, did you get what you want?

God, what this tower wanted. You mean he
wanted Dimitri's business for himself?

What he wants is to destroy the
oligarchs. And replace them with

yourself.

Russia has always needed strongmen.

Soldiers, spies, police.

That's how I got where I am. And why you
take what you want. Well done.

And that's how you wish to put it, Vadim
Alexeevich.

Oh, and watch out.

He's back from the G20 in Berlin.

I'm bad -tempered.

It's always the same. They treat me like
I'm the president of Finland.

They'd better watch out.

They need to be very careful.

The ability to inspire fear is a poor
man's sole weapon when he's defending

dignity. I learned that on the street.

The trouble is, Mr. President, by
spooking our enemies, we're in danger of

spooking the markets, too, and we can't
afford that. The markets never ruled

Russia, Vardia.

Maybe once.

Maybe once under Yeltsin. What was the
result then? The law of the jungle.

We need to take control.

We need to take control of all the
wealth of the country.

Forests, and the mines, and the gas, the
petrol.

We'll see to it that it serves the
interests and the glory of the Russian

people.

Like with Dmitry.

What about Dmitry?

Well, the oil monopolies went directly
from Sidorov's pocket to Sechen's.

What's that got to do with the interest
and glory of the Russian people?

For the lovely weather, you should have
a dip before you leave.

Thanks. Another time.

You prefer sochi?

You know I am here.

I'd like to hear you say it.

There's a rumor.

You wouldn't come here without a rumor.

We have very reliable intel that you are
one of the Ukrainian protesters' main

supporters. Well, since you know...
Putin is spitting mad.

I was worried that, in fact, you come
bearing good news.

Ukraine has been an integral part of
Russian territory for centuries. Do you

genuinely believe... I'm just the
messenger.

Know what he said.

Go and see that fucker.

Tell him he's gone too far and try to
reason with him.

You know what his problem is? I know
what you think it is. That he's not your

regular politician. That he's...

KGB is a spy. No, he's not a spy. A
spy's job is to gather accurate

intelligence, but he's a counter -spy. A
counter -spy's job is to be paranoid,

to see conspiracies everywhere, and to
invent them if necessary.

You've been in exile too long.

You've lost touch.

As if the poor Ukrainians don't have
every reason to revolt against a pro

-Russian government. Do you know who the
main supporters of the Ukrainian

protesters are?

The CIA, the US State Department, major
American foundations, George Soros, and

you, to the tune of $30 million, or so
I've heard. Well, that's politics,

Do you know what else it is?

It's democracy.

You forgot the meaning of that word long
ago.

Remember, I'm not here by choice.

I'm living in exile here, Vadya.

If I even set foot in Russia, I'll end
up in Siberia, like Sidorov.

Boris, despite our differences, the Tsar
is still your friend.

That's why you were permitted to sell
your Russian assets, 1 .3 billion,

correct? Far less than they were worth.

What if I keep on at it, huh?

You're going to send hitmen for me?

Look, I've got some of my own.

And they're better than yours.

Because I paid them ten times more.

I didn't come here to threaten you.

I understand your resentment.

But you can't turn against your country.

Putin's Russia isn't my country.

In spite of all our flaws, we managed to
build a free country where you could do

what you want, you could say what you
want for the first time in Russian

history, and you have wrecked all that
in just a few years.

You turn Russia back into what it always
was.

A prison the size of a country.

Just like in the Soviet times.

It's your boat.

Nothing is ever mine.

If it's not in the way you mean.

Oligarch money.

You afraid?

Afraid your masters will find out.

Masters? From what I hear, you're in the
service to power now.

I suppose so.

You don't like Vladimir Vladimirovich
very much.

No, you're right. I don't like power.

I like it even less when you kid
yourself and pretend it's modern art.

about that, but I find you despicable.

Despicable?

It's a bit harsh.

You learned it.

You touched my question. Are we being
bankrolled by oligarchs as we speak?

This boat belongs to a businessman from
Portland.

He embedded some software when he was
24, was a multi -millionaire by 26, and

sold his company to Microsoft by 28.

Spinboard. I'd like to have another idea
in a lifetime, but slow in the coming.

Are you sleeping with him?

That's not... When I have an idea of a
line of jewellery, he funds it.

Sometimes he makes a bit of money.

I've been clearly chump change to him.

And he lends you his boat when it
strikes your fancy.

Yes.

When I'm bored of this world, which is
often, I...

Take refuge here.

A gilded cage of comfort zone.

I love Dimitri.

I mean, we had fun for a few months.

I love the crazy wind that was blowing.

And then you got rid of him, too.

Oh, that's been cool.

Not that time.

We grew apart.

Dimitri got interested in oil. I mean,
that didn't bring much luck.

For a few years, I preferred Los Angeles
to anywhere else.

Was Hollywood up to your standards?

Hollywood.

I stayed away. I stayed away from
Hollywood. It's like Moscow.

Only private relationships count. The
rest is insignificant.

I like the desert. I like the ocean
waves.

Driving along the Pacific Coast Highway.

When I felt like going to Japan, I went
to Japan.

This is the prettiest cove.

The plane away.

Tonight I'll be in Moscow.

How miserable.

During autumn, as expected, the
situation in Ukraine worsened. The

refused to accept the election results.

Hundreds of thousands of them occupied
the Maidan, Kiev's central square, with

songs, orange ribbons, multicolored
tents, and pro -Western slogans.

Suddenly, commissions of international
observers came out of the woodwork to

dispute the results of the election,
which were won by pro -Russian candidate

Yanukovych. Those elections were
notoriously rigged. I happened to be

Really?

Well, there had just been a vote in Iraq
with American soldiers controlling the

polling stations, and everyone thought
that was fine.

But not in Ukraine?

No, in Ukraine there had to be another
vote because the result wasn't right.

They called that farce the Orange
Revolution.

And the previous year in Georgia, it was
the Rose Revolution.

Another poetic revolution, all pretty
girls and lofty ideals, yet another

of the Americans is catapulted to power.
Do you seriously believe it takes a CIA

conspiracy to make Ukrainians want to
flee Russia's orbit in favor of the

European Union? What people do you mean?

Do you really think everyone finds your
Europe so attractive?

We don't need a crystal ball to see the
Russia's turn is coming. The next lovely

color -coded revolution will be in
Moscow. The future president of the

Federation will have a degree from Yale.

That process seemed inevitable.

The young people were fed up with us,
and the Americans were making the most

that rebellion.

We'd have to be stronger than them to
survive.

The old methods outlived their
usefulness. Locking up agitators,

diplomats. If we were in a bad mood that
day, eliminating opponents.

I don't believe in any of that.

So I took a chance and tried a different
tack.

The president has been informed of your
arrival. He sends his greetings.

Alexander Sergeyevich, I've been
following you and your night wolves for

years now.

I'm impressed.

You take those lost souls and give them
a home, a sense of

discipline. Our group gives them two
things they lack.

Fraternity.

Did you see what happened in Ukraine?

Yes. A revolution.

A coup.

And you know who took power?

The Americans.

Spot on.

They set up a youth organization, paid
for free concerts in Maidan Square.

And that's even the orange ribbon was
thought up by an ad man.

Everything is geared to the young
because their energy is the most

commodity out there.

Their frustration, their desire to
change the world.

Young people need a cause.

And an enemy.

We need to find them a cause and an
enemy before they choose those things

themselves.

Or worse, the Americans choose for them.

Because if we can't do that, look around
you, Alexander. All we have here are

bureaucrats. We're the adults.

We're in power. We're their true enemy.

You're younger than me, I believe.

You've taken a different path.

You embody freedom and adventure. Your
vitality is undimmed. Young people can

feel that.

The Tsar is with you. He's your brother.

He's no bureaucrat. He likes speed. He
does judo. He hunts. He is of the race

conquerors. Do you think he'd join one
of our rallies?

Of course.

The night wolves would be honored.

We'll hold a rally for all the young
patriots.

will kick off the struggle against our
true foe, the decadent West and its

values. Maidan, but in reverse.

Exactly. Russia must become a place
where people can vent their rage against

world while remaining faithful servants
to the Tsar.

Basically, you want to make revolution
impossible.

Let's just say we want to remove the
need for one.

Without a drop of vodka, Zaldostanov
left the Kremlin intoxicated.

Little did he know that my next meeting
was with the intriguing spokesperson of

an orthodox renaissance movement,
followed by the head of a group of

crusty young communists, and the leader
of the Spartak supporters.

I recruited them all, bikers and
hooligans, anarchists and skinheads,

and religious fanatics from the far
right to the far left and beyond.

After what happened in Ukraine, we could
no longer leave the forces of fury

unchecked.

Monopolizing power was no longer enough.
We needed to monopolize subversion.

Who didn't I bring on board?

The technocrats responsible for the
disasters of the 90s. The remaining

oligarchs. The politically correct
banner wavers. Thank you, the vegans.

Actually, I needed those characters in
The Opposition.

They were my best players.

When pussy riots marched into the
Cathedral of Christ the Savior yelling

obscenities against Putin and Patriarch
Kirill, we went up five points in the

opinion polls.

I thought they were heroic, personally.

They go about it in the wrong way. They
score against their own team. In

politics, the sanction is swift.

The sanction cuts both ways.

Gave them worldwide recognition.

Without that conversation, she's not
coming.

Wait, I will be back.

Vadim!

Mr. Coburn.

I'm so flattered that you blessed us
with your presence.

Don't mock me. You know how influential
your salon is.

Love.

Society gossip has never had much
influence on power.

Thanks to you, I can rub shoulders with
my opponents.

Indeed.

Gary Kasparov is here.

Trust champions have never gone far in
politics.

Vadim Baranov, the wizard of the
Kremlin.

That's me.

I hear you've given your doctrine a
name. Indeed, sovereign democracy.

Russia needs to be a democracy in order
to benefit from globalization. I see no

traces of democracy in our society, but
do carry on. And sovereignty is

politically synonymous with stability.
The more stable the regime, the more

competitive it is. You know what people
say of your sovereign democracy?

That it takes to democracy.

What an electric chair is to a chair.

That's just a bit of clever wit, at
least it's funny.

You left the Cortesio?

I never stay anywhere for long.

You know me, it's not one of my
attributes.

Are you living in Moscow?

When I'm here, I stay at the Hotel
Metropole.

I'm rather sweet year -round. Are you
inviting me?

Do you remember my dear friend the Dog
Man?

Of course.

Athene. He's an acclaimed director now.
He's putting on Montevideo's Orfeo.

He's turning the whole theater into a
pagan basilica.

He calls it a space liturgy.

How was his high priestess in Paris?

You want to come?

Maybe that kind of provocation no longer
interests you.

I'm not sure I remember who you are.

I get lost in all your mazes.

It's a game.

Politics is really the only game worth
playing.

You've become cynical.

You've reached the limit of your
intelligence.

Cynical.

Not only.

I don't know.

I have to get back to you on it.

As for now, I'm not sure.

Come with me to the opera.

Or dine at the Metropole.

I'm tired, Katrina.

What of?

Using your black magic in the service of
power?

The other day I caught a glimpse of
myself in a mirror. Only it wasn't me.

It was my father.

My father's face imprinted on mine,
despite my best efforts.

Let's go in.

I'm cold.

Last time you asked me a question.

You remember?

Yes. You told me you needed some time.

Now I can answer.

You aren't just cynical.

You have chosen to espouse your times.

You could have just as easily have grown
away from them. Do you like these

times? They're ours.

We're not better or worse than they are.

I don't think I'm kidding myself.

I embody the worst of them.

And you think you're going to have to
answer for them one day.

Do you believe in the future?

I don't.

The future doesn't give a shit about us.

Our wound is raw beneath the yoke of
these times.

See?

Behind the forest we walk, trembling.

Our castle already lit, and the evening
awaits.

Rilke.

I'd forgotten.

I've never been fascinated by St.
Petersburg.

It's a museum city stuck in the past.

The Tsar, on the other hand, can only
fully relax there with his oldest,

friends, a motley crew of former FSB
agents, black belt judokas, and real

thugs who have hit the big time.

They, it must be said, were straight out
of Richard III.

In just a few years, the shady
provincial dealers had amassed wealth

Gulf emirs.

Okay, nice.

Our new chef's specialty is truffle
risotto.

Let me know if I should keep him or send
him back to Italy.

Bon appetit.

Zhenya, you let us down.

You serve us truffle risotto, but where
is the arugula?

Shall I remind you that our ice hockey
team finished the last championship in

sixth place?

We moved up seven spots in the ranking
and overtook Dynamo Moscow.

Wait till next year. You will see. Well,
then you'll have your arugula next

year.

I found five decent arugula in Russia.
But I've just bought an estate by the

Black Sea in order to grow it. It will
be magnificent.

But there's a way.

Keep the chef.

He knows what he's doing.

His flight home to Pisa was already
booked.

On the Ryanair.

Ed Denny clearly has high standards, but
his talent goes beyond food. It touches

on geopolitics.

Even some of the subjects we've been
discussing lately, it would be good if

two had a word project.

I didn't know Gagosian well, except as a
restaurateur.

But I did know Putin had been
shepherding his ascent with unwavering

benevolence.

A five -minute flight.

Shortly after taking off, we began
maneuvers to land on Kameni Island,

Tsar's close friends lived in the
grandest palaces of the imperial

I'm not an intellectual like you, but
life has taught me a few lessons.

I'm not on a jail.

I don't doubt that.

Do you know how I started out?

My partners and I obtained St.

Petersburg's first ever casino license.

You obtained it? Well, the clerk gave it
to you when he was deputy mayor there.

You know what a casino is?

A monument to human irrationality.

Why the hell throw away your money when
all the odds are against you? When you

bet on human irrationality, you always
win.

Sure.

Sure, take an average guy.

As long as he's comfortable.

has a safe job, can take family holidays
at the seaside, has a retirement plan.

He stays put.

But if things don't look so good, if he
loses his job, his house, if the future

is less certain, will he play it safe?

Hardly. He'll prefer risk to a hopeless
status quo.

Chaos becomes more attractive than
order.

Westerners see China, India, thank God,
Russia making great strides while they

are stalling. And they're willing to
make the most unreasonable bets.

Our job is to encourage them.

The Internet is the battleground of
modern warfare.

I built the tool.

Now the Tsar wants you to take over.

Internet Research Agency.

I thought of the name. Sounds good,
right? What do you think?

Anton.

Our managing editor.

He has a PhD in international relations
and speaks every language you can think

of. Pleased to meet you, Anton.

Tell him what you guys are doing here.

Influence, information, the Russian
point of view on the West for

They're convinced that their media and
elites lie about everything, so they'll

buy alternative versions.

The message we're sending is that we
tell the truth.

Russia tells the truth. Like Russia
today.

Except that we work in social media, not
TV.

Shall we get some coffee?

We have a nice little break area with
sofas, houseplants.

And ping -pong tables.

You go on. We'll catch up with you.

Evgeny, you'll have to explain because I
don't quite get it.

Something wrong?

Can we talk?

Sure.

I thought our goal was to affect
mindsets in Europe and the States, get

people's heads.

Sure. And now you bring me Anton.

He's the best.

That's exactly the problem.

Don't you realize that Westerners aren't
interested in politics anymore?

If we want to screw them over, we should
talk about anything but...

politics we don't need anton who do we
need idiots highly addictive ones

cyber dependent otakus beauty advice
bimbos youtube conspiracy theories

that generates clicks but we are going
to have to get our message through at

some point aren't we who do you think we
are the common turn i regret to inform

you that the soviet union is gone No
more party line, no message to get

either, Yevgeny.

Just wire.

Come on, let's go. We're wasting our
time here.

What wire do you mean?

How do you break a wire?

You twist it one way and then the other.

That's what we're going to do, Yevgeny.

And how do you do that?

Build your network and see who takes the
bait.

They'll all have an obsession. We won't
know which. The cliques will show us.

One will be an anti -vaxxer, another
will be pro -life, pro -choice. It

matter. We're not going to convert
anyone, Yevgeny. We just need them all

have something that drives them nuts and
someone who enrages them.

It's infallible. No preferences,
Yevgeny. No arguments.

Just wire.

We twist it one way and then the other
until it breaks.

Okay, I got it. Wire.

But everything is traceable on the
Internet, and sooner or later we'll get

caught. Yes, we will, and that's what
we're after.

Serving our allies is predictable, but
how will they react when they realize

we're also supporting our own opponents?

They'll think we're fools. No, they'll
go insane, lose their bearings.

All they'll know is that we've gotten
into their heads and are playing with

their neural circuits as we please.

The Americans wrote the algorithm.

We'll use it too, only better than them.

Anyone accusing us of plotting against
democracy will be an ally.

They'll build the myth that we're all
powerful. It'll be the greatest of all

secrets because everyone will know it.
The Russians are controlling the modern

world. They are its masters.

That's the interesting thing about
politics, Yevgeny. Anything that makes

seem strong actually increases that
strength.

Borea.

Borea.

You come bearing a message?

Sorry, Borea. No message.

So to what do I owe this?

Purely pleasure.

You're in London to see the British
Olympic Association.

You're well informed as ever. The Sochi
Olympics seem to be the only thing

Israel cares about these days.

The president was.

Kind enough to let me supervise the
opening ceremony.

Well, I hope you'll be giving out medals
to the best political assassination.

I don't know, Boris.

The main thing is for Russia to come out
on top.

I'm not worried.

You'll find the worst possible solution.

You always do.

Well, you may not have a message for me,
but I have one for him.

Oh, come on, there's no polonium in it.

It's a letter to the Tsar.

I wrote it from the heart, and you can
read it if you want to.

I beg you to grant me your forgiveness
as a Christian. Are you serious?

I'm appealing to his faith.

And I'm offering my services based on
the experience I've gained.

Listen, honestly, no way.

But... Times have changed. You're not in
the running anymore. Sorry if I'm being

cruel. I'm appealing to his humanity.

Boris, who are you kidding?

The hardship of exile?

The passage of time? Death drawing near?
I get it.

But I don't think it'll make him blink.

For the comfort of spending my final
days in our motherland, you don't think

you'll understand that?

I have to go now.

Just give him the letter, anyway.

I think it might cut it.

I genuinely do.

I wish I could have told him it would
work.

That the Tsar would be moved and we'd
all sit together at the Olympics in the

VIP box seats.

I was fond of him.

He wasn't a saint, but there was a
childlike joy about him.

Ever since the Tsar had banished him and
his kind, all that was left in Moscow

was strong men and their grim
determination.

Worst of all, I'd played a part in
making it happen.

So, did it go well?

How could it possibly?

He helped you.

You could give him a hand.

Boris sees the Sochi Olympics
approaching.

There's still plenty of money to be
made, even if everyone's already lined

pockets.

Press and company included.

Do you like those?

They're the main costumes for the
opening ceremony.

Most importantly, did the British
Olympic Association like them?

Who cares?

I've already had to swallow a Winter
Olympics at a balmy seaside resort,

devoid of athletic infrastructure.

Have you seen the others?

No, not really now.

Look, each island represents a period in
our history, an animatronic float in

mid -air.

Our entire literary history will go
marching by. All the domes of St.

will fly away. And then Swan Lake.

Like it?

Or the other.

Russia doesn't exist.

At least not anymore.

But they're the ones who inspired us
back then.

It's too late now.

You won't say you're a soul.

The ceremony is just a mask for the
dictatorship, and the rest is just empty

pretext.

I see through you.

It doesn't mean I don't love you, but
I'm not going to be your partner in

May I have a drink?

Champagne. Ma 'am?

Same.

That Tsar is... going to free our old
friend Dimitri.

Are you sure?

It isn't the first time you told me
that.

He'll do it two weeks before the start
of the Games.

Western media will have a field day.

That's the idea.

You never

asked me what I did with my day.

Not shopping.

That's not like you.

Something...

Edgier. Drop the sarcasm for five
minutes, will you? I wasn't being

was trying to get... I went to the
gynecologist.

I'm pregnant.

You look... I'm a little shocked, yes.

According to early police reports, Boris
Berezovsky's death is consistent with

hanging. Berezovsky was found dead last
night at his Ascot residence.

Pathologists have found no signs of a
struggle.

Access has been closed until the results
for the tests for chemical, biological

and nuclear agents have been returned.

It had to end this way.

Exile was too painful for him.

I'll miss him.

He painted an appalling image of the
opposition, and it was priceless for us.

This is the program for the opening
ceremony.

Update it according to your notes.

What is dark punk?

Um, electronic music.

Number one worldwide.

Two Frenchmen who never remove their
robot helmets.

This setup wasn't in the previous round.

They won five Grammy Awards last week.
We have to get up to date.

You've asked the police choir to sing
their song.

Where did Malik say she's turned the
whole ceremony into a farce?

Okay.

Explain your rationale to Eagle.

Today it's what people want to dance to.

It's that simple.

It'll be ridiculous.

No, it'll be kitsch.

The entire world, three billion
spectators, are waiting for the greatest

they've ever seen. It can only be the
apotheosis of kitsch.

Kitsch is the only language available to
us if we are to communicate with the

masses. We want to show them our Russia.
They don't want to see your Russia.

Besides, you have nothing to show and
everything to hide.

We want to paint the picture of an open
Russia, sure -footed, but also capable

of smiling.

Today's world requires self
-deprecation, not your balalaika speak.

understand what I'm saying, or is it
gibberish to you?

What can you do, hmm?

Adya is an acrobat, an artist for
politicians, a politician for artists.

Be careful, Adya.

Sooner or later you might miss the
trapeze and fall flat on your face.

the 22nd Winter Olympic Games of Sochi
open.

That was probably the night I should
have left.

I should have closed the book at that
page. It was a good ending for me.

independence movement seized on the
Olympic ceasefire to occupy Maidan

again.

Two days before the end of the Games,
they ousted pro -Russian President

Yanukovych, who fled the same day.

The chaos that ensued gave the Tsar a
golden opportunity to invade Ukraine.

Russian snipers killed over 100
protesters.

They say you were in charge.

Who says?

Ukrainians.

From your own emails.

They say you have Ukrainian blood on
your hands.

The night before the closing ceremony,
following his grand plan, the Tsar

decided to annex Crimea.

Crimea was...

Part of Ukraine.

We weren't about to send regular troops
to invade a sovereign country.

No.

You sent in Russian soldiers who weren't
wearing any national insignia. Little

green men, as your fellow journalists
used to say. When Zaldastanov and his

night wolves brought the circus to
Crimea, you were the one pulling the

True. I gave them a supporting part.

Supporting actors are important.

As long as they don't get too carried
away.

Have you seen all the flags?

We're not using the Federation once
anymore.

We have something else in mind.

We are no longer a Federation, Vaja.

We are conquering new lands.

We have taken back Crimea from the
Ukrainian.

Soon the whole of Donbass will be
Russian.

It is high time to take stock.

Take stock.

Truly. I'm a man of action.

We are here to support the Russian army.

Help them bring you victory.

Well, who said anything about victory?

What we want in Ukraine isn't conquest.

It's chaos.

The Ukrainians have fooled themselves
into thinking that their orange

would get them into Europe, but it's
going to take them back to the Middle

If you listen to Westerners' promises,
it always ends like that. They drop you

at the first hurdle, and you're left
alone, your country in ruins.

That's the moral of the story.

You see, Alexander, this war isn't
fought in real life, but in the people's

minds. On the TV news, in Moscow, Kiev,
Berlin.

You are actors in a play that goes over
your heads and resonates far beyond

these borders.

Either you agree to be a part of my game
with the attendant advantages, or you

don't. But just remember, I can pull the
plug on you whenever I like.

And then things will get a great deal
more complicated for you, your walls,

little business ventures.

It's flourishing for once I gather.

I'm going to bother you for a moment.

All right, Ed.

How did your trip to Lugansk go?

Well, I'm sure you've read your services
reports.

We have news from the Americans.

What news?

It seems they have thrown up a blacklist
of people forbidden on their soil.

Your name is on it.

I've got a feeling you'll have to forget
about going to New York for a while.

Oh. There's sanctions for the takeover
of Crimea. When do they start?

This Monday.

It's a good thing I stopped liking New
York a long time ago.

I've heard something else, too.

Go on.

It'll be official tomorrow.

Your name is also on the Europeans'
shortlist.

Paris, London, no more.

I'm told you'll miss Naples.

I won't bother you any longer, Vladimir
Alekseevich.

I'm sure you have arrangements to make.

And pass.

Leonia, have you heard?

Yes, tonight or tomorrow at the latest?

No, no interviews, just a press release.
Can you take this down?

Yes.

I see this sanction as an Oscar awarded
for my entire political career.

It means I have served my country
honorably, full stop.

No. No, that's all.

Thank you.

Ksenia, pack your bags. I'll be over in
15 minutes.

A few hours later, we landed in
Stockholm for our last European weekend.

It's bound to happen.

Only you could avoid it.

By resigning.

For instance?

Power is addictive.

It's a tough habit to kick.

Before, when you spouted that kind of
truism, I could hear the irony.

Not anymore.

There was none.

There were in Ukraine, it's like the
rest.

I never wanted it.

I even opposed it. If you say so.

Indeed, I do say so.

And I also say that once the Tsar had
made up his mind, I did everything I

to see it succeed.

Out of habit.

Out of pride.

And because I could.

With no compunction.

That's true.

That's how it's always been.

With the Moscow bombings and the war in
Chechnya.

With Dmitri's arrest and Borislavsky's
fall and now the murders on the Maidan.

I never wanted any of those things yet.
Each depended on my tireless labor.

And now you're tired.

Russia devoured my grandfather.

You met my father, it devoured him too.

I don't know about me. I don't know if
I'll be saved. Probably not.

In any case, it's too late.

But our child will be saved.

Xenia? Xenia?

XENIA!

Going to Novo Ogarevo was never much of
a thrill.

The bleak, sporty mood pained me.

After I got back from Stockholm, I
almost never set foot there again.

A prince's trust is not a privilege, but
a conviction.

I had played my part.

I was no longer of any use.

At some point, I let him get out of the
habit of seeing me.

That's all.

He gets up early and breakfasts on fresh
eggs sent by Patriarch Kirill from his

farm.

If there's an emergency, that's when he
reads his confidential notes and makes

his wishes known.

Next, he swims a kilometer.

His first visitors wait by the pool.

Ministers, advisors, CEOs.

The presidential motorcade only leaves
for the Kremlin in the early afternoon.

The streets are closed half an hour
prior.

Putin drives from Novo Goryevo to the
Kremlin through his frozen capital.

And his real day begins.

Sometimes only ending at dawn.

One man stays awake while everyone else
who matters in Moscow shares his vigil.

Like in Stalin's day.

Who's that?

Who's this?

Oh, hi, my sweet one.

Can I play with Muchka? Of course you
can. You're not bothering us.

Where is she?

Where is that magical?

Is she under the table? No.

She's not under the table? No.

Is she under the cushion?

No. Are you sure?

No. Is she under the piano?

No. No?

No. There she is.

There she is.

All the happiness I've known in the
world is concentrated

in her.

Daddy, what do you think Machka would
say if she could talk?

Hmm, I think she'd say, I'd have more
fun with a real rabbit.

Daddy? No, no, no. She'd say, I like you
best of all, Anya. I only want to play

with you.

Cats aren't my favorite thing, but how
much longer will I be able to make her

happy?

I never felt fear before, Anya.

From the moment I first laid eyes on
her, I've been living in terror.

I realize my life is in her hands, not
the other way around.

My daughter doesn't count the hours or
the days.

I've always lived in the future.

And she's given me the present.