The Mirror

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MOSFILM:

Fourth Artists' Association

What is your first name,

your last name?

My name is Yuri Zhary.

Where did you come from?

I came from Kharkov.

What school do you go to?

I go to a technical school.

Now we're going

to have a sance.

You just look at me.

Look me in the eye.

Look in front of you.

Turn around, with your back to me.

Concentrate on my hand.

My hand is drawing you back.

Spread your hands.

Concentrate. All your tension

is centered in your hands.

Your hands are strained!

Concentrate all of your

will power,

your big desire to win,

on your hands.

Your hands are getting

more and more tense.

They're very tense.

Still more tense.

Look at your fingers.

Your fingers are tense.

From here the tension passes on

to your fingers.

Look at your hands.

Yura, concentrate!

On my count of three

your hands will become immobile.

One, two, three!

Your hands don't move.

You can't move them.

You're trying to move your hands,

but they're fixed.

It's very hard for you

to make a slightest movement.

Now I'm going to lift

this transfixion,

and you'll be able to speak

freely, easily and articulately.

From now on you will speak

loudly and clearly.

Look at me.

I'm lifting the tension

from your hands and your speech.

One, two, three!

Go ahead, say loudly and clearly:

I can speak!

MIRROR:

Margarita TEREKHOVA

as Mother and Natalya

Written by Alexander MISHARIN

and Andrei TARKOVSKY

Directed by Andrei TARKOVSKY

Director of Photography

Georgy RERBERG

Production Designer

Nikolai DVIGUBSKY

Music by Eduard ARTEMYEV

Sound by Semyon LITVINOV

Tatiana KAMENEVA

Also starring

I. DANILTSEV

L. TARKOVSKAYA, A. DEMIDOVA

A. SOLONITSYN

N. GRINKO

T. OGORODNIKOVA

Yu. NAZAROV, O. YANKOVSKY

F. YANKOVSKY

Yu. SVENTIKOV, T. RESHETNIKOVA

Author's text narrated by

I. SMOKTUNOVSKY

Verses by Arseny TARKOVSKY

recited by the author

Playing in the film music by

J.S. Bach, Pergolesi, Purcell

MIRROR:

The road from the station

passed through Ignatievo,

then swerved near the farm

we had lived on each summer

before the war,

and through a dense oak forest

went on as far as Tomshino.

Usually we spotted our people

as soon as they appeared from

behind a bush in the mid-field.

If he turned from the bush

towards our house, then it's father.

If not, it meant it was not father

and that father would never come.

Am I going the right way

to Tomshino?

You shouldn't have taken a turn

at the bush.

- And this... What's this?

- What?

Why are you sitting here?

- I live here.

- Where? On the fence?

Are you interested in the way to

Tomshino or where I live?

I brought all the instruments,

but forgot the key.

Do you happen to have a nail

or a screw-driver?

I don't have any nails.

Why are you so nervous?

Give me your hand. I'm a doctor.

You're bothering me.

Do you want me to call my husband?

You haven't got any husband.

There's no ring.

Though people don't wear rings

nowadays. Maybe only old people.

May I have a cigarette?

Why do you look so sad?

And why do you look so happy?

It's a pleasure to fall down

with an attractive woman.

You know, I fell and found

strange things here - roots, bushes...

Has it ever occurred to you

that plants can feel, know,

even comprehend...

The trees, this hazel-nut bush...

- This is the alder-tree.

- It doesn't matter.

They don't run about.

Like us who are rushing, fussing,

uttering banalities.

That's because we don't trust

nature that is inside us.

Always this suspiciousness,

haste,

and no time

to stop and think.

Look, you seem to be a bit...

It's no problem for me.

I'm a doctor.

And what about "Ward Number Six"?

Oh, Chekhov had made it all up!

Come to Tomshino sometime.

We often have a good time there.

You've got blood!

- Where?

- Behind your ear.

Each moment of our dates, not many,

We celebrated as an Epiphany.

Alone in the whole world.

More daring and lighter

than a bird

Down the stairs, like a dizzy

apparition,

You came to take me on your road,

Through rain-soaked lilacs,

To your own possession,

To the looking glass world.

As night descended

I was blessed with grace,

The altar gate opened up,

And in the darkness shining

And slowly reclining

Was your body naked.

On waking up I said:

God bless you!

Although I knew how daring

and undue

My blessing was:
You were fast

asleep,

Your closed eyelids

with the universal blue

The lilac on the table

so strained to sweep.

Touched by the blue, your lids

Were quite serene, your hand was

warm.

And rivers pulsed in crystal slits,

Mountains smoked, and oceans

swarmed.

You held a sphere in your palm,

Of crystal; on your throne

you were sleeping calm.

And, oh my God! -

Belonging only to me,

You woke and at once transformed

The language humans speak and think.

Speech rushed up sonorously formed,

With the word "you" so much

reformed

As to evolve a new sense meaning

king.

And suddenly all changed,

like in a trance,

Even trivial things,

so often used and tried,

When standing 'tween us,

guarding us,

Was water, solid, stratified.

It carried us I don't know where.

Retreating before us, like some

mirage,

Were cities, miraculously fair.

Under our feet the mint grass spread,

The birds were following our tread,

The fishes came to a river bend,

And to our eyes the sky was open.

Behind us our fate was groping,

Like an insane man with a razor

in his hand.

Oh, good heavens! Dounya!

What is it, Pasha?!

A fire! But be quiet.

He'll get it coming to him!

And what if Vitya is in there?

What if he's burned?

Where's Klanya?

What?

Dad!

- Alexei?

- Hello, ma!

What's wrong with your voice?

Nothing serious.

I guess it's just a sore throat.

I haven't spoken to anyone

for three days.

I even liked it. I think it's good

to keep silent for a while.

Words can't express everything

a person feels.

Words are flaccid.

I just dreamed of you in my sleep.

As though I were still a child...

By the way, what year was it

when dad left us?

And the fire? Remember the hay-loft

that burned down at the farm?

That was in '35 too.

All right, stop pulling the wool

over my eyes.

You know... Lisa died.

The one I worked in the printing

house with.

- Oh God... When?

- This morning, at 7.

And what time is it now?

What is now?

- Almost six.

- In the morning?

What's the matter with you?

In the evening.

Mom, why do we have to fight

all the time?

I'm sorry if I did anything wrong.

Printing-house.

Next stop:
Serpukhovskaya.

What's the rush?

Hello.

Where're the proofs

I've been reading?

I don't know. Just a minute.

Yelizaveta Pavlovna is here.

Marousia, what's wrong?

Something in yesterday's proofs?

In the Goslit edition?

Don't be so nervous!

We should look in the typesetting

case.

Nothing terrible has happened.

It's such an important edition!

Although misprints have no place

in any edition.

Shut up, you idiot.

- What happened?

- Nothing serious.

I just want to check something.

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