White guard is all beaten up.
But no one will ever
overpower the Red army!
The White guard is all beaten up
No one will ever overpower
the Red army!
Of all the proletariat janitors
are the most vile filth.
Human refuse of the basest sort.
Cooks vary.
Take Vlas, the late Vlas from
Prechistenka Street. The lives he saved!
When Vlas used to throw you a bone
there was always a good eighth
of an inch of meat on it.
Sharik, poor thing, you are so cold.
A typist...
She gets a category nine salary
of 45 roubles a month.
She is underpaid at the office, they
give her rotten food at the canteen.
She hasn't got enough money
for the cinema...
...and the cinema is a woman's
one comfort in this life.
Did any one ever kick you
on the backside with a boot?
Or hit you with a brick in the ribs?
My body is all broken, all beaten up.
People have committed just about
every outrage you can think of on it.
She called me Sharik.
I am no Sharik, am I?
Sharik is the sort of name
for a round, fat...
...stupid dog that's fed on oatmeal,
a dog with a pedigree. And what about me?
My future is crystal clear to me.
Tomorrow I'll get pneumonia...
...and having contracted that I,
dear citizens, will die of hunger.
I will try to crawl about on my stomach,
getting weaker and weaker...
...and the first toff will
finish me off with a stick.
Yeah, this one wouldn't
eat rotten salt beef.
What would he want to buy
in that filthy store?
Sausage!
Dear Sir! Better give it to me.
As a matter of fact what use
is Special Cracowian to you?
What good is a bit of rotten
old horsemeat to you?
It's only in Mosselprom
that you can get muck like that.
There's nothing for it;
I will lick your hands.
No collar.
Excellent. You're just what I want.
Come with me.
Obukhov Alley? Very well. This place
is very well known to me.
Good evening, Philip Philipovich.
- Good evening, Fyodor. Any letters
for me? - None at all, sir.
What are you waiting for?
Don't be afraid, come on.
Hey, no, wait a minute. There's a porter
here... much more dangerous than janitors.
Worse than cats.
Come, come.
Come in, please.
Philip Philipovich, there're new
residents just been put into Flat Three.
- Really?
- Yes, indeed, sir, four of them.
My God! I can just imagine what
it must be like in that flat now.
What are they doing there?
Nothing special, sir.
And Fyodor Pavlovitch?
He's gone to get some screens and bricks.
They're going make partitions,
Philip Philipovich.
I don't know what the world
is coming to! Dear me, dear me!
Come, come with me.
Where on earth did you get that from,
Philip Philipovich? He does look lousy.
What nonsense. He isn't lousy.
That's not lice.
It's a scald. Who was mean enough
to throw boiling water over you? Eh?
Take him into the consulting room
at once and get me my smock.
Come with me. Come. This way, come.
- Oh, I can't Philip Philipovich!
- Doctor Bormenthal, get the ether!
- Doctor Bormenthal!
- Hold on, you bastard!
Zina, grab him by the scruff
of the neck, damn him!
No electricity. Again.
Just a moment.
Look out, Doctor.
...from Seville to Granada...
in the still of the night...
Now, you little tramp,
why did you bite the Doctor? Eh?
Why did you break all that glass?
All right, you've come to,
so just lie there, stupid.
So it's me who bit him.
That's my work.
That'll mean a beating.
However did you managed to lure such
a nervous dog, Philip Philipovich.
By kindness.
The only way to deal
with a living being.
Terror will get you nowhere.
That I have maintained, do maintain,
and always will maintain.
They believe, terror will
help them. Well, it won't.
No matter which one it is -
white, red or even brown.
Zina! I bought this good-for-nothing
some Cracowian sausage.
Take the trouble to feed him
when he gets over his nausea.
Cracowian sausage!? I'd rather eat
the Cracowian salami myself.
Just you try! Poison to the human
stomach, that's what it is.