Taras Bulba

---

An

ARK-FILM

Production

This picture was produced with the support of

the Ministry of culture of the Russian Federation

Before the battle, I want to tell you,

friends, about our comradeship.

There are comrades everywhere,

in other countries,

but comrades such as in Russia,

there are none, nowhere.

Loving like the Russian soul, not through reason,

but through what God has given us, and which is in us,

loving like that, nobody can.

I know, there are infamous

bastards on our soil.

All they think about is stacking up grain, hay

and raising herds of horses.

They bring along, the Devil knows

which kinds of barbarian customs.

They despise their own language.

They even refuse to speak it among themselves.

They sell their offspring like

goods on the cattle market !

And the favour of a foreign king,

who is not even a king but a Polish tycoon,

whose yellow boots are crushing their own faces,

matters more to them than any kind of fellowship !

But even in the lowest of bastards, whoever he may be,

brothers, there lies a bit of the Russian soul,

when he wakes up someday, hits the ground

with his fists, takes his head in his hands...

curses aloud his despicable life, ready to redeem himself

and to endure torments to atone for his shame.

Let thel all know what

comradeship means on Russian soil.

And if it comes down to that, if we have to die,

none of them will ever avoid the same death.

None !

None !

They don't have the balls,

it's in their nature.

Attack !

Bogdan Stupka

Based on the novel by

GOGOL:

TARAS BULBA:

Starring

Igor Petrenko

Vladimir Vdovitchenkov

Original Music

Igor Kornelyuk

Image

Dimitri Mass

Executive Producer

Alexander Potemkin

Producers

Anton Znatopolskiy

Ruben Dishdishyan

Directed by

Vladimir Bortko

Welcome.

How was the journey ?

Excellent.

Turn around, son !

Turn around !

It's funny, what you're wearing.

It looks like a pope's cassock, uh !

Such long dresses !

And if I push one of you,

will I see him tumble to the ground,

entangled in the folds ?

Don't laugh at us, father.

Ooh ! He's so cute !

Ha !

Why don't you laugh ?

Although you're my father, if you laugh,

I guarantee you, I will hit you.

What ? Your father ?!

Even though you're my father.

If I get offended, I do not

consider or respect any man.

And how can you fight ?

With your fists ?

Ha ?

So be it.

All right, come on.

Come on !

Come with your fists.

Come on !

Good, son.

Well done, sonny.

Frankly, that's good.

Have you gone crazy, old fart !

The children are back.

One long year without seeing them,

and all he thinks of, is boxing them !

But he was the one wanted to fight !

And not so bad, honestly.

He'll make a good Cossack !

Welcome, my son !

Shall we hug ?

Good, my son.

Always hit the way you hit me.

Don't fear anyone.

And you, snot-nose, what are you

doing there, swinging your arms ?

Why, unworthy son,

won't you come and hug me ?

Such a foolish idea to have

your kids fighting their own father !

Yeah...and I hear this

coming from a highbrow !

Don't listen to your mother, my son.

She's a woman, and knows nothing.

Who's your family ?

Your future, is these plains,

and a good horse.

That...is your family.

Do you see this sword ?

That...is your mother.

I'm sending you off to

Zaporozhye next week.

That is where knowledge can be found.

There only, spirits are being shaped.

Only there.

I'm afraid, my sons, that the Archimandrite

has not passed the taste for vodka to you.

Why not concede, my sons,

that you have been

whipped with birch sticks, on the back,

and on any other place

that makes you a Cossack ?

It's no use, father, to remember the past.

What is done, is done.

He's only trying to provoke you.

Just let these pagans talk,

they satisfy themselves to know

what a Cossack saber is.

Good, son !

Frankly.

If it is like this, I shall go with you.

Indeed !

What the hell can I expect here ?

Sowing buckwheat,

taking care of the household ?

Keeping the sheep, the pigs ?

Or chatting with my wife ?

Damn !

I am a Cossack !

And I don't want to !

Is there not a war ?

And I shall go with you to Zaporozhye.

and da-da-da-da, have fun !

What kind of enemy can we

confront by staying here ?

What's the use of having a house ?

What's the use of all this ?

Dmitro, I will entrust you to take care

of my properties, you hear me ?

As long as I'll be in Syetch,

fighting with the regiment.

Don't forget to give them

the best oats you can find.

Monaka, Orlika, Buyana.

Bulba was horribly stubborn.

He was one of those characters...

who could only be found in the

depths on the sixteenth century,

and who, being born Cossacks,

were provided with the reckless

and savage mores of the Russian nature.

He was a phenomenal example of Russian force,

driven from the entrails of the people,

as well as from many inequities.

Here.

Let's go !

Let go !

All right, let's go !

My beloved sons, what's waiting for you ?

What are you to become ?

Who will lead you ?

In which battle will you lose

your heads to the Tatars ?

And I won't even know where

to find your mutilated bodies.

Right, sons, all is ready.

Why wait any longer ?

Now, following the Christian tradition,

we have to all sit down.

Mother, bless your children.

Pray God to fight bravely,

to always act honestly,

and to always protect faith in Christ.

Or else,

better disappear,

than think differently.

May the mother of God bless you.

My sons, do not forget your mother.

Children...

Syetch, our mother.

Here is Syetch.

This is the nest where they all come from,

proud and strong as lions !

This is where the Cossacks are

spreading throughout Ukraine.

Anyone who comes here, abandons

behind him what he used to be.

He'll happily spend time in

the company of others like him.

He won't have parents, or family, or home,

only undying insouciance and infinite skies.

This is Syetch.

Hey, musicians, play faster !

Don't be mad, Thomas, vodka

is orthodox for Christians !

Take off your coat.

See how much it weighs !

I can't.

And why ?

I can't, I could even sell it

just to get a means to drink more.

Have fun, Vassil !

I redeemed you.

Now, you don't owe anyone anything.

Hail, Kirdyaga !

And I can see you didn't come alone,

but with your sons.

He killed a comrade...like a dog.

Just like that, dead drunk.

He's a shame for all Cossacks.

And if he hadn't been a Cossack ?

But only a simple man ?

A Polack ?

Wouldn't that be a shame, then ?

If it were so, only the Polacks would mourn.

Nobody's mourning us.

But there are laws.

A court ? Roman law ?

Here prevails the law of our soil.

What if we were born in another country ?

I don't know.

I remember, when we were kids,

we were walking with you on the road,

and you were skipping around, crying,

because the sun was heating

the dust and burning your feet.

I took you in my arms,

and walked again, and I had the feeling

that it wasn't the dust at all,

but the soil itself that was warming my feet.

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