Original subtitles

Mosfilm presents

Second Art Co-op

Screenplay: A.Aleksandrov, S.Solovyov

Stage director: Sergei Solovyov

Chief operator: Leonid Kalashnikov

Art director: Aleksandr Borisov

Composer: I.Shvarts

Producer: O.Grigorovich Camera: S.Khizhnyak

Sound: V.Krachkovskiy, V.Bakhmatskiy

Conductor: M.Ermler

Editing: A.Abramova

Costumes: L.Kusakova

Make-up: I.Kireyeva

Script editor: L.Shmuglyakova

Music editor: M.Blank

Stunt operator: V.Komarinskiy

Producer's assistants: V.Brusnika, L.Serganova

Camera assistants: A.Korotkov, N.Kafengauz

Gaffer: V.Skorobogatov

Photography: B.Baldin

Executive producer: Boris Gostynskiy

A Hundred Days After Childhood

- Your attention please!

This is the radio centre of the pioneer camp "Forest Island."

Today at 10 o'clock camp time each pioneer troop will hold a meeting.

Everyone's presence will be required. Thank you for your attention.

- How was that? - Pretty good.

- Sorry, my diction is not that great.

- Why? I don't think so.

- And that's us, over there. The 1st troop.

Are you our counsellor?

- Yes... though, you see, it's not what I normally do.

You see, I'm a sculptor by profession, not at all an educator.

And because of that you all kind of scare me.

- Eh, don't worry. Give it a few of days and everything will be just fine.

- I hope so.

Listen, do you know everyone here?

- No, not all. I know a few from last year.

Some I know from school, but many are newbies.

- So, could you tell me... you know...

...a few words about those you do know.

Sort of a quick "who is who."

- Who is who? Oh sure.

"Who is who"

"Day One"

- Except my eyesight is not that good, so I normally use the binoculars.

- Binoculars? That's cute.

- Where to begin? For example, at the piano, that's Zagremukhina.

Seven years of music education, but loves the Dog Waltz best of all.

Can you hear? - Yeah, I can hear.

- And over there, that's her confidante.

- Confidante? - Yeah, confidante. Over there.

- Lena Yergolina. Extremely educated and all that.

Can read in three languages, and doesn't seem to like anything.

- Why is that? - Who knows? Strain or something...

She likes the Dog Waltz, too.

They're good at that. Virtuosos...

Ah, Lopukhin! He's a nutbar, that one.

- A what? - A nutbar.

- I see you're still an idiot. Year after year, without any change.

- Yeah, well, so are you. - Oh, that's clever.

- Doing my best. - Forget it, Bramble. Don't get involved.

- That's Furikov, in a hat. See? - I do.

- Dark genius. - How so?

- No reason. May I?

- And that's Lebedev, Sasha.

Will do anything for an adventure.

- Oh yeah? Could pass for an angel.

- Yep, that's him. An angel of adventure.

- Who's that sitting? - Lunyov.

He's the oldest one here. Beautiful mind.

But Sasha Lebedev is pure gold.

- Got it.

- Lopukhin, how old are you? - Fourteen, why?

- No reason.

I was born with heart of passion; I love to spend my time with friends...

Or waste it in some other fashion like drinking till the evening ends.

- What do you mean by that? - Oh, that's not mine.

It's by Lermontov, Mikhail Yuriyevich.

When he wrote these verses, he had just turned fourteen himself.

At that time, with a touch of frivolity, you could simply call him "Mishka."

Or, rather, Michel, as he was known then.

Fairly pedestrian either way, right? - No idea.

What's so great about those verses, anyway? Drinking and stuff...

I can come up with something like that. Furikov, he can for sure.

- What? - Seriously. You totally can.

- Oh, very funny. - Or how is this:

He set out on a journey boring, wrapped tightly in a cloak he wore.

The coach's bell, its voice imploring, rang, rang, and then was heard no more.

Though he's already fifteen in that one. Quite a difference, isn't it?

- I don't find.

- Too bad.

- Kids! Enough messing around. Can we begin now?

- We can.

- Hello, children. - Hello.

- We can do better. Hello, children!

- Hello! - Very good.

- Can you please take off that hat. You look foolish in it.

Where did you get it? - This hat?

My dad's. He bought it to wear during vacations. It's better without it, then?

- Much better.

- So, firstly, we have to elect the chairman for your troop's council.

Let's hear your thoughts.

So, are we going to be quiet, or are we going to talk?

- Can I say something? - Go ahead. What's your last name?

- Zalikova. - Very good, go ahead Zalikova.

- Comrades!

No use in denying that we don't yet know each-other that well.

But, from my school experience, I'd like to suggest Gleb Lunyov.

- Zalikova! Honestly, who asked you?

- That's all right. First of all, Gleb is a good friend.

But most importantly, he has lots of experience in this area.

He certainly knows the ropes.

- He's certainly being roped in.

- And what's your name, young man? - Lopukhin.

- One more outburst like that, Lopukhin, and you're off for a walk in the woods.

- Pardon.

- Oh, and guys...

He just looks dignified or something. The face of our troop.

- The handsome face of our troop.

- And the back of our troop, and the shoulders, and the teeth...

- Lopukhin! I revoke your right to speak until the end of this meeting.

- As to Zalikova's suggestion, it's a good one.

But I suggest that we save Gleb Lunyov's candidacy for a different position.

A more important one.

I think that Gleb can easily chair the council for the entire camp.

- May I, Kseniya Lvovna?

I'm really thankful for your trust, Kseniya Lvovna.

And you, Zalikova, for your kind words. And you, Lopukhin, for your friendship.

But, Kseniya Lvovna, I'm here to rest.

And slaving on the camp council... I'd really rather not.

I had enough of that during the winter. - He's right.

He's a human, not a horse, you know.

He requires rest, too.

- Will it strain you too much to chair the troop council, at least?

- All right, I guess troop work is not too much strain.

- Let's vote.

Unanimous. Let's give him a hand.

- Here, Sergei Borisovich. These are left from Kurepin's stone quarries.

- Who's this Kurepin?

- Count. This used to all be his.

The park, the river, and the estate. - I see.

"White Stone (June)" - Maybe we should pick this one?

- No, can't that one. - Why not?

- Because, Lebedev...

...gods sleep inside marble slabs.

I didn't come up with that, one remarkable guy did.

A sculptor, Michelangelo.

- Let me finish. - Sorry.

- You know, every stone has a soul. - A soul?

- Yes, a soul. Every stone carries something inside it.

Each one something different.

Stones are like people. - People?

- Yeah. You know, there are people who are tough.

- Yes. - That's granite.

You see what I mean? Others are light and soft.

That's marble.

- True, like marble.

- Then some are light and airy.

That's limestone.

- So, what kind of stone am I?

- You? You, Lebedev, are still a boulder.

More like a pebble, really. But even in you sleeps a soul.

- Well, why doesn't someone wake it up?

- One, two, heave!

One, two, heave!

- Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-hernia!

That's quite a rock. And you said "pebble." It probably weighs a ton.

- Why do you need it anyway? - I feel like doing some work.

- Want some advice? - Go on.

- Make a bust of Furikov. With a hat or without.

It'll look awesome as a headstone for his tomb.

"Sun Stroke"

[nonsense song]

- All right, kids, get up. Gather your things, swim time is over.

Lunch time! Lunch time, everyone!

- Lopukhin, you look like a ruin. Get up, let's go eat.

Come on, Lopukhin, let's go!

"What's up, you idiot?"

"That's just Yergolina."

"It's got to be the heat."

"It's Yergolina..."

"I've known her for, like, ever."

- There you go. That's much better.

How are you feeling? - Good.

- Right.

Why wouldn't you be, right?

You may sit up if you like.

How old are you?

- Fourteen.

- Craziness. - What?

- What's happening to all of you guys. You look at least sixteen.

Could you come here?

Stand here.

Good... Now duck.

- How much? - 175.

- Is that a lot? - A lot.

But that doesn't mean anything.

- Why not?

- Because with all you guys it's just outward appearance.

- The outward what?

- Body's gone wild, but inside still a child.

Though that, too, is just outward appearance. Come sit down.

You didn't hit your head?

- No, not yet. - That's good.

- What was it that I had? - Nothing dangerous, just sun stroke.

- Your city boy organism is not used to the sun, and so it overheated.

- Is that it? - That's it.

- What's that? - Calcium. Take some, it'll help.

- All right.

- Now go to your room and lie down for a bit. Stop by in the evening.

- Okay.

- I'll also see that you get double portions at meals.

- Okay.

Thanks.

- Oh, and get a hat to cover your head. Really helps during the heat.

- All right. - And don't worry, Lopukhin.

From the medical point of view it's nothing dangerous at all.

- Good bye. - Good bye, Lopukhin.

"What's going on?"

"Sun is not out."

"And it's Yergolina."

"It's just Yergolina."

"I've known her for, like, ever."

- Lopukhin...

Sweetie...

You scared me so much...

I looked around and there wasn't anyone.

Only you, passed out.

Nobody else around, only the leaves rustling.

I thought you were dead, Mitya.

Are you still feeling bad?

Good lord, you feel like on fire.

They probably let you out too soon.

- No.

"A Smile in the Dark"

- Who is that?

- Oh, honestly!

It's Mona Lisa.

- World masterpiece.

- I think we've seen this one before, Sergei Borisovich.

- Fine, then tell me what it is you see.

- Can I try? - Please.

- It's a woman... um...

...who is sitting by the river.

- Is that all? - That's all.

- And you, Sergei Borisovich, what do you see?

- That's easy.

He sees the same thing as Zalikova. And Zalikova is only looking at Furikov.

- And Furikov can't see anything at all. Though he'd like to have a look, too.

- Zalikova is correct in many ways.

Indeed, it's a woman...

...an Italian woman, who is, to be more precise, resting by the river.

And it will soon be five hundred years that she has been smiling like that.

And... the best experts in this world...

...have been arguing, for what will soon be five hundred years,...

...trying to prove their theories about her smile.

Some of them have wasted entire lives.

And their souls.

But... as they died...

...with their last breath they were still unable to prove anything.

Then...

...their children started it over.

For that...

...Mona Lisa's smile was pronounced "mysterious."

The mystery of her smile is not unlike the great mystery of nature herself.

- What's the mystery?

She's just smiling, so what? Maybe she's in a good mood.

- Maybe.

Entirely possible.

- My mom smiles like that sometimes.

Only very rarely.

- You see...

...a time will come...

Usually that happens quite unexpectedly...

You will suddenly see...

...the river...

...the trees...

...and the girl...

...and the way she is smiling...

And even though you've seen that a thousand times before...

...you will be suddenly dumbstruck...

...with a sudden realization...

...how unimaginably beautiful...

...is that girl...

...and those trees...

...and that river...

...and the way she is smiling.

That usually means...

...that love has caught up with you.

- What do you want, Bramble?

- Nothing.

"Yergolina"

- Hey, what's that you wrote there?

- Where? - Right there.

- Oh, that... I'm not done yet.

- What did you mean to write, then? - What, this?

"Yergolina is stupid" - Gotcha.

- What's that you got there?

- This? - That.

- Lermontov, Mikhail Yuriyevich. A portrait. Do you like it?

Kseniya Lvovna wants it in our room. "Out of respect for Sergei," she said.

- Why? - I don't know.

Hey, he kinda looks like you.

- You made that up. - No, I didn't.

- Seriously? - Seriously.

Either he looks like you, or you like him, but you two look alike.

Hey, stand over there.

Turn your head.

Awesome! We just need to draw a moustache on you.

"M.Yu.Lermontov"

"Verner was thin, and weak like a child."

"One of his legs was shorter than the other."

"Verner's black eyes, always unsettled, tried to penetrate your thoughts."

"His appearance always left a negative first impression."

"But later, your eye learned to see beyond his uneven outer shell..."

"...and grew fond of the experienced and high-minded soul beneath it."

"Women usually fell in love with such people to the point of going mad."

"They are, after all, very adept at recognizing someone's inner beauty."

- Verner was lame.

- I've given you my number...

...don't tell me you have lost it.

And will you please stop laughing...

...at my stu-pi-di-ty...

I've given you my number.... - Lebedev!

- Where did you get the bike? - Somewhere.

- Where did you go? - Somewhere else.

And what are you doing here? - Waiting for you.

Come over here.

- All right.

What?

- Tell me, Lebedev, are you lonely?

- Wha?

- I'm asking you. Are you lonely?

- Dunno. I guess so.

- Why?

- I guess because physically I'm not very strong.

That's one thing.

Another... I think I have a poor sense of self-esteem.

I think that's why people aren't very interesred in being friends.

- I'll be your friend, Lebedev.

- Great, thank you!

- Can you get some plaster? - Plaster?

Don't know, but probably, yeah.

- What about an overshoe?

- I'll have to look.

- We'll need some plaster and an overshoe tomorrow at dawn. Got it?

- Got it.

- What was that you just ate?

- Calcium.

- Hey, and no word to anyone.

- Silent as a grave.

- Did you bandage your leg?

- I did.

- Don't overcook it, hey?

- I won't.

I think it's ready. Lie down.

- Lying down.

- Ouch, it's hot.

- Can we pour it over the pant leg?

- You want to spend the rest of your life in those pants?

So...

...carefully...

...there!

"The Misanthrope" "July"

There.

Good.

Calcium?

I understand.

Listen, why are you doing all this?

- All what?

- The plaster, leg, calcium...

- How is it going there?

- I think I'm done. Looks good!

- Then tie on the overshoe. - Overshoe it is, then.

Hop!

All done, and you worried.

Get up.

- Well?

- Let's see...

Spiffy.

- Listen, Lebedev. In your opinion... Who do I look like right now?

- No idea.

- Do you think I look like an "autumn's wounded game?"

- What's a "wounded game?"

- A wounded game is a kind of bird, Lebedev...

...that was shot at, but not completely killed.

- I'd say so.

- We should put out that fire. - We should

- Shall we, then? - I don't need to go, though.

- But we should. - If we should, then we should.

- Well, well, well...

An hour and a half late.

We're all going crazy with worry, and they are nowhere to be found.

Are they lost? Dead? Drowned?

Why are you making faces at me, Lebedev?

- I'm not making faces, Kseniya Lvovna. - Then what are you doing?

- Please, take a look.

- Goodness me, what's that?

- A leg.

- What's wrong with it? - Osteomyelitic sendritis.

- A what?

- Gindner's osteomyelitic sendritis.

- Who's this Gindner?

- Gindner? He's a paediatrician. Mind if we sit down?

- Of course, please sit down, boys.

Mitya, is Lebedev being serious? - Hah.

- He is.

- His mother had told me before we left and asked me to keep an eye on him.

- Eat, boys, eat.

- It's not dangerous, is it? - Hard to tell. It's in late stages.

- No, Lebedev is just joking. It's not dangerous at all.

- You eat, Lebedev, eat.

- Should we show ourselves to these two?

- That we will.

- Let's do it, then. - Let's.

- What's with him?

- No clue. Hey, Bramble!

- What? - What's with the leg?

- The leg?

- Nothing major. Sprained my knee sack a while ago.

Acts up sometimes before a storm.

- He was chasing some bastard here, about a year ago, and sprained his leg.

- Which bastard?

- Doesn't matter which bastard. Chased unsuccessfully, that's what matters.

- Right?

- Fishing, I see.

- Fishing.

- Mind if we watch? - We don't.

- Greetings.

- What's up. - Pleasure to see you. How's life?

- Fine, thanks.

- What are you fishing?

- Pike, with mosquito grubs.

- Pike, in here? Even tadpoles have all died of boredom in this pond.

- The backdrop was done by a wonderful Italian painter...

...Bulgarian by birth...

...who spent most of his life in Russia.

I think that's all, my dear pioneer friends...

...that I can tell you about this beautiful 18th century estate house.

- All right, now let's thank Yefrosinya Kuzminichna...

...for this fascinating story.

Please, take a seat. And not just for the story.

I must also add that Yefrosinya Kuzminichna...

...risked her own life during the war...

...to preserve these priceless treasures.

- Thank you, thank you!

- And now, children, I want to share some good news.

We got permission to prepare and perform, on this very stage,...

...some kind of a good drama or a play.

- We'll have to stick to classics. - True. The walls oblige, don't they?

- I suggest Lermontov's "Masquerade."

- "Masquerade" sounds appropriate. I suggest you start right away.

- We will. Especially since we already have a perfect Arbenin.

- You want Lunyov for that? - Very good, Zagremukhina.

Of course Lunyov. Who else.

But that's not important.

The most important, Kseniya Lvovna...

...is that we have an excellent Sprich. - Who?

- There.

- What, you mean me? - You.

- You're something else, Sergei Borisovich.

- Strahl is Zagremukhina. Nina is Yergolina, obviously.

- Duh. Obviously. Of course.

- Next, Kazarin. - What is Kazarin like?

- A clever guy. A cynic and a gambler. Quite a character.

- Well, that's Furikov. - Why, thank you.

- Genius. Okay...

Prince Zvezdich should go to Lopukhin, then, I think.

Mitya, where are you?

- He's here.

- What happened to you?

- It's nothing.

Old knee sack sprain.

- Osteomyelitic sendritis, in medical terms.

- That's sad.

On the upside, you now look like Lord Byron.

- No.

He now looks like an autumn wounded game.

- Listen, Lebedev, will you shut up about this "wounded game" already?

- Seriously, Sasha...

Some people are getting irritated...

- French slow dance "Isabelle."

- Aren't you lonely, you poor thing?

- Why, not at all.

Each one amuses himself to the best of his mental ability.

- That's intolerable, Lopukhin.

You've become some kind of a misanthrope.

- I am what I am.

- Sasha! Lebedev!

- Me?

- You. Come here.

- Sorry.

- Well, what do you want?

- Sit.

- Well?

- Do you know what a "misanthrope" is?

- A "misanthrope?" No, I don't.

- Pity.

- Hey, you can ask Yefrosinya.

- Yefrosinya who?

- Yefrosinya Kuzminichna, the estate curator.

- She's got a ton of books, got it?

She's got a Brockhaus and Efron. That's an encyclopedia set.

They have gold lettering.

Are you listening?

- Encyclopedia? - Yeah, encyclopedia.

- Letter "M." - Yeah, yeah, "M."

- I'm Mitya Lopukhin from the 1st troop. Maybe you remember me?

- I play Zvezdich. - Prince Zvezdich?

That's good, very good. One moment.

Here you go, prince.

- Thank you.

- No, thank you!

- Miasma... Migraine... Misanthropy.

A dislike, hatred of people.

- Sasha, Lebedev!

- Me?

- You, you. Come here.

- Excuse me.

- Sasha, can you get me some tools? - Tools? What kind?

- A hammer, a chisel... Scissors maybe.

- I don't know, I'll have to look. When do you need it?

- Right now.

- I can try.

- What's the hold-up?

- You should only rush when catching fleas.

All right, carefully now.

Well, shall we?

- Hit it.

- Right on the bone, you idiot!

- What? It's dark here! Maybe it can wait till tomorrow?

- It can't.

- Do it. - Really?

- Do it! - All right.

Damn!

- Six, six, six, six.

What are we playing?

- For now, play "fool."

- Okay.

- Spades are wild!

- And go! Only take off your hat.

- As you wish.

- Lunyov, begin.

"Masquerade" "First act"

- You play, Kazarin, or are you abstaining?

- I'm watching others play.

And you? You've married, I hear people saying.

You now prefer old vices kept at bay?

- Oh, come on, guys!

Don't mind them, keep going.

- I see new faces here. Who's that dandy?

- Sprich?

- Enough, you guys. Calm down.

- Lopukhin, sit down. Zagremukhina, your turn.

- Ah, prince...

- Come on, Bramble.

- I came last night to say, that our pick-nick plans must be abandoned

I argued, just today, that you'd be sad... but you do not look saddened.

- Oh, I am sad!

- Me, I am not. I would have gladly paid a dozen pick-nicks for a jolly masquerade

- Lopukhin!..

- What?

- Do you understand who Zvezdich is?

- Zvezdich? A prince.

- You slouch there like a sack of beets.

But he, he knows that he's the smartest and the handsomest man on earth.

Do you understand? - No.

- Why not?

- Is this prince an idiot?

Will you cut that out?

- Why an idiot, Mitya?

Some people are just like that. They aren't dumb or anything.

They're very successful.

And that makes them happy.

People like that have it made.

Everyone loves them.

- Understand? - No.

- Pity.

Well, let's wrap it up for today, then.

Rehearsal is over. Go play.

- Mitya... - What?

- Always women who spoil things, hey? - Who?

- Well, like Baroness Strahl.

- Oh. Yeah.

- Listen, Zagremukhina... - Yeah?

- Do I really look like a sack of beets? - A sack of beets?

- I wouldn't say so. - I see.

- Hey, could you teach me to dance?

- Dance? - Yeah.

- You don't know how? - Not even a bit.

- Sure, I can teach you.

- Come on. One, two, three...

- See, you're getting a hang of it.

Keep counting. One, two, three...

Is this for your role?

- No, just in case.

- I understand.

- You're really not bad at all!

You're light on your feet.

- One, two, tree... You know...

Everyone says that Gleb is the best dancer.

But I don't think so.

He's got the moves, but he's always like asleep.

- That's okay...

I'll wake him up soon.

I guarantee it. - What do you mean?

- Oh, nothing. Keep dancing, Sonya. Keep dancing. One, two, three...

- A sack of beets? Who said that?

You, a sack of beets? That's just laughable.

- Let's try it one more time, Gleb.

Just... say it well.

With feeling.

From your heart.

- I can't from my heart. - Why not?

- Because I don't get it.

"Masquerade" "Act two"

- What don't you get?

- He's a smart guy, right?

- Who? - Arbenin.

- Certainly not a fool. - Then why is he blabbering nonsense?

- What nonsense?

- Here, for example.

I've nothing left in life, except for you,

a charming angel, yet a precious ewe.

Your love, your smile, your eyes, your very breath...

I feel alive, as long as they are mine.

Without them, no happiness divine...

No soul, no feelings, nothing short of death.

- So?

- Okay, I'll explain.

If Arbenin is not a fool...

and not an old and decrepit ruin for whom life is more or less over...

and if he's not playing some game...

...then I think he's being dishonest.

Otherwise I just don't get it.

- Listen, Lunyov...

Why are you being so thick?

You're not that dumb of a guy.

Why are you acting like an idiot, then?

- I'm not.

I honestly don't get it.

- Don't get what?

- Arbenin. And will you cut that out?

His words. About life and death.

And how they can depend on this Nina.

- He just loves her, Lunyov.

- But come on, not that much!

- That much.

- It just doesn't work that way, Mitya.

- It does.

- Come on, a normal person wouldn't even be able to say all that stuff.

Here, you read it, then. Come on!

- Okay.

- Which part? - Right here.

- Could you step away, please?

- Me? - You.

- Sure.

- I travelled...

...gambled...

...played, and laboured hard.

Learned friendship...

...earned a broken heart.

I cared not for titles...

...knew no fame.

I've nothing left in life...

...except for you.

A charming angel, and a precious ewe.

Your love, your smile...

...your look, your very breath,

I feel alive...

...as long as they are mine.

Without them, no happiness divine...

No soul...

...no feelings...

...nothing short of death.

That's it.

Loves her crazy.

To death.

That's all.

- Listen, Lopukhin...

I don't know whether you have talent...

But you seem to get it.

And that's no small feat.

- Let Lopukhin play Arbenin, then. Since he seems to "get him."

- Why not, seriously? Go for Arbenin, Bramble!

- Draw lots, then. - What for?

Come on, Mitya. And I'll do Zvezdich.

Let's swap and no hurt feelings, eh?

- No.

Furikov's right.

Let the fates decide.

Draw lots.

- Well, what is it?

- Arbenin.

- Sleeping?

Excellent.

Breathing deeply?

Very good.

Well-well...

Sweet dreams.

"Insomnia" "Middle of the Summer"

- So... Let's continue...

How does it go, then?

"2 A.M..."

"can't sleep..."

"I should sleep so my hand doesn't shake tomorrow..."

"although... at six steps' distance, it's hard to miss."

"and what if his fortune prevails? If the stars betray me?"

"ah well, death is death. Not a great loss for the world."

"tomorrow I may die..."

"and there will be no soul left who can understand me completely."

"Sunrise, finally."

"I'm calm now. It is decided, then."

"A duel."

- Thirteen...

Fourteen...

Fifteen...

Sixteen...

Sevent...

"It is decided, then. A duel."

- Kids!

Today our entire camp is going to visit our neighbours at the state farm.

You will be assigned to the cabbages.

Not very hard work, but requires attention and precision.

Our entire harvest depends on you. Valuable crops.

The best cabbage-picking troop will be rewarded at dinner time.

Double helping of cherry punch from concentrate!

Would you like that? - Yeah!

- To the rest of you the usual fare.

Coffee with milk.

- I am not an expert in this matter...

but travelling with friends, what can be better?

with a friend a worry is no worry

each new road's a chapter in the story.

"Cherry Punch"

- Hey, you, in the hat.

Are you from the camp? - Yeah. And where are you from?

- From Timokhino. - Locals?

- Yeah. Wanna roll some bubble later? - Wha?

- I mean football. By the air field, in the back.

- In the back? - Yeah, in the back. What do you say?

- Hey, Loon! - What?

- The locals suggest football.

- What about work? - After work.

- All right, fine.

- Deal. What's your name?

- Furikov. And careful about the hat.

- Okay. I'm Vershkov.

Gonna rain.

- Hey, Vershkov, where's "in the back?"

- Doesn't matter. We'll get to that later.

- He's pretty good on his feet.

- Who? - Gleb.

- Just a bit full of it.

- So what?

- Sorry. Didn't know, maybe you two are in a relationship.

- What kind of relationship?

- Don't know.

- Well, I don't know either.

- We lost.

- Well?

- Losers weepers. A kick-out? - Who's going?

- The goalie and the captain. Ten bubbles.

- Got it?

- Why so quiet?

Cheer up.

Bastard's got good aim.

- Barbarians.

- Don't worry.

We'll have our payback.

I have a little plan.

- Nice here. Quiet.

Water's nice.

Listen...

You're doing the paperwork, right?

- What paperwork? - That cabbage. For the camp.

- Yeah. - Can I ask you for a favour?

Leave the totals the way they are.

But split it equally among the troops. So there are no hurt feelings.

And put the hillside in our name. - What hillside?

- Remember? The entire field is flat, except for the side of the hill.

That's the one we worked on.

- Okay. If you say you worked on it, then I'll write that in.

- That's good.

- Well, isn't that nice...

...in never seems to rain on some people.

- What do you want, Bramble? - Nothing.

- Furikov...

Could we have a "ta-da" please?

- A "ta-da?" - Yeah, a "ta-da."

- With pleasure.

Ta-daaa!

- Please help yourselves.

- Listen.

I had a feeling that all troops did more or less equally well?

- Yeah, all were pretty much the same.

The hillside was the deciding factor. Plus a bit of quick thinking.

- Listen, Lunyov...

That hillside... we didn't do it.

- You don't say?

- I say. We didn't do it, that's all.

- If you want, I'll tell you who did it.

- Who? - Kseniya Lvovna and Sergei.

What do you say to that?

- To that, Lopukhin, I'll say...

That you don't seem to want this punch.

Maybe you don't like it, or maybe you're too full...

Seeing as you already had your usual double helping...

...needed by your weak organism.

- No, Lunyov.

I like punch.

I only refuse to drink...

...stolen punch.

And you, drink up!

- Lopukhin, are you insane?

- What, you think I'm going to hit you now, Lopukhin?

We'll start fighting...

...and then adults will break us up, and that'll be the end of it?

No, Mitya, you're mistaken.

I'm not going to hit you right now.

But later... later I will hit you.

I'll hit you so hard, Lopukhin...

...that you'll remember it for the rest of your pathetic life.

- Want an apple?

- Sure.

- Only I have just one. I'll split it.

Here.

- Thanks.

- Am I intruding?

- Intruding.

- Not at all.

You can even join us, Zagremukhina.

- How do I get there? - Try through that shed.

- Okay.

- Strange creatures. Can't seem to be able to use their heads for anything.

Jump in.

- Sorry, Zagremukhina, but I only had one apple.

- It's okay, I had lots of punch.

Lebedev...

Can you give us a few minutes alone? I need to tell Mitya something...

- I'll go, then?

- Go on, Lebedev.

- Work before play...

Ciao-ciao.

- I'm listening.

- What have you done, Mitya?

- What I felt was right.

- And what exactly is it?

- Telling bastards the truth to their face.

- Is that all? - That's all.

- You're lying, Lopukhin.

- What's especially sad is that you're lying to yourself.

- That's what Lena asked me to tell you.

- You? Why you?

Why didn't she come in person to ask whatever she wants to know?

Did cat get her tongue?

Did she suffer a stroke? Did she die?

What is it?

- I don't know, Mitya...

"Let's begin our evening of fun and games!"

"The first part is a concert."

"All performers will be awarded points!"

"A troop that gets the most points will receive a surprise!"

- I wonder what's the surprise. We already drank all the punch.

- Will you please stop?

"After the concert, it's time for fun games and races outside!"

- Let's go there, Mitya.

Seriously, let's go.

If you don't show up, everyone will really think that you are...

- That I what?

- I don't know.

Just please, let's go.

- And now...

Presenting a traditional sailor dance "Yablochko..."

...please welcome pioneers of the third troop...

...Erik Krupitsyn and Sasha Kamushkin!

Let's give them a hand!

"Fun and Games"

- Lopukhin!

Why are you sitting in that tree? - Why, am I in anyone's way?

- Very well, Lopukhin...

This, too, we shall discuss with you right after the concert.

Please begin.

- Mitya!

Listen... could you get down from that tree?

- What, am I in your way, too?

- No, not in my way...

I just want a word with you.

- Right now? - Right now.

- Okay.

- Shall we go?

- Let's go.

- Well, go on, tell me what a bad boy I am.

You'll make it sound convincing.

You're good with words.

Pretty, long, clever words... always a pleasure to hear...

- Why thank you...

- Not at all.

- By the way, how come you think it was all Lunyov's doing?

Maybe the farmers got it wrong? Didn't carry the one, or something?

- Hah, "got it wrong!" I was there! In person!

- Where?

- Right there, when Lunyov did it.

He lied that we did the hillside. Then whined to get it in our name.

- You say you were there?

- I was.

Stood right next to him and heard it all.

- Interesting.

- What is?

- How come you didn't say something then?

The whole truth. Right then.

- Right then? - Yes.

- I don't know.

- I see.

There it didn't serve you a purpose.

Simple as that.

Your noble truth is now worthless.

- So, what should I do now?

Nothing.

Now, Mitya, go to bed and sleep.

- How could I sleep now?

- Somehow. The usual way.

Just sleep.

- Sergei, Sergei! - What?

- Kseniya Lvovna needs to see you at the dance platform. Says very important.

- What dance platform? Why? - I don't know.

- All right, on my way.

- Hello.

- Sergei! How very good that you came by.

- Something happened? - No, I just need to ask your opinion.

You know... Please, sit down.

You know... the situation is becoming intolerable.

- Are we done singing?

- Done, for now. - Good bye!

- Two teenagers hate each-other... - Mmm...

- That much is already disturbing.

We must put an end to it. - Yeah...

- Which is why I'd like to suggest a pedagogical experiment.

- An experiment?

- Yes, an experiment.

Why have you stopped writing, dear?

- I didn't.

- Keep at it, then.

- How about we send them both to get the sour-cream from the village.

The sour-cream comes on a cart.

They'd have to pull it together.

You might say...

"...strapped into the same harness."

What do you think?

- I... uh, sure. Let them go for a walk.

"Unexpected Downpour" "August"

- Enough, Lopukhin...

Why are we, like two idiots, at each-other's throats?

Truce, Lopukhin?

- No.

- Why not?

- Because my opinion of you hasn't changed.

I still, to this day, think that you are scum, a liar and a thief.

Didn't you promise to hit me some day?

Right?

So I'd remember it for my whole life?

Which you called "pathetic."

Did you change your mind?

What do you say to that, Lunyov?

- What I do I say to that?

Well, first I'll tell you why you are being such a rabid idiot.

Where the disease is.

You're a liar, Lopukhin.

You like telling lies about some imaginary feelings...

The ones that don't exist and never did.

And you're looking for fellow idiots, who will suddenly believe you.

But such idiots don't exist either.

As to me, Lopukhin, you do have a good reason to hate me.

Because... some people love me.

Just because.

Without any need for high-brow lies.

- You're scum, Lunyov.

- Is that what you wanted, Lopukhin?

- You're scum, Lunyov!

And I hate you!

Got that?

- And you lie, Lunyov!

You lie!

It's not all that simple!

Got it?

- Mitya...

What the hell are we doing?

Huh, Mitya?

You are right...

...on all counts...

I know. I forged the results.

I just didn't want to admit it.

- Good lord, that's incredible... How do you manage to be such an idiot?

Say something, Mitya.

- Just keep at it. - I am, I am!

- Let me see.

"Masquerade" "Act Third and Last"

- It's dull today. - What can you do?

To not find people dull you must get used to dealing with stupidity and treason.

These two make spin the world.

- You're right...

- And for a reason.

There are no perfect souls. Indeed.

I thought I found one, but was mistaken.

- What do you mean?

- I said...

That in this world I only found one. It's you...

- You're pale. - I danced a lot.

I doubt it, mon ami, you never left one spot.

- Then clearly because I didn't dance enough.

- Oh, you don't love me!

- And pray tell, What should I love you for?

Eternal Hell you've placed into my chest.

Oh, no, I'm glad to see you suffer!

And yet...

you dare, you dare demand my love!

I gave you all my heart, still not enough?

And do you care to know the price I paid

...for tenderness? And in return?

I hoped for just a smile, a look of yearn...

And found what?

And is it possible? You dared betray

my love for someone's careless flirt?

Me, who you could ask to sell his soul, and he'd obey...

You dared.

- Farewell, Yevgeniy.

I die, but not at fault.

You are a villain.

For many years my spirit was possessed by vengeance, which is now fully paid.

He's gone... and happy.

Me? I am afraid...

all that awaits me is dishonour and unrest.

"Lena..."

"There are a lot of things I would like to say..."

"things I didn't dare say before."

"The summer is coming to an end"

"and there is now but little time left"

"and I can't remain quiet any longer."

"You have probably noticed yourself"

"how the grass is turning brown"

"and how the leaves on the trees have slowly started turning yellow"

"because everything must come to an end."

"I'd like to tell you everything, right here..."

"while it is still summer"

"and the leaves in the old park are still rustling."

"Whenever I hear them, it reminds me of you."

"And in everything that surrounds us I see you and you alone."

"Lena, I ask you to please come to the swimming pond"

"where I first saw you"

"I put it that way because it's as if I've never really seen you before."

"Or known you, even though we go to the same school."

"I'll be waiting for you there tonight."

"And if you don't come tonight, know that I'll be there every night."

"No matter how many may still remain."

"That's all."

"Your acquaintance, Dmitriy L."

- Is that you, Sonya? - Yes.

- How good that you have come, Sonya.

- Here.

- What's that?

- It's a letter, Sonya. Could you please deliver it?

- To Lena? - Yes.

- Okay. I will.

- You've become like a sister to me, Sonya.

"Emotional Growth"

- You did come after all, Lena.

- Yes.

- Lena... - What?

- Lena, I wanted to tell you...

- Don't, Mitya.

Please, don't.

- Why not?

- I'm asking you, please don't.

It's better like that.

- If I don't tell you this, Lena...

I wouldn't be able to go on living.

- Dear lord...

You have been such a torture for me.

- Me?

Why?

- You just have.

Put yourself in my place. What can I do?

I knew what was going on. For the longest time.

Is it my fault that there's Gleb?

And that I like him?

Put yourself in my place. What can I do?

Why are you so quiet?

You're good, kind... I know. But so what?

- Forgive me, Lena.

- Who, me?

Forgive you?

What for, Mitya?

- Just forgive me.

And please leave.

- Okay, I will leave.

But you know, Mitya...

It really is not my fault.

- Please, leave.

- Okay.

- Mitya...

I looked for you everywhere, Mitya.

- Why?

- What's wrong, Mitya?

- With me? Nothing.

But what's wrong with you, Zagremukhina?

What do you want from me?

Are you my mother? My aunt?

Why do you keep hovering over me?

Are you too emotional, or something?

Maybe you're here to pity me?

What, did you read the note?

- What are you saying, Lopukhin? You should be ashamed!

- Why should I be ashamed? Tell me?

I do not need your pity!

Tattoo it on your forehead!

- Don't you dare yell at me, Lopukhin.

- And why not?

- Because you're an idiot, Lopukhin.

Because I love you more than anything.

- How...

- Yes, just like that...

And you're all...

"Zagremukhina, are you too emotional or something?"

What... a nitwit.

Oh my goodness!

What am I saying? What am I saying!

- I didn't know, Sonya.

I didn't know... you hear?

I honestly didn't know...

- What are we going to do now, Mitya?

- You know, Sonya...

I don't think we need to do anything.

- Oh?

- Remember Sergei was telling us about the Mona Lisa?

- I remember.

- Nobody needs anything from her. Right?

- Right...

- Remember, Sergei said...

that we must take a long look at her...

remember all her features...

and then carry her inside ourselves for all our lives.

And then all will be all right.

- What will be all right?

- All.

- We don't really need anything from each-other, isn't that right?

- Yes.

- How about you and I...

just remember this summer...

just remember it and that's all.

All right?

All right. Let's do that.

Cast:

Mitya Lopukhin: Boris Tokarev

Lena Yergolina: Tatyana Drubich

Sonya Zagremukhina: Irina Malysheva

Gleb Lunyov: Yuriy Aguilin

Kseniya Lvovna: Nina Menshikova

Sergei: Sergei Shakurov

Doctor: Arina Aleynikova

Lebedev: Andrei Zvyagin

Furikov: Yuriy Sorokin

Zalikova: Tatyana Yurinova

Radio kid: Sergei Khlebnikov

In episodes: V.Blagovidova, V.Markin, T.Kaveshnikova

S.Lopukhov, I.Potolova, O.Fedechkina, L.Fedorova

The End

Subtitles by Mr. Icon, Montreal