Original subtitles

Any resemblance to persons living or dead of the characters in this film is purely coincidental.

My native land, so unpretentious, so dear to me.

Your snow-swept expanses have brought

such joy and true compassion to my heart.

You've been so good to me.

You've made the world around me appear in all it's glory.

I myself have become much kinder.

You've filled me with a desire to do good for my people.

You've filled my heart with love

and inspired me to comprehend that which is greatness.

Et cetera. Something in this vein.

Then the prince sets out to meet his men.

I must get it down when we arrive.

- Turn it off. - No.

- I said turn it off. - No.

You're a chronic depressive. Why make it worse?

It inspires me.

Well, it depresses me.

It's Schubert, stupid!

I prefer Pakhmutova.

- Stop the car! I'm getting out! - Oh, no! I'm getting out!

Please calm down, Kim Alexeevich.

Not with him around!

Forget about Schubert and me!

Enjoy Pakhmutova! He's a stupid maniac.

- Bring him back, Sveta. - He won't listen to me.

Kim! Have you been eating nails?

Come on back! We'll perish without you.

Hell with you! I won't cry!

I like Pakhmutova.

You like Schubert. So what?

I also like you, maniac, and want you to have a good rest.

I'll rest in my grave!

Then who'll knock off those brilliant plays?

The Minister. Or a vice-minister

- Relax. Sveta and I'll do the cooking, - Get off!

and you'll unwind and listen your Schubert.

Actually, we're already relaxing. Look, how beautiful all around.

You may be! I'm working!

I happen to be driving for a 4 hours!

Relax. I would do that, but my driver's license was suspended.

Then shut up.

So he doesn't like Schubert!

What if I fall asleep when will drive?

- Then crash! And it's all over. - Exactly! Crash!

Relax. Don't be mad.

You know how I love you.

I'm on the road again.

What for?

Why change my surroundings if I myself won't ever change?

Enough. I must get on with my work.

My native land, so unpretentious, so dear to me.

Give me strength, wisdom,

and many years of joy.

Kim Alexeevich, how beautiful the legendary,

white-stoned Rus is!

These are our roots!

God, am I sick and tired

of everything.

And I'm only 54.

A good match, according to the standards of today:

a famous playwright,

beloved by the press and public, a member of presidiums�

But I'm unhappy.

I'm neurotic.

I have kidney stones.

I'm annoying about everything.

I've wasted my life.

My native land, so unpretentious

and dear to me.

You've renewed my spirit, washed away my sadness and grief, and opened my eyes to beauty.

I've become

compassionate and happy.

Turn right here.

- What's wrong? - It's a "no entry" sign.

- Go ahead. - No! It's a "no entry" sign!

- The police here are my pals. - I said, it's a "no entry" sign!

Don't worry.

He's whistling at you.

He's going to give me a ticket.

Relax.

- Igor Ivanovich, he's coming over. - I see.

Good day. I'm Jr. Lt. Sinitsyn.

Good day, what happened?

Comrade Paschin?

Yes.

- Are you here to write another book? - Here to write another book.

Homesick, eh?

- About homeplace? - Yes, homesick.

I'm a graphomaniac. I love to read!

I'm pleased to hear that.

Eh... sorry,

a graphomaniac's a person who writes like you.

- Thank you. - I'm a book lover.

Perfect.

I've your complete works. I specially like "No forgiveness"

and "Don't feel sorry for the strengths". Love this dialogy. - It's a trilogy now.

You don't say?

The third book was quite a success.

Brilliant!

All of us at the precinct are your fans.

- You write good. Excellent books. - Thank you.

Could I have your autograph?

- Igor Ivanovich? - Yes?

I don't want to annoy you.

Anything for a pal.

Your license, please.

- What for? - It's regulations, Igor Ivanovich.

Inscribe it "to Lt. Yuri Sinitsyn".

- Okay. - And this one for my girl.

Sorry, for who?

My girl. Her name's Sasha.

Engaged, eh?

No, she doesn't love me.

Sit down!

- She doesn't love a handsome senior lieutenant? - I'm only a junior lieutenant.

- Oh, sorry. - Thanks a lot.

You're welcome.

I'm Jr. Lt. Sinitsyn.

Kim Alexeevich Esenin.

He's my best friend and a famous playwright.

- He wrote "Palm Sunday" and "Krymsky Bridge." - Yes, I know.

He's been awarded many prizes.

And violates traffic rules.

Did you saw the sign?

Yes, I saw.

I asked him to. I swear he didn't want to.

- You let your friend down. - Forgive me, Yuri.

All right, but not your friend.

He's a living classic.

- Students study his works. - I can't make an exception.

Everyone's equal.

Yuri. He's more equal.

- Is that possible? - Very rarely.

I'm asking this as a special favor.

Don't, Igor Ivanovich.

Practice what you preach.

The captain of police in one of your novels

says to a pal he's caught red-handed: "We won't let friendship

interfere with business".

- What's so funny? - I was thinking of something.

Our city is a center of tourism.

Even goats here obey traffic regulations. But not your friend.

- Yura! - It's a serious offense.

- I told you so! - You're a real s.o.b.

- Who is s.o.b.? - You're! Who else?

- Am I? - You're.

Igor Ivanovich, it's a really rude.

You can be sentenced to prison for insulting an officer

- in the line of duty. - Prison for me?

- For you, Igor Ivanovich. - Are you threatening me?

It can get you 10 days.

And a year for this.

- Sit down! Sit down! - Greenhorn!

A kid trying to browbeat me!

Comrade Jr. Lt., please...

Don't pay any attention to him.

He's a disabled vet. His nerves are shot.

Let's discuss this calmly.

Discuss what?

It's like this:

last week I was at a party.

Your minister was there.

We had a friendly chat.

You know

what he said?

No.

He spoke

of ethical conduct in the junior police officers' ranks.

I see. You want me to be discharged.

You could do it,

but I'm still right.

And I'll stand up for the truth anywhere.

Good. That's the reply I expected from you

The minister'd be proud of you.

- Glad to hear that. - May we drive on?

- Yes. Good luck on your next play. - Thank you.

I'll be damned. Well-off and nervous wrecks, all of them.

Is there any vodka?

- Of course. - How many?

A liter of it.

I'll get drunk.

Igor Ivanovich, can you drink a whole liter?

No, but I'll have a fair share of it.

Hey, Manya!

- A toilet inside. - Yeah.

- And a color TV. - And a telephone.

Manya!

But no indoor plumbing. Terrific.

A cold toilet's bracing

- How groovy. - Manya!

We're here! Manya!

I'm so happy, Kim Alexeevich!

We're coming!

I envy Igor.

I wish I had his temperament. He's as bouncy as if he just had a steambath.

I wish I had.

Oh, God� There's that pain in my side again.

Everything's rotten. Why'd I ever come here?

Dear Igor, you're here!

- Let me give you a hug! - Hello, old girl!

Don't you run off and get married?

Look at that. I've brought you a suitor.

Hamming it up. I'm leaving. Now.

Do you know him?

No way... Kim Alexeevich Esenin?

My army buddy and colleague.

- I get out? - Yes.

Manya's still a maiden, so watch your step.

You're the same old wag. Maria Alexandrovna.

- Kim Esenin. - Nice to meet you.

- Meet Svetlana. - Is she your daughter?

The old fool.

She's my pupil.

I guessed she was.

Let's go inside.

Come on, Kim Alexeevich.

- I go. - Where?

I'll ride around a bit.

What about me?

- You can give our hostess a hand. - Don't be gone long,

- or I'll worry. - Okay.

I was a fool to take her along.

Hello! Olya?

Olya! It's me, Kim.

- Kim? - Yeah.

Speak up. Where are you?

On the outskirts of Vladimir.

- Is anything wrong? - No, thanks God.

- Why're you calling, then? - Why?

To hear your voice.

To find out how you are. How's your health?

Good.

Are you going away on vacation?

- Yes. - With a card of admission?

Yes.

Good.

I'm glad for you.

That's wonderful. I'm really glad!

You'll have a real rest.

Will care about your health.

- Are you really glad? - Why shouldn't I be?

- Because we've been divorced for 3 years. - And so?

I'm not your wife anymore.

You're like a mother to me.

You louse�

Why don't you ask about your son?

I know about him:

he was over to borrow money 3 days ago.

Do you know he dropped out of university?

What?

Took his papers and left.

- Left where? - To the UFO.

What the UFO?

He's singing with a group. It's called The UFO. Didn't he tell you?

He told, but what the matter? Is he nuts?

It was hell getting him into university!

I had to grovel,

to drink vodka with the dean.

I nearly died of an attack

of renal colic afterwards!

And he just left?

Yobbo! Sponger!

- Put him on! - He's not at home.

- Ah? - Not at home.

Where is he?

He's gone off to practice for a concert.

I can hear him playing!

It isn't he.

I know his voice! Put him on!

That's the recorder.

Then turn it off! Whatta hell?

I hate this crap!

I like it.

A fine mother you are!

You're ruining him! Don't you understand?

- Don't yell at me. - He thinks he's a great musician

He left an university! He'll be a nobody!

He'll be drafted! He don't know that?

Of course, he's know that.

It'll do him good. For you, btw, too.

Remember yourself when you returned after the war? I fell in love with you on the spot.

I fell in love with you on the spot.

Okay, shut up. I was a jerk to call you.

Think twice next time. Are you with a girl, as usual?

I'm here with Paschin!

Give them both my regards.

Sorry. I'm in a hurry.

- Good-bye� - Bye.

Madame Critic.

You bastard!

You rat!

Oh, God!

Why am I alive?

What do I write plays for?

And why in the world are they staged

when there's Gogol, Chekhov, Gorky, Bulgakov, Pogodin and Vampilov?

I've been washed up for ages.

Maybe I never amounted to anything.

Enough:

I won't write another line.

I'll starve to death, but I won't write.

All my hopes have been realized.

That which eluded me I've now achieved.

I've long ago Caught up.

Weariness remains. No wonder.

And thoughts of death Have plagued me for so long.

Comrade Esenin, may I climb in to warm up?

I say you're hounding me.

No, it's just a coincidence.

Thanks.

I lied about talking to the Minister.

I don't even know him.

Forgive me.

Were you trying to scare me?

Yeah.

I see.

I'm hungry.

I see.

Nothing's simpler.

The restaurant "The Cellar's" over there.

Russian cooking. The food's good.

Bon appetit.

- Good-bye. - Thank you.

How disgusting.

These constant thoughts of death, and a hearty appetite.

Follow me..

Follow me, please.

Here.

The name of this popular poet - Alexander Chizhikov...

They're French.

I can't understand a word.

And I'm supposed to be a writer!

Pushkin spoke 5 languages.

I only speak one.

I recall some English grammar. That's all.

I'm a victim of education.

I'm sure she thinks I'm an idiot.

How come she's so good at it?

She has poise and doesn't kowtow to the foreigners.

Good.

She couldn't be a local girl.

No way.

She's either from Moscow

or Leningrad.

Leningrad, most likely.

She's so unaffected.

Moscow girls don't have that knack.

Typical Leningrad girl.

And she knows how to wear clothes.

How do those Leningrad girls do it?

I'll go up and introduce myself.

Why not?

- That's it. Any questions? - No, thanks.

I'll show you a way out.

If I'm going to, it has to be now.

- Hello, Niura. - Hello, Sasha.

Hello, Sasha.

How are you?

- Were you there? - Yes.

When is it?

At 5 p.m.

At this very moment.

Have some tea, Sasha.

I relayed your message,

word for word.

This is it.

The end.

Sasha!

- Don't take it so hard. You'll get over it. - It's okay.

Time's the best healer.

What's this all about?

What happened?

And what's between her and a junior lieutenant?

- Shall we go? - In a moment.

No use standing here.

- Come on. - Thanks ever so much.

Don't mention it.

You're a real friend.

You take care.

"I'd do anything for you.

You're my poor spirit.

I heard a dog Barking loudly,

And a rooster crowed In the night.

The poor spirit Itched in me softly,

Knocking...

And I felt That I had to write". See, I memorized it.

My God. Does she write such trash?

So she's a poetess.

"Poor spirit," indeed.

- When'll I see you? - At Maria Alexandrovna's.

I'll come flying.

"The poor spirit Stirred in me softly..."

Comrade Esenin?

Have a good lunch?

Kim Alexeevich?

- Kim Alexeevich, is that you? - Yes.

- What a surprise. - Hello.

- Hello. - Please come in.

Thanks.

Please come in.

- Sasha Nikolaeva. - Kim Esenin.

We gave up waiting for you.

- Thank you. - Maria Alexandrovna!

- Yes? - Your guest is here!

Come in!

You had us worried!

Igor said you were eccentric.

It's a usual thing. You can undress here.

- Thank you. - We wouldn't start dinner without you.

Sasha, let me introduce you to your hero.

- We've already met. - Did you say "hero"?

She was in love with you as a schoolgirl.

- You were? - Yes.

Let's go. We know all about you.

You were born the day Sergei Esenin died.

Please, brush your hair.

Igor told us you ran off to war as a boy

and fought all the way to Berlin with him.

Yeah-yeah.

You have a gifted son.

He'll be a playwright.

Unfortunately, he's a university dropout.

No! What a pity.

- Don't. - It's refreshing.

Igor said your son sings

very well and composes music.

You even know about that.

We follow your triumphs.

At school, Sasha knew many of your plays by heart.

- Really, Sasha? - Yes.

I envy your memory, Sashenka.

And your patience.

Maria Alexandrovna,

is Sasha a relative of yours?

No, but she's like family.

She stayed with me after her mother died.

My pupils often did.

Now we're not as close as we used to be.

She's grown up now and leads a life of her own.

Our Drama Club put on your plays.

- Those were the days! - Yeah, were...

Your wonderful plays are an epoch in themselves!

- Just amazing... - Stop the flow, Manya.

He's hungry.

Ah, I hear you've been hoisting the bottle.

But not eating. I've been waiting for you.

And hoisting it rather hight!

Reveille, Sveta!

The gang's all here.

- After you. - You first.

- No, you! - Thank you.

Thank you.

Well, friends,

- let's have a drink. - Let's have a drink.

He's intelligent, charming, and not at all old.

A young man of 55.

He's 54 and a half.

At heart, he's even younger. Not even 30 yet.

- She should know. - Be still.

I can't be still when love's the topic.

What are you talking about?

Manya's fallen in love with you.

It's mutual.

Kim Alexeivich, my dear, let me kiss you.

With a pleasure!

Watch out, he's a bold lad, a former Guards Sergeant!

Gunner, Commander of the Order "Red Flag".

Be quiet.

Here's to Maria Alexandrovna.

- And to you. - You'll excuse me for sitting.

- Sit, don't worry. - To you, Maria Alexandrovna.

Thank you, thank you.

This is good vodka.

- It's for export. - It goes right

through you.

Are you in a hurry?

No.

Expecting someone?

Yes.

She's grown up now and leads a life of her own.

And suddenly I show up, like someone in a novel,

perhaps on the wedding eve.

The poor spirit Stirred in me softly�

Sasha,

What does "the poor spirit" mean?

I didn't know you knew about him.

I don't. Tell me.

- Who's the poor spirit? - Some other time.

It's a long story.

She's not at all in awe of me.

She's probably nervous, waiting for her cop.

Sasha,

does Jr. Lt. Sinitsyn write poetry?

Yes, unfortunately.

So, I haven't lost my touch entirely.

- Do you know him? - Yes, unfortunately.

He gave me a ticket today.

- He's my former pupil. - And my fan.

What's so funny?

We met the same way.

An year ago.

I won a car last year and learned to drive.

You won it at cards?

Of course not. In a lottery.

- For 30 kopecks? - Yes.

So you're lucky.

Very lucky.

I wonder what shook her up so today.

What happened.

That's a riddle

I'd like to solve.

Or hear the answer to. But how?

- How about a toast, Manya? - Me?

I want to propose a toast to our guest.

To you, Kim Alexeevich, to your talent,

and the way you write with ease.

And we'll be waiting for your new, exciting plays.

- Thanks, thanks. - They sustain us in every way.

Sashenka, do you remember the monologue from Act 2 of "Rye"?

Yes.

It's so passionate, so stirring!

We really need topical plays,

presenting our truly

wonderful Soviet reality.

How good!

Act 2 was alright.

All the others were, too.

It was a sincere play.

Praise him. He thrives on it.

Who doesn't?

Yeah, right...

Those weren't empty words, Igor.

I mean it.

We teachers know how badly

such plays are needed.

- The problem of responsibility! - And a lust for life.

That's his main theme!

- It's a worthy theme! - And a necessary one!

Honest.

Right.

Right!

Please pass me a pickle.

Thanks.

She isn't talking.

She's waiting for her cop.

Kim Alexeievich, will you join Igor and stay on a while?

- If we don't crowd you. - Crowd?

I'll be only too pleased.

I'll sleep on the dear old couch.

Put Sveta and the classic in the back room.

- What? - Yes, the back room.

Yes, of course.

It's quiet there.

Do you plan to write?

Yeah, I'll try.

I'll be dictating. It's the way I work.

Kim Alexeevich, may I ask what you're working on now?

A Russian historical play.

- A historical? - That's why I'm here.

- To soak up the atmosphere. - Feel the "breathe".

- What period is it set in? - The 12th century.

What's it based on?

- "The Lay of Igor's Host". - Indeed. A challenging task.

- Very-very. - Depending on how it's approached.

- How'll you stage the battle? - Nohow.

Prince Igor and his thoughts make up the play.

- That's very modern. - Very-very.

- Did you hear that, Sasha? - Yes.

Say something. This is so exciting.

- I know almost nothing about Kiev Rus. - I know nothing about Kiev Rus.

Absolutely.

Factual knowledge isn't that important to a playwright.

Oh, really?

- Yes. - Okay, I'll know about it.

Shakespeare invented his plots.

- Indeed? - The main character is what counts.

Prince Igor's a hero, despite his defeat.

What if he was an adventurist and simply doomed his men?

How can you say that?

- Do you really think so? - Yes, I think so.

- That's interesting. - Are you being sarcastic?

Not now.

Academician Likhachev considers Igor to be a hero.

Then I'm wrong.

- Academicians make mistakes too. - Wait, Igor!

Wait, wait.

Sashenka,

- what made you think as you do? - Things I read.

- What exactly? - The Russian Chronicles.

- Do you know Old Slavonic? - Yes.

But you've read more about Igor than I have.

- Undoubtedly. - I doubt it.

Be quiet!

Don't I have a right to be doubtful

in your house?

You rascal!

Nevertheless, Sasha, you're wrong.

She's right.

I haven't studied the subject yet.

My advance, and repairs on my dacha were a coincidence.

But I'll read up. I'm not a hack.

Actually, Sashenka,

Shakespeare had an easier time.

- Why? - Because he was a genius.

- It's harder on geniuses. - No it isn't

A genius writes as he wishes.

Don't you?

She doesn't respect me.

Kim Alexeevich, don't pay any attention to her.

You're a man of great talent, bold and uncompromising.

This one admires me.

Like Mayakovsky said, "To shine forever on!" -

that applies to you too.

That's going too far.

Unfortunately, Maria Alexandrovna,

all you just said doesn't apply to me.

Kim Alexeevich, it does!

- No, no. - You can't mean that.

He sure can.

I haven't been shining

for a long time and probably won't.

You're a torch bearer. You light the way for others.

Stop it, Maria Alexandrovna!

I don't even boast a flashlight.

Stop tormenting me, don't you understand?

In what way, Kim Alexeevich?

With your chatter! Your pupil's amused�

I understand your smile.

I'm a lousy playwright.

I never have and never will write anything of note.

I'm old and spent!

That's not true! You're a man of such talent!

- Oh, shut up. - No, I won't!

Kim Alexeievich, you're putting yourself down.

You're just tired and need to rest up. Say something Sasha.

Why do you keep quiet?

I think Kim Alexeevich is right.

I have nothing to add.

That's not like you.

What's made you so callous?

I'm wondering, you're my pupil.

I taught you to be just.

She is being just.

You can be proud of her.

You're the first person to tell me the truth to my face.

Saying it about yourself

isn't the same as being told.

Thank you.

Kim Alexeevich, where are you going?

May I have your hand?

I won't lie.

It was painful

to hear that,

- but most useful... - Put the vodka!

dammit.

I won't promise I'll give up writing,

though just today I swore I would.

Nor will I pledge to write something great.

But I do assure you I'll write less.

Only to earn my daily bread.

Believe me, this meager amount will be

and effort and will call for courage on my part.

The public won't forgive you!

I won't even be remembered!

Nor will the critics.

To hell with the critics!

Hell with them!

You're all cruel!

You're all heartless!

You hurt him deeply.

Very deeply.

Shame on you!

It's a great party.

It's so coarse!

Maria Alexandrovna?

Shall I clear the table?

No, Sashenka, not yet.

The artist in him suffers so.

He's hard on himself.

I can say, he's even cruel!

- Where are you going? - To wash the dishes.

Now he's gone.

Sashenka, please get me my drops.

I think

he's so like the young Chekhov.

One can't help loving him.

Do you mean Igor Ivanovich?

No, I mean Kim Alexeevich, of course.

- Drink it. - Thanks.

Chekhov was 44

when he died.

- Lie down. - And so?

It's not a matter of age,

but of essence.

Meaning that they're both dead?

One physically and the other spiritually?

You're right again, Sasha!

I drink

to my physical state soon corresponding

to that of my writing.

So he was eavesdropping, to boot.

The artist in him suffers so!

Go to him. He might do something rash.

Maria Alexandrovna, don't worry.

A genius has an easier time of it!

- Don't! It's your manuscript! - A genius has an easier time!

A genius has an easier time of it!

What is it?

Nothing special.

- He just smashed his typewriter. - What?

Dashed it down.

That was my typewriter.

Relax, Igor. Such a trifle.

It's my instrument of production.

I can't work without it.

The bastard. He's enjoying himself.

Go on, kill him.

He'll get me first.

I bet he finished off the vodka, too.

- Will you get it? - I've been running errands all day.

Open house is the password.

Come on, get in.

Yuri is coming. How are you?

The world is full of music.

Won't you join us?

- Thank you. - You're welcome.

Good evening.

- That you? - Yes.

There's a letter for you

- Who's it from? - From Sasha.

You dropped your glasses when you fell last night.

I read it, Kim Alexeevich.

If you want to hear about the poor spirit,

be at the cemetery at 10 a.m. today.

Meet me at the entrance.

P.S. Dress warmly.

Igor's sheepskin coat and boots are in the foyer.

She's in love with you.

You're crazy.

Yes, she is!

Want me to return to Moscow?

You do that.

But calm down.

Will I be seeing you?

I'll call you.

Wow!

How beautiful it is here.

And how quiet.

The air's so pure.

And to breathe so easy.

This is the place to live and work.

There was good reason why Sholokhov worked

in his native village.

Those young 'uns, too: Belov, Rasputin and Vampilov, may he rest in peace.

None of them lived in Moscow. Good for them!

What a hangover.

I wish I had a drink.

Sashenka, Sashenka!

She'll save me.

She's smart, sensitive and understanding.

I need her.

Yes, I'll settle here

and start from scratch. Honestly and uncompromisingly.

This is going to be a special day.

Perhaps I'll discover something new.

Give us a hand, pal. Will you?

Sure.

- Want some? - Yeah.

Come here.

- We drink from the bottle. - That's okay.

Down to here.

- The ground's like a rock. - Like cast iron.

- It's winter. - Drink.

Have a berry.

- It's sour. - Thanks.

- Come on. - Where to?

To bury the corpse.

- Sashenks, at last. - Hello, Kim Alexeevich.

- Sorry I'm late. - It's okay.

The poor spirit is Alexander Chizhikov,

a forgotten peasant poet who died in 1934.

He was nicknamed Birdie in derision

- for regarding... - Thanks.

himself as a bard of the new way of life,

though doomed to obscurity.

I'm writing a book on him and collecting his poems.

They're often clumsy, but show a spark of real talent.

Look at that.

He wrote this epitaph for a rural schoolteacher.

"She taught the village children,

"Drawing them from dark to light.

"Her one reward now, sadly, is eternal night.

"So rest in peace, Dear toiler, In the silence, as we weep,

"With birch trees Just like lyres, Singing of eternal sleep."

"The birches like lyres".

- Writing came easily to him. - Oh, no.

And he had a speech defect.

"Poor spirit." You picked a good name for him.

That's what he called himself.

"I heard a dog barking loudly,

"And a rooster crowed In the night.

"The poor spirit Stirred in me softly,

"And I felt That I had to write."

He wrote that in the fire tower at night.

In his poverty-stricken old age, he was a fire lookout.

The tower's next to Maria Alexandrovna's house.

Yes, I saw that.

Your writing about him will draw attention to his poetry.

He'll find a following.

I'm sure of it.

I'm not.

I know he will, Sashenka.

He was tormented not only by the question of transformation of life on earth.

He wrote: "At my gentle muse's behest,

"I send my spirit off into the planetary ocean,

"In search of a reply to a question that bothers me: what is life like among the stars,

"on Mars and Neptune? Do they dream of an idol?

Is there poverty there?"

I think it's here.

I can't recognize the place under all this snow.

Poor dear.

Digging like a puppy.

- Let me help you. - Thank you.

Thank you, it's enough.

Once more.

That's it.

Look at that.

"Death rolled up to him as a pea."

The boy was shooting peas.

One went down his windpipe, and he suffocated.

"Death as a pea." Terrific.

- It's horrible. - Why?

- The boy died. - And a pea did it.

Sashenka, you had me dress warmly,

but look at you.

- You'll catch cold. - Merci, monsieur.

- Vous etes tres aimable. - What'd you say?

You're very kind.

Oui, madame.

�Bon, let's go on. �S'il vous plait.

Unfortunately, he drank too much.

He wasn't appreciated. He was impatient.

"It's time we came out of the woods,

"Though the new road Won't be an easy one. To follow the ellipse of progress

"And shake off the old world.

"Son of the 19th century,

"I've outlived three tsars

"And three revolutions.

"Yet, we're savages still.

"Crippled by fate, My days are waning

"Friends! Forward, Into the light!"

- Where's Chizhikov's grave? - Not here.

It's deep in the woods, where he wrote his poetry,

and where his modest muse visited him.

His diary is most interesting.

It reads like poetry.

"One night, as I stood in the fire tower,

"my situation suddenly seemed ludicrous to me.

And I thought,

"Here I was, high above the town, wide awake,

"while they were sound asleep in their little houses below.

"I had a crazy idea then:

"I'd wake the town up,

"even though there was no fire.

"What if I sounded the alarm?

"I'd say: 'Citizens,

"'look at your poet.

"I'm all alone here,

"and I don't have a single kindred soul on earth."

That goes for me, too.

No.

Unfortunately, it doesn't.

What a bitch.

I'm grateful to you, Sashenka.

What for, Kim Alexeevich?

For telling me about Chizhikov.

I can go on and on about him.

Thank you for listening.

You're my angel, Sashenka.

You've suggested a theme.

I'll write about Chizhikov.

You can't imagine what this means to me now.

- Are you serious? - Of course.

I hope you succeed, Kim Alexeievich,

Hope you succeed...

I've a lot of interesting data on him.

- I'd like you to have a look at it. - Thank you.

Thank you...

You're my muse, Sashenka.

Why, you're frozen.

It's unbelievable, Kim Alexeevich.

People should know about a man like Chizhikov.

- It's just... - They will!

What about Prince Igor?

I'll ditch him.

I'll write about your poor spirit.

It'll be a play about the dignity of man,

the power of his spirit and talent,

about those who are high up in a tower,

while others are asleep in their little houses below.

There'll be three of us now.

Thank you.

She is an angel.

I want to sound the alarm, too!

To awaken others,

though there is no fire.

How well said!

Chzhikov died, his talent unrealized,

but the flame inside him is our heritage.

I'll write of you, seeking a link between past and present.

The thread won't be broken. And I'll sound the alarm!

You've given me a theme, Sashenka!

Sasha!

Wait! I lost my overshoe again.

Damn! Where can it be? Sasha!

Where'd she go?

That's downright mean.

No hi, no bye.

I'm no kid, to ditch me like this.

Indeed� She's clearly given me the slip.

I wonder why?

And she went off with that gravedigger.

He knows every single grave here.

It should make for fascinating conversation.

She thinks she's smart. Doesn't like my plays.

An emancipated woman! And I fell for it.

Serves me right for being such an idiot.

Well, that's that. I'll say my good-byes and return to Moscow.

Too bad I hurt Sveta's feelings this morning.

Oh, no.

"Theme:

"Provincial Encounters". Supposing it's so.

Then why'd she run away from me?

Why didn't she come here?

The old lady was expecting her.

Why doesn't she answer her phone?

Is she in love with me?

I reawakened her first love for me.

And she's trying to escape.

Not only from me, but from herself.

But one cannot escape from oneself.

She's suffering.

Perhaps even crying.

While I'm pretending to work.

I must go to her.

Comfort her.

"'Your license, please,' the junior lieutenant said.

"'Certainly,' the writer replied as politely.

"'Sorry, but I'll have to give you a ticket.'

"'That's only fair.

I admire you.'

"They parted friends."

- Igor. - Go away!

Your is crashed! It's mine now!

I just wanted to ask you Sasha's address.

- What for? - I want to see her.

- Ask the old lady. - She's sound asleep.

No, I'm not.

It's 4 Serafimovich st.,

apt. 10.

- 4-10? - Yes.

- Thanks, Maria Alexandrovna. - You're welcome.

- Did you finish it? - Yes.

No drafts. The fink just rattles 'em off.

Why the hell did I come to see her at night?

She's gone to bed.

What'll I say?

"Good evening"? That's stupid.

Stupid old fool.

I should see a shrink.

What if her traffic cop's here?

No, that's unlikely.

What do I care?

Then why am I shaking?

I can't have fallen in love.

Impossible.

Well, here goes!

Wow.

May I come in?

Something's wrong.

Are you there, Sasha?

Anybody here?

Who's there?

She doesn't run much of a household.

That's the modern, intellectual woman for you.

She has a car, but the ice box is empty.

We've so many

socially responsible women.

"Each person's life is a story unto itself.

"Why not write about an ordinary person?

"We meet so many poor spirits, doomed to oblivion,

"in the course of our lives.

"So many burn themselves out in the backwoods,

"They're blazing bonfires and in the light of their wasted lives

"people regard each other more honestly, more kindly."

No, that's not about me.

Sasha was right.

I'm no blazing bonfire.

My life began as an unusual story,

but what have I done with it?

Ah, she's back.

She's not alone. Her cop's here.

What a mess.

Why's the door open and the light on?

I went to return my neighbor's paper.

Her daughter had cut his finger.

Thanks.

I forgot to lock it

in the commotion.

Who's he?

You'll be burglarized.

The voice is familiar.

- Let me help you. - No!

Let me enjoy helping you one last time.

Thanks.

It's the gravedigger!

What's going on? Why's he here at night?

What's he to her? A brother, friend or lover?

Want some tea?

Here's where they find me.

- I'll have some later. - When?

After I'm settled, I'll have my fill.

- I need to go. - Go then.

- Good bye. - Good bye.

Who was the guy with the shopworn face?

He means me. A perfect description.

Kim Esenin.

Oh, the play builder.

He doesn't look as musty on his studio photographs.

He's an unhappy, lonely man.

He was dying for a drink. He's a living corpse.

Right again.

That gravedigger knows a corpse when he sees one.

They've left.

Why'd you tell Sinitsyn you were leaving yesterday?

You weren't.

I didn't want you to suffer another day.

You did it for my sake?

Yes.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you today.

Did you think I'd changed my mind?

No way.

Why's she so worried about him?

So he's leaving.

He'll come back.

She dislikes my plays, but likes a lousy gravedigger.

- I haven't fed the cat. - It can wait.

She's hungry.

Did you say good bye to Nikiforovich?

Imagine, he came to see me last night.

- Last night? - Yes.

He stayed an hour and wasn't afraid to.

Though why should he be?

He wished me well and even shed a tear.

Remember the time he visited us kids in camp?

He was a famous pilot.

Medals all over his chest.

And played the accordion.

By the campfire.

Then it began to rain.

Those were good times.

They were.

You were Chairman of our Young Pioneer detachment.

And you were the junior nurse.

I ran into that bitch Katerina yesterday,

just as we were carrying out Mitrokhina.

She streaked off so fast,

she nearly got run over.

We nearly dropped her.

- Who? - Mitrokhina, the deceased.

Andriusha, Katerina's a lonely,

unhappy woman.

To you, everyone's lonely and unhappy.

Not everyone.

You could

have written a hundred books.

- Stubbornness killed the first. - Yes, I was stubborn.

- You should have fought them. - Whom? Fought whom?

Aren't you tired of repeating this over and over?

I found Radischev's letters! Nobody else did!

Katerina had nothing to do with them.

Everyone knows that.

So.

I'd never agree to her being my co-author.

And so you quit and became a gravedigger?

You know why

I became a gravedigger: I was fired.

That's not the only reason.

You wanted to make a scandal.

Actually, it's no worse than other jobs.

It is. It was a challenge to society.

You could've been a janitor or a guard.

Guarding's not in my nature.

But burying is?

You've finally begun to talk like all the rest of them!

Where'd you go?

I'm going to the station.

I'm going with you. I'll just see you off.

You've said all you had to.

America holds no promise for you.

You'll perish there!

You don't even speak English.

You speak 2 languages. So what?

You won't get along with anyone there, either.

I'm going to Israel, at the invitation of my uncle.

- But you won't go there. - I will!

- Why...? - Shut up!

- Why lie to me? - Shut up!

Please! Don't go!

Please, Andrei! Don't go!

Please, Andrei!

Please, Andrei! Don't go!

If you loved me, you'd go with me.

I can't! I don't want to.

You've made your choice.

- If you loved me... - Calm down!

- If you loved me... - You crazy!

If you loved me...

You'd stay here with me!

Darling, we'll both perish there!

I'll make it there� It's here that I can't.

Everything's a lie here!

And the truth's there?

I don't need to lie there.

You're such a fool!

- You're the fool! - No!

You're the fool!

You have to lie there to survive.

- I'll survive. - You'll die of loneliness.

You'll die of loneliness.

I'd rather die of loneliness there than here!

Calm down, Andrei. Wait!

Calm down. What're you saying?

- What're you saying? - I hate everything here.

That's it.

No one saw me.

I'm going straight back to Moscow.

Igor'll bring my things.

It's great to be alive,

to breathe, sleep, eat.

Yesterday's confession, my overly frank colleagues,

and my new plans for the future

stem from my illness.

It's the effect of uric acid on the blood.

How rotten I feel about it all.

It's as if I killed a swallow.

I was mad 'cause she didn't love me.

I heard her hit her head when she fell.

But I stepped right over her. Carefully.

Aren't I a careful one?

I talk about love, but I only love myself.

I should've written about that.

It'd be the truth.

Sashenka...

It's me, Kim!

- Can you hear me? - Yes, Kim Alexeevich!

Hello?

What's happened? Where are you?

Say something!

Oh, what'll I do? Where are you?

THE THEME

Written by Gleb Panfilov, Alexander Chervinsky Directed by Gleb Panfilov Director of Photography: Leonid Kalashnikov Production Designer: Marksen Gaukhman-Sverdlov Music by Vadim Bibergan Sound Recordists: E. Indlina, E. Bazanov

Featuring: Mikhail Ulyanov as Kim Esenin Inna Churikova as Sasha Evgeny Vesnik as Igor Evghenia Nechayeva as Maria Alexandrovna Sergei Nikonenko as Sinitsyn Natalia Seleznyova as Svetlana Stanislav Liubshin as the Gravedigger The poems and diary excerpts are by A. Baldyonkov, a peasant poet of Palekh Village