Andrei Rublev

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MOSFILM:

Creative Association

of Writers and Cinematographers

ANDREI RUBLYOV:

Screenplay by

Andrei MIKHALKOV-KONCHALOVSKY

Andrei TARKOVSKY

Directed by

Andrei TARKOVSKY

Director of Photography

Vadim YUSOV

Production Designer

Ye. CHERNYAYEV

with participation of

I. NOVODERYOZHKIN, S. VORONKOV

Music by

Vyacheslav OVCHINNIKOV

Sound by

Inna ZELENTSOVA

Tatiana KAMENEVA

Andrei Rublyov

Anatoly SOLONITSYN

Kirill

Ivan LAPIKOV

Daniil Chorny

Nikolai GRINKO

Theophanes the Greek

Nikolai SERGEYEV

God's Fool - Irma RAUSCH

Boriska - Nikolai BURLYAEV

Grand Prince, Little Prince

Yuri NAZAROV

Yu. NIKULIN, R. BYKOV

N. GRABBE, M. KONONOV

S. KRYLOV

B. BEISHENALIYEV, B. MATYSIK

A. OBUKHOV, Volodya TITOV

ANDREI RUBLYOV:

Part One

Arkhip, give me the belt.

There you go.

Bring it up!

Oh God, I pray we make it.

Hurry up, untie it!

- Arkhip! Hold on a minute!

- Hurry, Yefim!

I'm here... here...

Wait...

Cut the rope, uncle!

Stick the brand into his mug!

I'm flying!

Yefim! What are you doing?

I'm flying!

Arkhip, I'm flying!

Hey, you! Catch me!

Oh, my God! What is it?!

Arkhipushka!!

BUFFOON:

Moscow is full of painters

even without us.

Don't worry, we'll find some job.

Sure. But it's still annoying that...

Yes. Take this birch-tree. Every day

you walked by, without noticing it.

But when you know

that you won't see it again...

Look at it, it's so beautiful!

- Sure thing, ten years.

- Nine.

- It's 9 for you, for me it's 10.

- No. For me it's 7, for you, 9.

Rain! Let's take cover here!

Come on! It's no big deal.

There went a buffoon breed,

They indulged in honey and mead.

They met a high-ranked boyar,

They met a one-eyed Tartar.

They amused him all along,

They honored him with a song.

Our boyar is a lucky devil,

His is a house of plentiful level.

His wife has a gorgeous body,

She may show it,

but not to everybody.

Good woman, open the door,

Your master is coming.

And the boyar, what a spunk!

Tried to make them funk.

All of you, buffoons,

Are drunks and thieves,

You're flogged and will be

's long as anybody breathes.

You vagabonding slime,

You'll die in your grime.

Soon all of your make

Will be burnt on the stake.

Rap! And he was grabbed

Somewhere between

his knee and his spleen.

The boyar used to have a beard.

Promptly, with a grin,

They shaved him clean.

And missing one's beard is wrong,

Because even women have beards

Where they belong.

The boyar whimpers and howls,

Hopping like a flea on the balls.

Even a goat has a beard.

I better go home to my endeared.

So he knocked on his window. Oh?

His wife would not recognize him, no.

She saw a face, bald and bare,

And failed to grab him by his hair.

She socked it to him with a pan. Bang!

So that he behaved, and not raved.

Shame and disgrace!

Better put pants on your face.

Look! Isn't it weird?

A boyar without his beard!

The boyar took to running and roaming,

After him the geese were swarming.

He ran with no luck,

Lame like a duck.

A priest on the road

Took him for a broad.

The priest, a horny stag,

Him to the bushes he dragged.

If you strip him of his pants

And look at his both ends,

There's no difference!

Which one is my mazard?

It's raining outside.

Can we wait here?

Come on in.

Want some mead?

You're dripping wet.

- Thank you. We don't drink.

- Nor of women we ever think.

A priest is God's doing,

a buffoon is the devil's.

What if my old woman goes

to the bushes, too?

Yours will be the first to go there.

Yours will be the first to go, anyway.

Come here!

- Where have you been?

- Just took a little walk.

Shall we go?

Hey, Danila!

The rain's over. Let's go.

Christ be with you, good woman.

THEOPHANES THE GREEK

Have mercy!

I'm innocent!

Maybe he IS innocent?

They've slandered me, vipers!

Anyone here?

- Did you come to have a look?

- Yes, to have a look.

Go ahead, look.

Before we put drying oil on.

So you're the Greek, Theophanes?

Yes. What are you looking at me for?

Look over there.

Where are you from?

From the Andronnikov Monastery.

Then you must be Andrei Rublyov.

No.

I hear everybody praising Rublyov

at the top of their voices.

Well, he's a good master.

But he'll never be able to do this.

It's amazing, with the colors being

so quiet.

Oh, God!

It's just...

Why did you stop praising?

Speak out.

I can't.

I can't even put it in words.

There's a great truth

in Konstantin Kostechensky's saying:

"You'll penetrate the crux of every

thing

if you describe it truthfully."

And Andrei...

Well, I'm ready to say it to his face.

He's like brother to me.

They praise him, that's right.

He puts the paint in a thin layer,

very delicately, very skillfully.

But something is missing...

Fear is missing, and faith!

The faith that comes from the bottom

of one's heart.

And simplicity.

Remember what Epiphanius said

about Sergius's virtue:

"Simplicity without flourish".

That's what it is.

It's holy.

Simplicity without flourish.

You couldn't put it better.

I see you're clever!

But what good is there in it?

Maybe it's better, in the darkness

of your ignorance,

to follow your heart's calling?

Too much wisdom

brings much sorrow.

He that increaseth knowledge

increaseth sorrow.

Proshka! Where's the drying oil?

Whose ears I'll have to box?

Where have they all gone?

They say you finish your paintings

very quickly.

That's the only way I can paint.

I get bored very soon.

Once I puttered over it for a whole

week and finally had to give it up!

And you threw it away?

Why?

Used it to press sauerkraut.

I'm fed up with it up to here!

I've got apprentices galore,

and not one of them is any good.

They can't even read manuscripts.

Listen, will you be my assistant?

Stop joking. Don't laugh at me.

I'm not joking.

I have no one to help me decorate

the Annunciation Cathedral in Moscow.

The scaffolding's been already

erected there. Do you understand?

I understand, but I think I'm not up

to the job.

I'll explain everything to you. Have

you ever painted on raw gesso ground?

Sure, with brains like yours!

Even these fools of mine

can work the brush.

I said no.

Let's not talk about it any more.

Well, as you wish...

But don't regret it later.

I don't forget easily!

I may regret,

but you're doing a wrong thing.

A poor monk came to you,

and you liked talking with him

about books.

So you decided

to do him a great favor.

As a matter of fact, I haven't

touched a book for three years.

And I don't want to.

My path is different now.

- I'm going to die soon.

- Come on, don't say that.

Yes, I'm going to die. The other day,

I saw an angel in my dream.

"Come with me," he says.

And I answer:
"I'm going to die soon

anyway, without your help."

Won't you change your mind?

All right. But on one condition.

What do you want? Money?

We'll split it in half. Is it a deal?

No. I'll be working for free.

But only if you yourself come for me

to the monastery

and in front of the whole community

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