What's there?
Where are you going? Hey!
O. Latunsky
Hey!
BASED ON THE NOVEL "THE MASTER AND MARGARITA" BY M.A. BULGAKOV
Comrade Latunsky, open the door!
No need to break anything!
What's happening here?
You're flooding us, that's what!
When will there finally be peace in this house!
Mom!
Don't be scared, little one.
It's just the boys breaking windows.
Auntie!
Where are you?
I'm not here.
You're dreaming of me.
Lie down, put your hand under your cheek,
and I'll tell you a fairy tale.
There was an auntie who had no children,
and no happiness either.
And at first she cried a lot,
then she became bitter.
Margarita put the hammer on the windowsill and flew out the window.
There was chaos near the house.
On the paved sidewalk,
littered with broken glass,
people were running and shouting.
In the opposite houses,
in all the windows, dark silhouettes of residents appeared,
trying to understand... You keep writing and writing.
...about love, at least.
But not only.
Go on, get to bed.
Oh, it's good that it's about love.
Are you there too, Praskovya Fyodorovna?
Oh, come on.
Is Dr. Stravinsky there?
Of course.
How could he not be?
He's got a whole storyline with a patient.
Which one? With you, perhaps?
With a proletarian poet.
Lately, every patient is a poet.
It's like we're in a madhouse.
And Gorky, always on the radio, talking.
The Writers' Union.
At least let me read it afterward.
I wonder what you've written about us.
Definitely. I'll just finish up.
Not much longer now.
Just like that.
Alright, alright, get some rest.
Oh, what a klutz.
Oh, just keeps writing and writing.
It's alright, it's alright.
We'll read it all.
Sleep was creeping up on the poet.
When suddenly, the grate silently slid aside.
A mysterious figure appeared on the balcony.
Bathed in the full moon's light.
And threatened Ivan with her finger.
Shh-shh-shh-shh.
May I sit?
Your profession?
A poet.
And your last name?
Homeless.
He-he.
So, you don't like my poems?
I really don't like them.
Which ones have you read?
How did you end up here?
The thing is, a year ago I wrote about Pontius and Pilate.
Are you a writer?
I am the Master.
She sewed it for me with her own hands.
She?
What's your last name?
I no longer have a last name.
I've renounced it.
As I did with everything else in life.
ONE YEAR AGO
Oh, hello.
Hello.
PILATE
Sign here?
Yes.
Interested in contemporary drama?
Uh-huh.
Gala.
Well, Gala.
It's the main production of the season.
I've just arrived in Moscow recently.
And, by the way, an actress.
I want to get a job in your theater.
It's not exactly my theater.
All the best.
Hello.
Excuse me for this.
You're in the writers' union, right?
Suppose I am.
Just tonight, in their restaurant, they're playing real American jazz.
Hello.
Greetings.
And you probably want me to invite you, right?
Oh, hello.
Hello.
Moscow is your city.
Thank you.
They're watching you, comrade playwright.
Hello.
My apologies.
Then, until this evening.
It starts at 8 p.m.
Hello.
Everyone is waiting for you.
Has Yefim Romanovich already arrived?
He won't be coming.
Hello.
And how are we going to do the rehearsal without the director?
I'll come by later.
The actors have learned their lines.
And you, if needed, can correct them tomorrow.
Hegemon.
The defendant from Galilee.
Forward, prisoner.
Forward.
So it was you, Yeshua Ha-Nozri, who incited people to destroy the Temple of Jerusalem?
Good man, believe me, the Roman procurator
is to be called Hegemon. Do you understand me? Or should I strike you?
Eh, I speak your language, Hegemon.
Yes.
Good.
So you intended to destroy the temple building and called the people to do it?
I, good one, I, Hegemon, never intended to destroy the temple building
and never incited anyone to such a senseless act.
You are a liar.
That's what the people testify.
These good people, Hegemon, got all mixed up about what I said.
I'm starting to fear that this confusion will go on for a very long time.
Stop pretending to be insane.
There's enough recorded about you to hang you.
No, no, Hegemon.
He walks.
One walks with a parchment.
And writes continuously.
But once I looked into this parchment and was horrified.
Absolutely none of what is written there did I say.
And what did you actually say about the temple in the crowd at the bazaar?
I, Hegemon, said that the temple of the old faith would fall and a new temple...
Of Truth
What is truth?
The truth is that your head hurts.
And it hurts so badly that you cowardly contemplate death.
You have lost faith in people.
But your suffering will end now.
The headache will pass.
There, it's all over now.
And I'm extremely glad about that.
Untie his hands.
Excuse me.
What? Sorry.
What do you mean, sorry?
Eh?
What?
Comrades, what's happening?
Don't you see we have a rehearsal going on here?
We were told there won't be a performance.
What?
I don't understand anything.
How can that be?
Kind people, put the props back in place.
Have you lost your minds?
Can't you see?
On stage is a People's Artist of the USSR.
What's happening?
We were told to dismantle the set.
What?
And who said that?
What's there?
Is that... Me?
Here, please, Comrade Rimsky.
Ah, here.
The latest news.
Igor!
It's alright, it's alright.
They are dismantling the set right now.
The play was removed from production by order of the Ministry of Education.
But we passed all the committees.
Well, don't worry about it.
Today it's removed, tomorrow they'll restore it.
What's the reason?
I only deal with financial matters.
- Comrade Rimsky? - Ah, yes, yes.
It's all with Comrade Likhodeev.
Yes, but he's not in.
He's on a business trip for now.
Again?
It's been a week and a half.
How can I find him?
Pigit's House on Sadovaya, you know.
Apartment 50.
And that's all, thank you.
Tremble, you white scum.
The day of reckoning has come.
Fire!
Remember how this is done?
I'm here to see Stepan Bogdanovich.
Comrade Likhodeev is not here.
I was told he's here.
Yaltun.
He's not here.
Grunya!
Water!
Stepan Bogdanovich!
Grunya!
He's not receiving guests.
Water!
Grunya!
Mikhail Alexandrovich?
How did you know I live here?
I didn't know.
I'm here for Likhodeev.
We're neighbors now.
The theater director and your editor in one apartment. Convenient. - But he's not receiving guests.
How is he not receiving visitors? He very much is.
What kind of chaos have you created here?
And why are we sitting? The meeting is about to start.
What meeting?
Oh, that...
I've only just moved in.
The previous tenants moved out somewhere.
And you shabby intellectuals will be moving out soon, too.
Grabbing three rooms each, but you won't be living it up for much longer!
This apartment is not good. Not good!
Annushka. Useful. Took the struggle of the proletariat too close to heart.
Mikhail Sanych, Pilate was removed from production.
But the main thing is not to worry. We always go through different departments with the theater.
If the play was removed, everyone will rush to read the play it was based on.
And here you go, dear comrades, here it is, printed in our latest issue.
I declare to you responsibly, as the vice-chairman of the Union,
if there were any problems, I would be the first to know.
We thank Nastasya Lukinishna for the report on the work on the collection of sea stories.
Navigator George, we are looking forward to it.
The next item on the agenda.
The debate on the artistic and political components of the play "Pilate."
The author is invited to the stage.
Please, take a seat.
Here?
Yes.
Critique Osov Semenovich Latunsky is invited.
To start, I would like to remind the gathered literary comrades,
that the task of Soviet criticism is to reveal the objective, class meaning of literary works.
Now to the matter at hand.
At a time when the party and government are making tremendous efforts to once
And for all rid the country of harmful reactionary and religious prejudices,
a member of the Union of Soviet Writers engages in creating an apology for religious obscurantism.
Writes a play about Pontius Pilate and Jesus Christ,
timidly renamed by him here as Yeshua Ha-Nozri.
Thus, under the guise of historical material, he criticizes Soviet power.
Allow me.
I haven't finished.
Please sit down.
I'll quote this very Ha-Nozri.
All power is violence over people.
What does the author want to say with this?
That the power of the proletarian dictatorship is also violence?
Yes, violence.
But it's a necessary one.
And necessary.
And so it is in everything, comrades.
Pilate is a politically harmful and extremely dangerous work,
that has no place in Soviet literature.
- We continue the debate. - Comrades, a little impromptu.
How did our Pilate go to work at the commissariat?
You're a clown! You're a clown!
Comrade Bezdomny, we have no time for impromptus now.
We have an approved meeting agenda.
Alright, one more little one.
Why do we need paradise?
We will go to the Crimea!
And what about the tickets to Crimea?
Yes, and still, on the housing issue, comrades, I would like to clarify.
Poprikhin, will you calm down or should we remove you?
- I'm calming down. - Thank you.
We continue the debate.
The floor is given to Boris Petrovich Maygel.
How did it happen that the reactionary play "Pilate"
made it to publication and then to production?
Because in the absence of fish, even "Pilate" is a fish.
But our task is not to prohibit it to the joy of our enemies,
who only wait to show that there is allegedly no freedom of speech in the USSR.
Our task is to help the author.
To direct the author onto the true path of serving the working people.
Because, as Comrade Lenin said, wise is not the one who makes no mistakes.
Wise is the one who quickly corrects them.
Comrade Maygel!
May I?
Please, Comrade Berdyus.
First of all, as the editor,
who allowed this
play to be published,
I want to offer my sincere apologies to my colleagues
for the demonstrated political shortsightedness.
Forgive me.
I propose to immediately withdraw the entire issue from sale.
And I am confident that with proper work, tomorrow we can revise
the play to the ideologically correct direction.
All that remains is to hear the author's own opinion.
May I speak?
Of course.
Please, speak.
Well, I've already written my play.
Alright.
And why don't you use your talent
to write something that really interests Soviet readers?
For example, about the labor achievements of the people.
Well, it turned out that I did not labor at a factory.
I did not go down to the mine.
Didn't mow oats.
How can I write about what I do not know?
As far as I know, you also weren't in ancient Judea.
Well, with your permission, I'm a historian.
Then, write about the history of the revolution.
I'm afraid you won't like that either.
Comrades, I have another little impromptu.
Comrade Bezdomny, please stop.
But it's a small one.
A Soviet poet is not interested in Christ.
A Soviet poet is interested in a pump. (A play on words between "Christos" and "nasos" in Russian)
Gasification, electrification, oil production!
That's our spiritual food!
Comrade!
Where are you going?
There.
Buddy. Everything you said was right.
I wanted to support you but didn't get the chance.
That was powerful.
Or stupid.
It depends on how you look at it. Dialectics.
Don't look then.
Well, if it comes to that, we'll write them a novel about a collective farm.
How the rye was harvested.
Here you go.
Such a one, it seems to me, can be knocked out in a week.
You're in a resort here.
People used to live here, huh?
What a fat cat.
What's his name, bourgeois?
Behemoth.
Yours?
Comes to visit sometimes.
Just like me.
Mind your head.
And in my communal apartment, they hung up a bathroom schedule.
Can you imagine?
Eh.
And I'm a creative person, I can't go to the bathroom on a schedule.
And you have a writer's paradise here.
After today's purgatory, I'm afraid they won't even let me translate children's rhymes.
And there will be nothing to pay for paradise.
But please, don't bury yourself before your time.
Their strength is in our fear.
In a week or two, everyone will forget about everything.
You just need a distraction.
Look.
For example, today in the restaurant, this...
Jazz.
I promised to take her there.
Who?
An extraordinarily ambitious young actress.
Arriving to conquer the capital.
My favorite type.
But not mine.
I'll save you.
I'll take it upon myself.
What wouldn't one do for a friend.
Welcome.
Garnisage.
Spinker.
With a song.
Hallelujah.
Please.
RESTAURANT
Good evening.
Please.
Hello.
Hallelujah.
No.
Orchestra.
To the Soviet man.
Hallelujah.
Meet Aloizy Mogarych.
Screenwriter.
Bravo.
Pleased to meet you.
Ah, please.
Join us.
Yes?
Champagne.
Yes.
Just so you know, I can't have much.
I have.
Champagne gives me little devils in my head.
I'm willing to take the risk.
Wait for us for a couple of brief moments.
Champagne!
Listen, I whispered around. Everyone is literally in shock.
Lots of sympathetic people.
In short, there's a proposal to go out.
Go out where?
To a rally against censorship for the freedom of literary creation.
I sympathize. I'm with you.
Thank you.
Tomorrow at 10 a.m. in front of the House of the Unions.
And here tomorrow at ten, the May Day, Lord forgive, demonstration?
Exactly.
Please.
When else, if not now?
If we stay silent now, everyone will end up like Dumas.
We will win. We will conquer. Everything.
Let's stand up for our talent to be surpassed only by our beauty.
For our talent to overcome only by our beauty.
Let's drink!
Oh, isn't that the director of your theater, right?
Likhodeev.
Yes, that's Stepan Bogdanovich.
I just need to talk to him.
Comrade, show your ticket, please.
From today it's annulled. Please, leave.
What does this mean?
Please, come this way.
Thank you.
You wouldn't happen to be a writer? I was told this is a restaurant for writers.
A writer.
And you, judging by the accent, are from Germany?
Yes, from Germany too.
And what are you doing here?
I came to familiarize myself with your remarkable Soviet experiment.
For work or for the soul?
For me, it's one and the same.
A tough day.
My play was removed from production today.
The magazine in which it was published is being withdrawn from sale.
And just now, my Writers' Union membership was revoked.
Other than that, all is well.
And what happened to you?
For doing what was allowed yesterday but is forbidden today.
A new country.
New rules.
And the people, are they new?
Are they all new too?
New people.
New people are just forgotten old ones.
You know, as far as I'm aware, no country in the history of mankind
has ever tried to get rid of God and build a society
that would preach atheism as a religion.
It must somehow change people, don't you think?
I can imagine now how all this looks
through the eyes of a foreigner.
Now imagine how it looks from there.
Or from there.
It could make a good story plot.
The Devil, whom no one believes in, decides to personally visit Moscow.
He would put things in order.
They would never publish that.
Then who should I write for?
Write so that they don't publish you, but reprint you.
You know who you remind me of?
It's time, Professor.
Coming, Comrade Koroviev.
By the way, do you want to join me at the reception?
Not today, if you don't mind.
I would like to have a chat with you when there's a chance.
Think about it.
I plan to be in Moscow for a while longer.
Where is everyone?
Everyone promised to come.
One for all!
All for one!
They're probably sleeping off yesterday.
I'll stop by your place in a few days.
There I was, walking down this May boulevard, thoughts racing in my head.
Maybe I should start writing opera librettos?
Well then, librettos it is.
I bitterly regretted abandoning science and dooming myself to an uncertain existence.
But God knows.
Only my love for literature was the reason for this.
- Excuse me, can I pass through here?
- Tverskaya is closed until the end of the parade.
A little flag, a flower?
I'll pass.
Maybe I should write a letter to be allowed to leave the country?
Why would they hold back in the USSR a writer whose works cannot exist in the USSR?
- Yes, but the thing is... - The passage is closed.
A five-year plan in four years.
There's no such writer who would stay silent.
If he fell silent, he wasn't real.
If a real one falls silent, he perishes.
Imagine, thousands of people walking down Tverskaya.
But I assure you, she saw only me.
And she looked not just anxiously, but somehow even painfully.
I was struck not so much by her beauty as by...
...the extraordinary, never-before-seen loneliness in her eyes.
Do you like my flowers?
No.
Don't you like flowers at all?
I like flowers.
Just not these.
What else do you like?
The sea.
I've never been there, actually.
How can you love something you've never seen?
Are you a writer?
You guessed it.
And you?
An angel?
An angel.
More like a witch.
And then I realized that no one ever appealed to me
and no one will ever appeal to me as much as this woman.
I knew this on the very day we found ourselves,
unaware of the city by the Kremlin wall...
...and talked as if we had parted yesterday.
As if we had known each other for many years.
Aren't you afraid to say such things to a stranger?
It's easy and pleasant to tell the truth.
So, you're a writer. And what do you write?
Nothing right now.
I have a new idea, but it's doomed.
All the more interesting. Will you tell me?
This is one of my favorite places in Moscow.
But soon it will change too.
Imagine, when all these great constructions are finished,
there will be huge houses and monuments here.
And trams will run along Bronnaya there.
Here along the new Patriarch's Ponds walks the editor of a literary magazine
Mikhail Berlioz and his young companion, the poet Ivan Ponyrev, writing under the pseudonym Bezdomny.
And after Alexandrovsky Garden I invited her to Patriarch's Ponds.
To Patriarch's Ponds?
Right there, that's where it all happened.
What exactly?
Right there, we met him.
The Consultant.
I beg you, tell me.
They approached the water booth, wanted to buy mineral water, but there was none.
They drank apricot water. And that's where they met him.
Who?
Him.
The point is that long before any Jesus a huge number of sons of God were born.
Berlioz commissioned Bezdomny to write an anti-religious poem for the next book.
And now he was reading something like a lecture to the poet to give him some directions.
None of these ancient historians has any mention of Christ.
Although both lived at the same time as the supposed years of his life.
That there is no Eastern religion in which, as a rule,
an immaculate virgin would not give birth to a God.
Peasants, inventing nothing new, did exactly the same
and created their Jesus, who never lived.
And that's what you need to focus on.
You've opened my eyes. I'll rewrite everything.
Excuse me.
Please.
Sorry to intrude and, not being acquainted, allow myself...
However, the topic of your scholarly discussion is so interesting that I couldn't...
I'll sit down for a short while.
And if I heard correctly, did you just claim that Jesus never existed?
Yes, you heard right. That's exactly what we were discussing.
How interesting. Did you agree with your interlocutor?
- Completely. - Wonderful.
So, does that mean you both are atheists?
Of course, we are atheists.
I am sincerely grateful.
Wait a moment. What are you thanking him for now?
For very important information that, as a traveler, I find extremely interesting.
But what about the proofs of God's existence,
in which, as you know, there exist, at least, five?
Kant's proofs.
They're also unconvincing.
Listen, if you take your Kant for these
proofs, grab him by one spot and off to Solovki with him,
for three years...
No, no, no. The question
Off to Solovki with him.
However, if you say there is no God,
then who is controlling all this: people,
lives, and generally the order in the world?
It's the person himself with these very hands who controls.
Yes, you'd say that about humans too.
A human is incapable of planning even for a laughably short term of a thousand years.
He can't even guarantee his own next day.
Imagine, you got sick.
Let's say, a mild form of cancer.
And it's already not funny for you.
And it can get worse.
A person slipped and fell under a tram.
You surely wouldn't claim that this person arranged this for himself?
Humans are mortal.
And nobody disputes that.
Of course, mortal.
But that's not the worst part.
Much worse is that he dies suddenly.
And has no idea what he will do this evening.
That's an exaggeration.
I know my plans for this evening.
Well, of course, unless a brick falls on my head on Bronnaya.
A brick.
No, not like that.
Nothing will fall on you there.
So don't worry.
You will die another death.
Do you know which one?
The head.
They will cut off your head.
Who?
Enemies?
Interveners?
This evening I will go to my place on Sadovaya.
That's impossible.
Why is that?
Because Annushka has already bought sunflower oil.
And not just bought, but even spilled it.
What does sunflower oil have to do with this?
And who is this Annushka?
Comrade, have you, by any chance, ever been
in psychiatric hospitals?
Yes, I have been, Ivan Nikolayevich.
How do you know my name?
Please, who doesn't know you.
You'd like a smoke, I presume, as you please.
Our brand, the blue one, why?
Please.
And there I thought that this consultant is not an intourist but a spy.
Are you German?
You speak Russian well.
What is your specialty?
Well, where have you settled, where will you live?
In your apartment.
And in your opinion, does the devil also not exist?
Listen, enough already, right?
There is no devil.
How interesting it turns out here.
Why are you startled, you have nothing.
Professor, please sit for a minute with Comrade Bezdomny.
I need to make a phone call.
Then we will see you off.
Call, go ahead and call, of course, yes.
I will just say for goodbye.
The devil exists, believe me.
I ask no more of you.
Keep in mind there is evidence for this.
Today.
And it will now be presented to you.
Alright.
Be careful here, I will make a call and bring help.
Looking for a turnstile, citizen?
This way, please.
Straight ahead.
And exit where you need to.
Straight, straight.
Straight.
For pointing out a mistake, you'd be rewarded with a quarter liter... to put on weight...
The head rolled so far away that it was found only when it got dark.
Thank you.
You did not deceive, you really have a rich imagination.
And what's next?
And next.
Next...
I have not yet figured it out.
You absolutely must write this down.
Thank you for walking me home.
Wait.
I live in Mansurovsky Lane.
There's a wooden house, it's the only one there. There's an entrance...
I'm married.
Through the gate.
But you should write.
Write.
Chapter One.
Never talk to strangers.
One spring day, during an unusually hot sunset in Moscow, at Patriarch's Ponds,
two citizens appeared.
The first, dressed in a summer... Chapter Four.
The Chase.
The poet dashed towards the turnstile as soon as he heard the first scream.
Make way! Make way!
I dashed towards the turnstile as soon as I heard the first screams.
Of course, I immediately forgot about the mad German.
I had only one thing on my mind.
How could it be that I just talked to Berlioz,
and a minute later his head...
Come on, come on.
Has anyone seen the head? Did anyone see the head?
Someone spilled oil here by the turnstile.
Annushka spilled the oil.
It's Misha! It's Misha!
It's Misha!
Get out of here!
It's him!
There!
It's the consultant. He killed him! Take him down!
Stand still! He's getting away!
Stop him!
No cats allowed. Shoo. Get down. I'll call the police.
There's a cat on the roof!
He's a spy!
Comrades! Help, there's a spy!
Catch up and overtake, young man!
Quiet! Quiet!
How did the police let him through the streets!
He's appeared!
Who has appeared, Comrade Bezdomny?
The consultant!
And this consultant is now at Patriarch's Ponds.
He killed Misha Berlioz!
He killed our Misha!
Mikhail Alexandrovich is dead!
He was killed!
We must catch the consultant! You understand, he will cause trouble!
Unspeakable trouble!
Guilty! Guilty!
Can you be more specific, how did he kill?
Who killed?
The consultant!
We must catch him!
You sit! You dance! You've set it up!
That's right!
Now, look!
Here's the thing, citizens!
Call the police immediately!
Demand!
Five motorcycles with machine guns!
Lord, calm down!
Oh please, what are you doing!
Exactly you, I will not spare!
And these are mine?
My literary brothers!
That's how I ended up here!
But you, my dear, are to blame for everything!
You shouldn't have behaved so loosely and even rudely with him!
But who is he, after all?
Yesterday at Patriarch's Ponds you met with Satan!
That can't be! There's no such thing as Satan!
Of all people, you should be the last to talk about it!
You are sitting, as you understand, in a psychiatric
hospital and still argue that he doesn't exist!
But he is, God knows what he's doing!
He must be caught immediately!
You've already tried, and it'll be on you!
As for what he's doing, rest assured!
How unfortunate that you met him, not me!
Why do you need him?
I'm coming!
So, are you writing?
I am writing.
Yes, I just finished a new chapter.
Here we have a construction, now there's construction everywhere.
And here, roses... This way, down here.
Excuse me, it's not exactly tidy here.
Would you like some tea?
So, there's no tea, we ran out of tea.
Can I read it?
Please.
Have you thought of a title yet?
Well, for now, Prince of Darkness.
Good that it's for now.
The Great Chancellor?
I'll think about it.
I know why you call him Woland.
It's one of Mephistopheles' names in Goethe.
I am part of the power that forever wishes evil and forever does good.
I won't disturb you.
Excuse me, I apologize for being unfamiliar with you,
but the subject of your scholarly discussion is so interesting that I......who never lived!
Please.
Keep in mind, Jesus did exist indeed.
But some evidence is needed, isn't it?
No evidence is needed, it's much simpler.
In a white cloak, with a bloody lining, shuffling with a cavalry gait,
early in the morning of the 14th day of the spring month of Nisan,
entered the covered colonnade between the two wings of Herod the Great's palace,
the procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilate, appeared.
Four criminals, arrested in Jerusalem,
for murder, incitement to rebellion, and insults to the laws and faith,
were sentenced to the shameful punishment, to be hanged on crosses.
So, which of the two criminals does the Sanhedrin intend to release?
Barabbas or Ha-Notsri?
And this execution will now take place on the Bald Mountain.
The names of the criminals are Dismas, Gestas, Barabbas, and Ha-Notsri.
Barabbas! Barabbas!
What is truth?
Are you a great healer?
No, I am not a healer.
Tell me, why do you always use the words "good people"?
Do you call everyone like that? Everyone.
Are there no evil people in the world?
But only three of them will be executed,
because, according to the law and custom, in honor of the Passover holiday, one of the condemned,
by the choice of the lesser Sanhedrin and by the affirmation of Roman authority,
the magnanimous Caesar-emperor returns his contemptible life.
The Sanhedrin requests the release of Barabbas.
Their crimes are in no way comparable.
If one is guilty of murder, then the other is merely guilty of spouting nonsense.
It's stuffy today, isn't it?
Do you know Judas Iscariot?
Yes, I've met Judas Iscariot.
He's a very kind and curious man.
The name of the one who will now be released in your presence.
What?
Even after my intercession?
And for the third time, we announce that we're releasing Barabbas.
So what exactly did you tell the crowd at the temple?
Among other things, I said that all power is an act of violence against people,
and there will come a time when there will be no power, neither of the Caesars nor of any other kind.
Barabbas!
Your story is extremely interesting, but it
does not align at all with the Gospel texts.
You know, I was personally there.
Incognito, that is.
So please, not a word to anyone, top secret.
Seems like he's a bit shy around you.
When they don't want to offend the author, they usually say a lot of work has been done.
You've suddenly come up with Yershalaim, Pontius Pilate, you haven't told us about him.
It's from my play, it's called "Pilate".
And after our meeting, I thought that it might somehow be connected and...
Strange, right?
It is strange, yes.
Do you already know how it all ends?
No idea.
I have an idea for a new chapter, but beyond that, I haven't planned.
Listening.
Yes, it's me.
And when?
Alright, I'll be there.
Urgently called to the theater.
Looks like they decided to bring back the production.
Let me walk you to the theater, and you can tell me about the new chapter.
The next chapter, by the way, is related to the theater.
Or rather, not to the theater, but to Stepan Bogdanovich Likhodeev.
He woke up one day in his apartment, in this very house.
The former owners were crammed together, and now there are communal apartments for the modern elite.
It must be said that this apartment had a reputation, if not good,
then, at any rate, a strange one.
Two years ago, people started disappearing from it without a trace.
Disappear?
So, this chapter will be about how from a nasty
apartment Stepan Bogdanovich Likhodeev mysteriously disappeared.
A bell was ringing in his head. He felt nauseous, and it seemed
that this nausea was connected to the sounds of some annoying gramophone.
With a trembling hand, Stepa ran it over his thigh to determine whether he was in his trousers or not.
And he couldn't determine.
Grunya...
Paramedon...
Ivan...
Good one, the charming Stepan Bogdanovich. Very charming, Stepan Bogdanovich.
Forgive me for my disheveled appearance.
And voila.
Follow the old wise rule. Cure like with like.
Oh. Oops.
Sausages.
Excuse me.
Stepan.
Dear Stepan Bogdanovich, I feel you indulged in drinking yesterday.
Following vodka with port wine, right? Chased vodka with port, didn't you?
Accidentally. Accidentally.
It happened.
But, I hope, now you remember who I am.
Woland. Professor of black magic.
We concluded a contract yesterday Yesterday, we made a contract
for 7 performances and agreed to meet at 10 o'clock.
And here I am, as you see, ta-da-da-dam, I've arrived.
Yes.
Stepan Bogdanovich?
Yes, yes, it's me.
I have a matter to discuss.
This artist is sitting here.
Woland.
About today's performance.
Bonjour.
Grunya.
I'll be there in half an hour.
Don't worry, Stepan Bogdanovich.
This cat is mine.
Grunya.
Ah, yes.
Grunya.
But Grunya is not here.
I sent her back to her hometown because she complained that you haven't given her a vacation in a long time.
This way, everything is better.
Right?
Aaaaaah, aaaaaaaah!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Aaaaaaaaah!
Comrade!
Are you blind?
Where are you sitting down?
Hello!
I see you're a bit surprised, dear Stepan Bogdanovich,
but you shouldn't be surprised!
They're "mon entourage".
All this requires space, meaning someone among us is clearly superfluous.
Hmm.
- As I think, that someone is you. - They, they...
They've been making a terrible racket lately, drinking, engaging with women, because they understand nothing of what they're assigned!
- State-owned time machine...
I'm amazed he made it to director, he's as much a director as I am a bishop
It's time to free up the living space.
Allow me, Sir, to throw him out to the devils from Moscow.
Aha. Yes.
Begone, begone, vanish from me. Where's the unclean?
All is fine, fine, calm, fine.
I beg you, tell me, where am I?
Comrade, you are in Dr. Stravinsky's clinic.
- And what city is this?
Yalta.
Robertson.
Where is Yalta?
Yalta.
I need to visit the committee today, you know, right?
And we will still have wards.
I see, you are not planning to take off your cap.
Praskovya Fyodorovna, let's double the dose.
Schizophrenic symptoms not subsiding?
You understand that he needs to be caught? He will kill someone else.
And who is this new one here, huh?
Here, a poet.
Stepan Bogdanov, how do you like our Yalta?
Why Yalta?
Likhodeev, when he goes on a long binge, tells everyone he's gone to Yalta.
Woland was gentler with him than with Berlioz.
Stepan Bogdanov deserves some leniency.
He drinks only to avoid seeing what's happening in the theater.
That's an idea.
Well then.
I'm very sorry.
But now you can devote all your time to the novel.
Shall we have dinner?
Let's have breakfast.
And I will come in the morning for the new chapter.
There.
This and that.
What's this? Your fee.
And still unhappy.
When a production is canceled before the premiere, sometimes they don't pay anything at all.
But here's something.
For half a year's work.
One second.
Ivan Alexandrovich.
One, two... Yes.
Counter-tickets for the premiere.
Thank you, no need.
Tickets are hard to get. You can sell them at a good price.
The Complete Collection of Sytin's Books.
Yes.
You can put it with me, so it doesn't get dirty.
Thank you.
Come this way.
Stand up.
And I thought, why not have dinner in the morning...
...where did this luxury come from?
Well, let's say, won the lottery.
I would have never thought that you could dance.
I thought you knew everything about me.
But you're a witch.
Be careful.
According to our family legend, my great-great-great-grandmother was tried for consorting with the devil.
I imagine how you fly over the night-time Moscow.
On a broom?
Let's assume.
And if I get knocked down, like an enemy flying object,
by the valiant Soviet aviation?
Well, you're invisible to them.
So, you don't see me.
No, but I can see you.
And you...
Naked.
What if I make you the heroine of my novel?
That is, it won't be entirely you.
But she will be called Margarita.
Then let her have a lover.
A writer who is writing a novel about Pontius Pilate.
A good...
Writer.
She likes him.
But that's the main thing.
She has a husband.
He's a very important specialist who made a significant state discovery.
Young, handsome, kind, honest.
He adores her.
But she never loved him.
Button up.
And another thing.
On the day they met.
She wanted to end her life.
It's time for me to go.
And soon this woman became my secret wife.
She would come to me in the morning and leave at dusk.
First thing, she would put on an apron and prepare breakfast in the narrow hallway.
The administrator was excited and full of energy.
After the bold phone call, he had no doubt that
a hooligan gang was playing nasty tricks.
And that these tricks were related to the disappearance of the rogue waking up.
No one knew about our affair.
I assure you of that.
Her husband didn't know, her acquaintances didn't know.
When the May thunderstorms came and noisily
alley water rolled past the myopic windows, threatening to flood my last refuge.
We stoked the stove.
I wrote, and she would reread what was written.
She would sing and loudly repeat particular phrases she liked.
She promised glory.
And pushed me.
And that's when she started calling me a Master.
She said that this novel was her entire life.
We loved each other so deeply that we became inseparable.
We were sure that fate itself brought us together at the corner of Tverskaya.
And that we were made for each other forever.
Pilat's stuff.
What's that?
It's the opinion of Soviet critics about my work.
Why do you collect them?
I'm proud of them.
So much has never been written about me before.
A god's fool in the guise of a writer.
O. Latunsky.
This one is my favorite.
We must burn out with a hot iron this disgusting abscess of vile White Guardism
from the Soviet press, disguised as a fig leaf of literature.
Сovered with a fig leaf of literature.
Do you know where he lives?
Who?
Latunsky.
In the Dramlit building in Lavrushinsky.
And why do you ask?
Margarita Nikolaevna, what are you planning to do?
Smash Latunsky's windows.
With a hammer? What if he's on a high floor?
You can't be upset with critics and executioners.
But he's not doing it out of malice. He's just doing his job.
So what should we do with them?
Write a funny skit about him?
Actually, that's a great idea.
You have your methods, I have mine.
Margarita Nikolaevna.
I hope he's home.
Good afternoon.
Let me introduce.
Aloisy.
Screenwriter.
Playwright.
Margarita...
Lover.
Muse.
I wonder what kind of novels are written with such a muse?
Did he ever try to preach anything in the presence of soldiers?
The only thing he said was that among human
vices, one of the most significant he considers to be cowardice.
He should be buried in an unknown place.
This land is full of superstitions.
And every day here they wait for a messiah.
You are undoubtedly right.
So, another question.
Judas of Kerioth.
He's responsible for the arrest of Yeshua.
Yes.
I have received information that this Judas will be killed tonight.
Tonight?
Tonight.
That's why I'm asking you to handle this matter.
I mean, take all necessary measures to protect Judas of Kerioth.
Understood.
But tonight?
I'm certain they will kill him tonight.
I'm counting on you.
The third one crouched down next to the deceased and looked into his face.
A few seconds later, there was no one alive on the road.
The lifeless body lay with arms outstretched.
It's not just about the ancient idea.
It's all about now.
They talk just like that.
They understand each other with half a word.
No, well...
The head of the secret service, of course, and Pilate.
That's...
But...
At our studio, people disappear almost every day.
No one even asks about it. Everyone's afraid.
Maybe he's sick.
Just like in your bad apartment.
I wouldn't read this to anyone else if I were you.
Just in case.
And you too.
Listen.
Want to read my new script?
Well, it's the director's idea, of course.
But I think I came up with something interesting.
A musical comedy.
About a kolkhoz.
In the Hollywood style.
You hear? Ah, yes.
And what's in it?
A young tractor driver falls in love with a milkmaid.
She sings in the local song and dance ensemble.
But then a revision committee arrives in the village.
They dekulakize everyone.
And in the end, they dance joyfully.
I got you.
Not everyone can afford to be so uncompromising.
You, for instance, don't have alimony to pay.
Sorry.
Do you want to go to the theater on Sunday?
They are showing the musical "Forward to the Future" instead of my "Pilate".
Well, for inspiration.
Some other time.
I have a submission at the arts council.
FORWARD TO THE FUTURE
I must note.
I have never seen such confidence in the future as you have here.
One can think less about today if living in tomorrow.
Thank you very much for the invitation.
This is a wonderful place to observe
everything, as you now say, the population.
I greet the simple worker from the machine.
I'm joining the party. I am a son of the Soviet land.
The old world is destroyed!
But we have yet to build the new one.
Oh, how I want to see this new world soon!
What year should we travel to to see with our own eyes
how our great country lives?
I set December 30, 2022.
Let's go!
Exactly one hundred years since the founding of our great and indestructible...
Soviet Union!
Girls, dear, where are we now?
In the Soviet Union of people's republics!
And how many republics are there now?
All! All the republics of the world!
So tell us, how do you live here?
In the future!
And we'll sing about it better!
Tour the entire district.
You won't find a country, where people are as equal to each other
as they are here.
And in our fairy-tale country
We have everything we need.
Excuse me, please, who are you?
Please!
I don't understand, what... Read this!
From the leader himself!
Here!
And sign here!
Dear guests, we have a slight change in the program.
Now, the famous foreign artist, Monsieur Woland, will perform for you.
Woland! Woland! Woland!
A session of black magic, but there's no such thing as black magic,
Maestro Woland, so to speak, is highly skilled in the art of illusion.
Now, the most interesting part will become clear.
The exposure of this illusion.
Let's ask Maestro Woland to begin the session of black magic.
Tell me, dear Fagot, in your opinion,
has the Moscow populace changed significantly?
Exactly, sir!
The citizens have changed outwardly.
I mean, as has the city itself, for that matter.
These, what do you call them, trams, cars appeared.
But of course, it seems to me that much more
importantly, have these citizens changed inside.
Yes, yes, sir, exactly! That's the most important, most important question!
However, we've digressed, dear Behemoth.
The audience is starting to get bored.
Show them something to start with.
Something simple.
Something simple!
Yes, sir, bravo, bravo!
So, I see nothing, I hear nothing!
Little ball, little ball, fly away!
Bring joy to the people!
So, fly!
I beg you, stop, what are you doing, calm down!
Comrades, stop!
Comrades, what we just witnessed was a case of so-called mass hypnosis!
What better way to prove that there's no such thing as magic!
Now these.
Comrades! Comrades!
The notes are real!
Absolutely!
And I'm fed up with this one!
Excuse me.
Always meddling where he's not asked!
Excuse me.
He's bothering us!
He's ruining the glow!
Citizens, what would you like to do with him, huh?
Just fire him from the theater altogether!
Forever!
Take off his head!
Take it off!
The head!
Take it off, take it off, take it off!
Don't worry, don't worry!
To your spot, my dear!
Where are you standing?
Yes, right here, right here!
Don't hurry!
So! So, are you ready?
Starting!
Azazello!
Will he lie again or not?
For God's sake, don't torture!
Forgive him!
Mister!
And what do you command?
Well then!
They are people, just like people!
They love money!
Well, that has always been the case!
And sometimes mercy knocks at their hearts!
In general, they remind me of the old ones!
The housing issue just spoiled them for us!
Take the apartment!
Take the paintings!
Just give back the head!
Put his head back on!
Thank you!
A chance!
Ah!
Stop!
Ah!
We got rid of the nuisance,
and you have a pocket full of rubles!
What did they say?
Let's open it!
A ladies' store!
A store!
Ah!
Ooh!
Bonjour, Moscow. Our modest boutique offers a completely free exchange of Soviet women's dresses and shoes
for the latest Parisian models:
Guerlain, Chanel No. 5, Narcisse Noir
Evening dress. Cocktail dress!
Who's daring! Step into our boutique!
My God!
Be bold!
Oh! Bravo, bravo, bravo!
Oh, we'll turn you into a diamond!
Please, come to the stage!
And close it!
Voila!
Ha-ha!
Abracadabra!
Voila!
Please!
Well then, please!
Come in!
Line up!
Please!
No need!
And what for you?
My wife has the flu! Can I also go in, please?
Please, after you!
As you wish!
Due to the late hour
the store is closing!
Yes, yes, it's sad!
I understand, you didn't make it, what to do!
But there's good news!
All the items
in the windows
are yours!
Please!
Let me go!
Tyrant!
You're not a man!
What to wear
What to eat
Yes, but it will be harder for them to get rid of money than of God!
We are all equal here!
We have everything!
What to wear
What to eat
Magnificent!
Is that her?
Your Margarita?
Mine...
From 12 p.m. to 5 p.m.
Five days a week!
How can you not sing here?
Satan rules the ball here!
Rules the ball!
How do you like the future now?
A lot of work has been done!
Why do you attend such things?
For inspiration!
And this?
Also for inspiration?
But I wrote a new chapter!
Want to listen!
Let's not here!
You need to change
the environment!
I had a dream today!
I dreamt of some strange, unknown place!
Half-naked trees, and between them something made of logs!
And then the door of this log building opens!
And you come out of it!
Tattered!
Hair disheveled!
Eyes sick!
You beckon me with your hand!
And I run to you through these marshy hummocks!
And then I woke up!
But it's just a dream!
Margarita Nikolaevna, is that you?
I'm walking, thinking, is that your hat or not?
We talked about it.
Natasha, it's not me!
It's some other woman!
Just looks exactly like me!
Do you understand?
Natasha, the maid!
If only I could fly away somewhere!
To the sea?
Yes!
To a place where there's no one but us!
Every time I go to you, I'm afraid!
I want to come one day and find you're not there
I've decided!
I love you more than life!
I don't want to lie anymore!
I would stay with you now!
But I don't want to do it this way!
I will talk to him!
I won't allow this!
It will be bad for me
I don't want you
to perish with me!
Is that the only reason?
That's the only one!
And the last thing I remember in my life is the strip of light from the hallway,
and in this strip of light her flowing strands, and her determined
eyes!
Tomorrow morning I will be with you!
We will fly away from here!
Meet me at the airfield!
Those were her last words
In my life!
I love you!
And then?
That's all for now!
I'm drained!
What? No, wait!
It's magnificent!
You must finish it!
Maybe you can suggest what Woland would do next?
Are you asking me?
Yes!
Well, I don't know!
It seems to me,
he would have arranged a celebration tonight,
and gathered all the dear imps in one place!
I like this idea!
I know where we will go tonight!
To a magnificent event at Likhodeev's!
No, no, please, don't!
Yes, we should! For inspiration!
Not today!
I need to get some sleep before leaving tomorrow!
A novel demands sacrifices!
And a great novel demands great ones!
- No! - Let's go!
Bonjour!
Good evening!
And the password?
Stepan Bogdanovich, welcome the guests!
Your Gella, she's really a vampire!
Emma, do you like black caviar?
Very much!
Help yourself!
What a surprise!
Why are you so timid, my dear?
Come in!
Take off your clothes!
Galochka, take care of our guests!
Comrades! A toast!
At Stepa Likhodeev's ball
the usual laws don't apply!
Cheers, comrades!
This is Berlioz's room!
Is he not here?
Well... He's been long gone from us!
I'll open it!
You're asking about Hector Berlioz, the French composer?
Please!
He's buried at the Montmartre cemetery in Paris!
And I don't know any other Berlioz!
Oh! Osso!
Dear!
Stepan Bogdanovich!
Hello, dear!
There are more commissars here than in the Kremlin wall!
Recognize that one?
Over there, behind me, in the corner!
The People's Commissar for State Security!
That's right!
And you were afraid it would be boring?
Look, comrades!
Admire who we have as guests!
Pleased to see you!
Let's go!
I'll be right there!
You understand, it's just work!
Nothing personal!
I understand everything!
Come here!
For people trying to destroy the bourgeoisie, they've become too much like it!
Do you think,
this is how they imagine communism?
And we've prepared a little surprise for you!
Here, for you, on this stage right now will perform
the new star of theater and cinema!
Love!
You thought Orlova?
No, comrades!
Lyubov Pengalskaya!
Let's welcome her!
Oh, Baron Meigel!
Well, excuse me, comrade!
Comrade Meigel has a very interesting story!
He was indeed a baron!
Rumor has it, he was given a choice!
Either three years in a correctional camp in Solovki, or...
Good evening!
There you are!
Let's go!
And this is our writer who asked to go abroad!
What did the letter say?
He answers
for the recruitment of covert cultural agents!
What characters!
It's a ball of the dead who don't yet know what's coming!
Gentlemen... A toast!
Let's drink to communism!
Built
in a particular apartment!
A fire was burning in the stove,
rain was lashing against the windows.
And that's when the last thing happened...
Thank you for a wonderful evening!
Now I know how to finish my novel!
But then write it down before you forget!
Good idea!
And I'll help you get ready!
Tell me,
will you take the little Pontius Pilate?
It's not certain that it's Pilate!
No one knows for sure what he looked like!
That's definitely the procurator of ancient Judea, Pontius Pilate!
How do you know?
How do I know?
I saw him!
Just like I see you now!
Excuse me!
Your novel has stuck in my head so much that I decided to be Woland for a bit!
Are you expecting guests?
Maybe they're interested in your manuscript!
Decided to get rid of the material evidence of anti-Soviet propaganda?
Useless! We already know
everything that was written in that manuscript of yours! You could have not burned it!
About the tram that beheaded the vice-chairman of the union of Soviet writers,
and about the denigration of the highest echelons of Soviet power!
Who told you all this?
Don't interrupt!
Who?
Well, let's say, your mistress!
What's her name? Margarita?
That's not true!
And what is the truth?
The truth is only what will be kept in this folder!
So from the first day, he seemed unreliable to us!
You can tell right away!
He's not ours!
I had no idea it was Jesus!
Who did you think he was?
He told me,
it was Yeshua!
I'm an actor, you understand? I play what I'm told!
Who else is in your counter-revolutionary group?
The theater director Likhodeev?
He convinced you to write a harmful play!
He just recently invited me over!
He's not involved!
Professor Woland invited me!
Stop confusing the investigation!
We checked everything!
You were at Likhodeev's alone!
And in real life, there's no such thing as Woland!
Believe me, he exists!
I'll simulate it so well for you!
Madness will seem like paradise to you!
Did they read your novel?
Yes!
And they said only one thing!
Unfortunately, it's not finished!
I hate it!
This novel!
I've suffered too much because of it!
I hate it!
Nothing interests me!
Except for her!
Margarita!
Yes!
But she told you that her whole life is in that novel!
And she's right!
In it, the Master and Margarita can be together forever.
Well, yes, it all depends on you.
For that, you need to finish the novel.
Unfortunately, I can't do that.
You saw, I burned it in the stove.
Manuscripts don't burn.
Who are you?
I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good!
Ah, so it seems according to Wolfgang Goethe.
You've got into a very dangerous situation.
Article fifty-eight.
Treason against the homeland and espionage.
The country's leadership has people who are closely monitoring your work.
There... They like it when you pet against the grain.
Pet, you understand?
You understand.
We will restore you.
In the union of writers.
A fee.
Then a dacha.
Then a car with a driver.
Then everything will be.
Your sacrifice...
is pointless.
And you have no sacrifice.
What?
You will be sacrificed.
At the ball.
What ball?
At Satan's ball.
You will be the main entertainment for the guests.
And your blood will be drunk from Berlioz's skull by the queen herself.
What nonsense? What are you talking about?
Woland is already waiting for you.
You have indeed gone mad.
Have you previously suffered from hallucinations?
And how about those otherworldly forces you write about in your novel?
Do you think they really exist?
But there's no proof.
But she herself told you, her whole life is in that novel.
And she is right. The Master and Margarita can be together forever.
Yes, it all depends on you.
For that, you need to finish the novel.
We will help you.
Let's start with thirty milligrams of morphine.
You will sleep wonderfully today.
You will feel better.
May I ask for something?
What is it, my good man?
A pencil and paper.
That's not allowed.
Diagnosis. Dissociative identity disorder, paranoid schizophrenia.
We prescribe a course of electroconvulsive therapy.
Let's start with the composition.
Chapter one.
Never talk to strangers.
One spring day, during an unusually hot sunset, in Moscow, at Patriarch's Ponds...
One hundred forty.
Here, for your little story, so the pages don't get lost.
Chapter nineteen.
You will feel better.
Margarita.
Dressed in a summer gray...
That's enough for him.
- She doesn't know where I am. - You could have let her know about yourself.
She would have received a letter from a mental asylum.
How can one send letters with such an address?
Mentally ill.
You're joking, my friend.
See you at the parade, dear?
No.
To make her unhappy.
I'm not capable of that.
Aloizy?
What's with him?
I don't understand what you mean.
Is he alive?
How should I know?
Did you tell anyone about the novel?
You are out of your mind, leave.
Alright, leave!
Tell me, where is he?
Praskovya Fedorovna!
I have written...
I have one request of you.
If a woman ever comes here,
and asks for me,
pass this manuscript to her.
Her name is... - Margarita...
You are the Master? I will read it.
Alright. Lie down.
In the morning, when you get up, we'll go for some procedures.
I came to say goodbye to you.
Unfortunately, I can no longer be your neighbor.
But I will keep my word.
I won't write poems anymore. I'm interested in something else now. I want to write something different...
While I was lying here, you know, I understood a lot.
And that's good...
That's good...
- Do you hear? - It's the thunderstorm.
- No, they are calling me. It's time for me to go.
During the full moon, as always, when it's full, he suffers from insomnia.
He always says the same thing, that he can't find peace under the moon,
And that he's in a bad position. That's what he says
always when he can't sleep. But when he sleeps, he always sees the same thing: the moonlit road.
He wants to walk it with the prisoner Ga-Nozri.
Because, as he claims, he left something unsaid then.
Now you can finish your novel with one phrase:
- I'm free. 1635
- Your novel will still bring surprises, just you watch.
- That's very sad. - No, it's not sad. Not sad.
- Professor Stravinsky? - Yes.
- How did you get in here?
Yes, I'm listening.
- You have a patient here. He's a writer...
I'm sorry, I have forbidden the disclosure of information about our patients. - You have a patient here. He's a writer...
I'm sorry, I have forbidden the disclosure of information about our patients.
- How did you get in here?
- I really need to see him...
- Please, just... - Unfortunately, I can't help you.
And I ask you to leave the medical institution immediately.
Please escort the lady out. And I ask you to leave the medical institution immediately.
Please escort the lady out.
I know he is here. Get your hands off, I can do it myself!
- You've ruined him, haven't you?
Insult is the usual reward for a job well done.
Praskovya...
Just a moment, just a moment.
Wait. I'll walk her out. You go back to work.
Come on, come on.
- You are Margarita, aren't you? - How do you know me?
I recognized you immediately.
I was asked to give you something.
- Who asked? - Who?
The Master!
I must see him.
Margarita Nikolaevna,
Vyacheslav Sergeyevich called to say that his train is only tomorrow.
- You're free for today.
Thank you, Natasha.
Once in spring, at the hour of an unprecedented hot sunset, in Moscow,
at Patriarch's Ponds, on the horizontal citizens,
Berlioz was ordering Bezdomny an anti-religious poem for the next book.
But she could see the Moscow Manege.
Margarita squinted at the bright sun,
remembering how exactly a year ago, to the day, to the hour...
On this very bench she sat next to him.
A funeral procession appeared ahead.
Interesting to know who they are burying with such remarkable faces.
Berlioz Mikhail Sanych, the chairman of the Mossoviet.
- So, these are the writers following the coffin?
Ah, that's them.
Tell me, is the critic Latunsky among them?
I see, you hate this Latunsky,
Margarita Nikolaevna.
I am instructed to invite you to a party this evening.
With a very distinguished foreigner.
Not a soul will know about this visit.
And you will take the opportunity.
- Are you hinting that I might find out about him there?
Here, take this.
It will come in handy.
Margarita Nikolaevna sat in front of the mirror in a robe thrown over her bare body.
On a sheet torn from a notepad, she wrote a note without any mistakes,
quickly and in large letters, with a pencil:
Forgive me and forget me as soon as possible.
I leave you forever...
Don't look for me, it's useless.
I have become a witch out of grief and misfortunes that befell me.
It's time for me.
Farewell.
This evening at 9:30 p.m. exactly,
after undressing, rub your face and entire body with this ointment.
Margarita squeezed a small dab of cream onto her palm with her fingertip.
There was a stronger scent of swamp herbs and forest.
The cream spread easily.
And it seemed to Margarita that it evaporated immediately.
After rubbing it in several times, Margarita looked into the mirror.
Margarita Nikolaevna, are you all right?
How?
May I introduce myself?
Koroviev.
You're surprised there's no light.
Thinking it's about saving? No, no, no.
It's just that the gentleman doesn't like electric light.
Please go ahead.
Please.
What amazes me most is where all this fits.
That's not the most complex of all.
For those well acquainted with the Fifth Dimension,
it's nothing to expand the space to certain limits.
A tradition has been established.
The mistress of the ball must necessarily bear the name Margarita.
Firstly.
And secondly, she must be a local native.
I hope you won't refuse to take on this responsibility?
I won't refuse.
Please.
The gentleman apologizes for receiving you informally in the bedroom.
So, right this way.
Step.
Come in, come in.
Please, please, without embarrassment, please.
Oh!
It's tough to share, dear Behemoth.
The situation is serious, but far from hopeless.
Please, to the bedroom, to the bedroom, to the bedroom.
I welcome you, my bright queen.
If you would, please forgive me for my casual attire.
Greetings, sir.
Blood, blood always tells.
Margarita was nervous.
Her head was spinning, and she saw her surroundings unclearly.
She only understood that the room where they were preparing her for the ball,
was made of either black glass or some kind of smoky stone.
It will be difficult... politeness.
If someone is disliked, one cannot even think about it.
They will notice, notice, and no one forgives inattention.
Please, place your foot here.
Your beautiful foot.
Yes, just like that.
Ha-ha-ha.
And where are the guests?
No more than ten seconds until midnight.
It's about to start.
My queen, allow me, I will give the signal.
Me, me, go ahead.
The ball.
Monsieur Jacques and his wife.
I recommend him to you, my queen.
One of the most interesting men.
He became famous for poisoning the royal mistress in 1450.
Your majesty.
Merci beaucoup.
Thank you very much.
Please.
Merci beaucoup.
The queen is delighted.
Ha-ha-ha.
The queen is delighted.
Yes.
Madame Tofana.
The queen was extremely popular among the young charming Neapolitan women.
Especially those who were tired of their husbands.
Well, a husband can cool off, just a little.
Yes.
So, Madame Tofana sold them some kind of water in vials.
Then she poured this water into her husband's soup.
And after that, she was free, like a spring breeze.
Ha-ha-ha.
Please.
Merci beaucoup.
The queen is delighted.
Please.
The queen is delighted.
Enchante.
The queen is delighted.
We are delighted.
Right?
Ha-ha.
Here's a new one.
Fresh one.
He wanted to get rid of a person, whose entertainments he greatly feared.
And he ordered his secretary to spray the walls of the office with poison.
We are delighted, black queen.
We are delighted.
Enchante.
The end of this river was not visible.
And its source, a huge fireplace, continued to feed it.
So an hour passed and the second hour began.
Margarita was not interested in any of the dukes, poisoners, hangmen,
procurers, jailers, card sharps, executioners, informers, traitors, corrupters.
All their names merged in her head.
Faces blended into one huge flat cake.
Margarita's legs were giving out.
Every minute, she feared she would start crying.
And this is Frida! When she worked at the cafe, the owner invited her
to the storeroom, and nine months later she gave birth to a boy.
She took the baby to the forest, stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth, and buried him.
I am happy to be invited to the grand ball of the Full Moon.
Look, here you go! Please! Take your handkerchief! Yes! Please!
Frida!
I'm asking you!
Frida! My name is Frida!
Please! Please! Champagne! They're pouring champagne here! Please!
Accompanied by Koroviev, she found herself back in the ballroom, but now
there was no dancing, and the guests were crowding between the columns.
With the last stroke of the clock heard from somewhere,
silence fell upon the crowds of guests.
Then Margarita saw Woland again.
Ha! Ha-ha! It happened, Mikhail Alexandrovich!
And your session did not take place, did it?
A woman decapitated the head, and what is it if not facts?
And facts are the most stubborn thing in the world.
You have always been a fervent preacher of the theory that life in a person ends
with decapitation, and he goes into non-existence forever.
What a silly theory. But all these theories are worth each other.
Let my theory be bestowed upon each as his belief.
You go into non-existence, while I will drink forgetfulness from the cup that you will become.
The cup!
They are ringing! There it is! Ha-ha-ha! I'm coming, I'm coming! Ha-ha-ha-ha! I'll meet them! Coming! Ha-ha-ha-ha!
Where are you taking me?
Please! Please!
I introduce to you, dearest Baron Maigel.
Ah... Everyone's been waiting for you, please!
This way, this way!
Please!
Yes, by the way, Baron, rumors have spread about your exceptional curiosity.
Moreover, unpleasant words like "snitch," "spy," "rat" were dropped.
And this will lead you to a sad end in no more than a month.
Since that's the case, we'll spare you the agonizing wait.
Gentlemen, to your health!
Drink.
Drink! There's wine in the cup!
Don't be afraid, queen.
The blood has long gone into the ground.
And where it was shed, grapevines are now growing.
Please, queen.
Sit down.
Well then.
Tell me honestly, you were very tormented.
Oh no, sir.
The night of the full moon.
A festive night.
And tonight I dine in the company of the close ones and servants.
And my guests.
Drink boldly.
Pure alcohol.
Maybe you want something?
No.
Nothing, sir.
Except that, if I am still needed, I'm ready to do anything you please.
That's how it should be.
You have passed the test.
Remember.
Don't ask anyone for anything.
Nothing.
From no one.
Especially those who are stronger than you.
They will come on their own.
To you.
They will offer everything.
So, Margo.
For the role of my queen.
What do you wish?
Be bold.
Without hesitation.
For I have offered.
Tell me.
A wish.
So, I can ask for one thing.
Demand.
I want them to stop serving Frida the handkerchief she used to suffocate her child.
There.
You are apparently very moral.
No, sir.
I'll be honest with you.
I asked for Frida only because I carelessly gave her
solid hope.
So this doesn't count.
Margo.
What do you want for yourself, proud woman?
I want my lover, the Master, to be returned to me.
And for everything to be as it was.
I ask to be returned to the basement on Arbat.
It never happens that everything becomes as it was.
But we will try.
It's you
Don't doubt.
It's me.
And you really have become like a witch.
I am a witch.
And very happy about it.
Sitting.
Not bothering anyone.
I obey.
Them.
I consider it my duty to warn that the cat is ancient, a sacrosanct animal.
We have a sacrosanct clairvoyant cat.
Come over here.
Shoot him.
It's all over.
Get away from me.
Let me say goodbye to the earth.
Pull the net.
The net!
Hey!
Where are you going, it will explode.
Interesting city, isn't it?
Sir, I prefer Rome.
The darkness coming from the Mediterranean Sea covered the city hated by the procurator.
- Are all the bills paid? - Yes.
The time has come.
It's time.
Listen and enjoy what you were never given in life.
Silence.
I'm part of that force that eternally wants evil and eternally creates good.