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Москва слезам не верит

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Second Artists' Association
Screenplay by
Directed by
Vladimir MENSHOV
Director of Photography
Production Designer
Music by Sergey NIKITIN
Lyrics by D. SUKHAREV
Moscow. 1958
Workers' Dormitory
- You failed?
- I missed by two points.
- Have you checked the list?
- I have. I'm not on it.
Don't give up. You'll work and
study at night,
and next year you'll make it
for sure...
Look who is here!
Don't look so depressed, Katerina.
I'm not depressed.
- Just two points!
- I'll make it no matter what.
No one said you wouldn't.
After all, 35 is the age limit.
You got plenty of time, believe me.
Couldn't you at least clean up
your face?
Kolia'll be here any minute.
He's taking me to watch a concert.
To watch a concert! After two years
in Moscow you can't talk properly.
- Don't come in!
- Come in, please!
- Hi!
- Good evening.
- You're not well?
- You made me blush all over.
I'm sorry.
- Want to have a look?
- No, thanks.
Kolia! I'll be ready in a second!
Why d'you have to frighten him?
You know, he's so shy.
Yeah, you wouldn't call him
an intellectual.
You could have found a dunce
like him at home in your village.
What were you so scared of?
It was a strawberry beauty mask.
Don't forget,
the doors are locked after twelve.
We'll be back in time.
We're going to watch a concert.
To watch a concert!
And you call yourself a Muscovite!
Women's dormitory.
Which Ludmilla? There're
Ludmillas by the dozens here.
Oh, that Ludmilla...
Just a minute. She's taking a bath
right now.
Sviridova, telephone for you!
She'll be right with you. She's
in the middle of drying off.
I said you were taking a bath.
Vadik? Of course, I remember.
What dormitory? Oh, that's our
granny. She's a greatjoker.
Some cousins came to visit
and now she's complaining
that our place is like a dormitory.
Everyone wants to come to Moscow,
but we can't live like sardines.
Today? No, I can't.
It's daddy's birthday.
Tomorrow? I'd better call you back.
I'll be in class all day.
- Dormitory!
- What else should I say?
- Why don't you just say "hello"?
- Hello? How was I supposed to know?
Fate flies like a rocket
in one huge parabola,
Sometimes along a rainbow,
but mostly in the pitch-dark cupola.
There lived a red-headed artist,
well-known as Gauguin.
A Bohemian, though
he started as a two-bit salesman.
To end up in the Louvre,
originating in Montmartre,
He made a detour
via Java and Sumatra.
He rocketed,
forgetting the madness of money...
What's he trying to say?
After five years of slaving,
buried in textbooks,
you're supposed to go in a factory?
What kind of life is that?
What kind of life do you want?
Stop necking on the street.
You're in a public place.
This chemistry of yours is so
boring. Nothing but formulas.
You don't understand.
Chemistry's the future of mankind.
You should be thinking more
about your present.
- Hey, girls, what about...
- Get lost, will you.
Why did you do that?
They look nice to me.
That's right, just nice.
In Moscow on a quota, just like us.
To love no less than a queen,
to lose no less than a million.
French Film Festival
Ever seen a mink like that?
I love her! It's Koniukhova!
That's what I call life!
Look! Youmatov!
Why are you out here?
Nina was supposed to bring me
an invitation...
Wait. I'll try to get you in.
- Are you an actor too?
- Yeah, just a beginner though.
- A bit late to be getting started.
- What's your name?
You probably never heard of me.
- Tell me anyway.
- Smoktunovsky.
Oh! Kharitonov!
- You fixed it all by yourself?
- Can't wait all day for the adjusters.
Their work load's too big,
you know.
Pretty good. Pretty good.
Tossia, mother wants you
to come to
Москва слезам не верит

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