Eisenstein in Guanajuato Page #3

the other solemn and sad,

as though he had wet his trousers.

(CHUCKLES)

Dorothy Gish and her sister

wanted me to make a film,

but sentimental melodrama is not my hat.

Too much gushing and gishing, no irony.

I sent them to Pudovkin.

He is good at tears and whey.

He said, "If I was no good

at treating American ladies well,

"I was nothing. What are you?" he said.

I replied, "I am a scientific dilettante

with encyclopaedic interests."

(SPEAKING SPANISH)

(MEXICAN FOLK MUSIC)

(INAUDIBLE)

We left Moscow just as

the ceiling was falling in.

Pasternak and Mayakovsky

were forbidden to leave.

Passports forbidden.

Trotsky was deported to Turkey.

Poets, painters, and publishers

were sacked, spitted,

sat upon, and spat upon.

We felt the flames up our bums,

red-hot pokers up our asses

as we fled to America.

It scorched us out of Russia.

And I had Joey Schenck's invite

in my back trouser pocket,

- resting against my right buttock.

- (CHILDREN LAUGHING)

An invite to Hollywood.

(FOLK MUSIC CONTINUES)

Excuse me, sir,

I see you are being protected

by grandmothers.

(INAUDIBLE)

(CAMERA SHUTTER CLICKS)

And then came the bad news.

Keep out the Red Peril!

These Russians will rape

and abuse our American children!

The biggest shark in the shark tank

was an American Senator, Hamilton Fish,

Redneck Extraordinaire.

And behind sharkman Senator Fish

was the riot-master Major Frank Pease.

The bad meat-man in Battleship Potemkin.

I could well have been accused

of sacrilege, insulting God.

I was the "Roosian" Eisenstein,

the Messenger from Hell.

And they won.

Paramount Pictures

could not afford the bad publicity.

Paramount Pictures pictured me

with everyone American

American they could find

to bolster me up,

to keep my image squeaky clean.

I shook hands with Walt Disney,

the greatest and only true filmmaker

who starts from an absolutely clean slate.

Oh, and I met his apprentice-assistant

and protg, Mickey Mouse

and I rubbed wet noses with Rin Tin Tin.

But in the end...

They could not afford to hold out.

They gave in. They caved in.

They were getting jumpy and jittery.

Said it was the Depression.

Said they had to weather the storm.

Said it was the rains.

And when the rains had passed,

they would call me back.

So exit Eisenstein.

Jew. Red. Troublemaker. Communist.

And then I met Upton Sinclair

and came here to Mexico

to meet you, Palomino,

and Palomino's wife

and Palomino's two small children.

Who should be in bed.

So where do I sleep tonight?

- I cannot sleep naked.

- Why not?

Because I have never slept naked,

except last night when you stole my clothes.

My mother didn't like it. I didn't like it.

Someone could have stolen my virginity

when I lay there sleeping naked.

- Virginity?

- I was joking.

- Do you have a nightshirt?

- No.

My wife has a nightgown.

Let me borrow your nightgown.

- (CHUCKLES)

- Why not?

(CHILDREN SINGING)

# Twinkle, twinkle, little star

# How I wonder where you are

# Up above the world so high

# Like a diamond in the sky #

(CHILDREN CONTINUE SINGING IN SPANISH)

ROLANDO:
Good, Pascal.

(CLASSICAL MUSIC)

(FLY BUZZING)

There are no flies on me.

Those flies again. Are they still Russian flies?

They are preparing themselves, getting ready,

assembling to devour my putrefying flesh.

Flies and maggots.

I 'm familiar with maggots,

Battleship Potemkin maggots.

- Knock, knock, who's there?

- Only Death.

(SIGHS)

Death is so close here in the hot sun.

He's tapping me on the shoulder.

In Russia, we hide Death away.

Make him a distant villain.

Here, Death is very close,

and a friendly hero.

She greets us at the cemetery gate

and walks with us politely.

We walk with Death in the cemetery

under the same parasol.

We benefit from the same shadow.

Better that Death is a friend,

not a stranger.

Lenin is dead.

So is Karl Marx.

Both died in their beds.

Jesus Christ is dead. He was crucified.

And Saint Peter,

he was crucified upside down.

And Corts and Pizarro

and Torquemada is dead.

Moctezuma is dead.

And George Washington is dead.

And Abraham Lincoln is dead. He was shot.

(GUNSHOT)

Pancho Villa is dead. He was shot.

(GUNSHOT)

And Zapata is dead. He was shot.

(GUNSHOT)

And Benito Pablo Jurez is dead.

Miguel Hidalgo, he is dead. He was shot.

(GUNSHOT)

I once played Leonardo da Vinci

dying in the arms of Francois I at Amboise.

Eisenstein will die...

Like Leonardo.

I'm not so sure

that filmmakers will be remembered.

We have made a procession

of the mighty dead.

Aren't you surprised that we spend

so much time making people die in films?

All actors, sooner or later,

and sooner rather than later,

in theatres and cinemas around the world

are asked to f*** or die.

Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth,

Juliet, Madame Butterfly,

Joan of Arc, Yevgeniy Onegin,

Cleopatra, Julius Caesar,

Savonarola, Helen of Troy,

Ivan the Terrible...

We give you licence to show us

people f***ing and dying,

and we know they are not.

And you know they are not.

And we know that you know

that we know they are not.

It's all to prove we are alive twice over.

First as an affirmation

and then as a challenge

to Death itself.

The willing and very necessary

suspension of disbelief.

In modern-day Russia,

Death comes drunk in a crumpled

dark-grey suit with no underwear

because no one has money

for vests and underpants in Russia.

He wears a second-hand grubby white shirt

with no collar and dirty cuffs.

Death in Russia

is a shabby meeting at life's end.

Here in Mexico,

Death comes bright-eyed

and laughing, totally sober,

beginning his greatest adventure,

kissing the air.

His head, his heart,

and his cock held high.

Sex and death, the two non-negotiables.

Eros and Thanatos.

We are never aware of our own conception.

Can we really be a witness to our own death?

You have introduced yourself

to Death in Mxico.

Indeed, you seem to me

to have introduced yourself

to Death in Mxico.

Perhaps now you need

to introduce yourself to sex in Mxico?

(LAUGHS)

Well, perhaps now I need to introduce myself

to sex in the world.

(CHUCKLES)

Perhaps, Caedo, you could introduce me

to sex in Mexico and the world?

PALOMINO:
Another subject matter

could be money.

Money?

I am not so sure at all about money.

It has not been around for so very long.

And now so many fools have it

and so many wise men do not.

It cannot be very important.

And money can be so easily subsumed

into death and sex,

if only to delay one and pay for the other.

(CHUCKLES)

Another subject matter could be power.

You will have to go back

to Russia sooner or later.

And in Russia,

you will witness power unlimited.

Every morning there is a flood

of yellow telegrams

pushed under my door.

They want me back in Russia.

Russian power reaches its huge hand

here to me in Mexico.

Can anyone escape it?

PALOMINO:
Now we sleep for one hour.

Enjoy your siesta.

A siesta splits the day in two.

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