Wizard of the Kremlin, The (2025)

[bunniefuu]

Since Vareen Badernoff

stepped down as advisor

to Vladimir Vladimir

Richard Putin, the Tsar.

The legends about him haven't waned.

They've multiplied.

Most men of power get their aura from the

position they hold.

When they lose it, it's like a plug has

been pulled.

Badernoff was a different breed.

Some say he retreated to a monastery in

Mount Athos.

Others swore they saw him in Ibiza.

Surrounded by coked-up models.

Still others insist they spotted him on

the front line in the Donbas.

But even Badernoff went through life in a

swirl of enigmas.

The sole certainty was his influence on

the Tsar.

In his 15 years of

service, he contributed

decisively to the growth

of the Tsar's power.

He was known as the Wizard of the Kremlin,

the new restaurant.

He would show up unannounced

at the President's office

in the middle of the night

to handle urgent matters.

Perhaps the Tsar himself would call him in

on his personal line.

Occasionally, the two of them

were joined by a prominent

minister or the CEO of some

state-owned conglomerate.

But in these witnesses

never shed any light on

the Tsar and his

advisor's nightly activities.

When I returned to

Moscow a few years after his

disappearance, Badernoff's

memories still loomed large.

The press persisted

in attributing to him the

most baffling measures

taken by the Kremlin.

As for me, I had just

published an essay in

foreign affairs that

created something of a stir.

It was called Vareem Badernoff in the

invention of fake democracy.

If you need anything, just dial night.

Thank you.

Have a good day, Mr. Roland.

You, too.

I took a year's sabbatical from Yale to

write the first biography of the abganee

zamyat, one of Russia's

great writers and an

early antagonist of

Stalin's communist regime.

I walked in the pale winter light,

leafed through old books.

Zamyatun became my obsession.

He was a visionary.

And not just when it came to Stalin.

All subsequent dictators as well.

From Silicon Valley oligarchs to China's

one-party state.

From Mark Zuckerberg to Xi Jinping.

His dystopian novel, We, inspired George

Orwell's 1984.

Just outside the city, gloomy, never-ending

woods stretched on the way to Siberia.

I felt a mix of curiosity and

apprehension.

In Russia, things generally go pretty

well.

But when they go bad, they go really bad.

Good morning.

Please, put on me, Mr. Roland.

May I take your coat?

I will bring you something.

Thank you.

Thank you.

I didn't know you collected old books.

But I'm collecting my read them.

There's a major difference.

So you're a reader of Zamyatun.

Then I have something to show you that you

will truly appreciate.

Do you know what this is?

The letter Zamyatun wrote to Stalin.

Asking permission to leave the USSR.

Do your surface, Rionovich.

Just as the Christians created the devil as

a convenient personification of all evil.

So the critics have transformed me into

the devil of Soviet literature.

Zamyatun understood too much, too quickly.

Made the rash decision to write about it.

Please, never see.

You read it?

Of course.

You even took the time to make notes.

I'm honored.

Let's not get carried away.

However, compared to the others,

you did understand something not much,

but something.

Thank you.

You said you consider yourself an artist.

It's just that I've played a supporting

role.

I'm retired now.

You don't miss the adrenaline.

Trust me, there is no greater joy than

waking up every morning, having coffee,

and taking your daughter to school.

How did the others take it?

My leaving.

Badly, of course.

Courtiers forgive everyone, thieves,

murderers, traitors, but not as ertas.

What?

You don't want what we're willing to k*ll

for.

And the czar.

The czar is a different story.

My father feared this library.

It belonged to my grandfather,

Kustin, Kratzia, Machiavelli, the

skeptics, the disillusioned, hardly the

Soviet doxer.

But to his credit, he never tried to deny

me any of them.

Your father?

He ended up director of the Academy of

Social Sciences for the Communist Party.

His one goal in life was

to avoid being awakened

at dawn by the KGB

banging on his front door.

In his position, he shouldn't have had to

worry about that.

No one was safe in the Soviet Union.

No one was safe in Russia, period.

Not me.

Not even you.

When I was growing

up, the most sought-after

privilege in Moscow

was the Kremlin off-car.

A food basket reserved for the Communist

Party senior officials.

What were you eating today?

Salt and bittersky.

Alarm cufflets.

Ultimately, my problem is that I had a

happy childhood.

And in Russia, that's not normal.

All the Russian elite

experienced Soviet poverty before

they gained access to

villos on the cote as your...

And they still haven't gotten over it.

Even the czar, me, the kid who grew up in

a shoddy common alka at the back of a

gloomy courtyard in St. Petersburg,

now I'm invited to Buckingham Palace.

Things have changed.

Not that much.

For you, Westerners, money is essential.

What matters in Russia is your proximity

to power.

The Soviet system was based on privilege,

not cash.

Yesterday, there wasn't any.

Tomorrow, who knows?

So, you might as well just blow it all.

Do you know what a vtushko is?

It was a telephone

without a dial that allowed

party leaders to

communicate directly with you.

Having one man sh**t made it.

Look, this is a vtushko.

Gray, like everything Soviet.

If you think Moscow is gray, you should

try Washington.

Oh, god, they're not gray, they're dead.

Anyway, I'm banned from entering the USA

in Europe.

Is your father still alive?

No.

He might have subsisted in his world for a

long time.

But then along came Gorbachev and his

glass of milk.

Glass of milk?

Oh, he didn't have to

listen to Gorbachev to know

that he was about to

destroy the Soviet Union.

It was enough to look at him.

He took to the rostrum, they handed him a

glass of milk.

And he proceeded to double the price of

vodka and tried to get everyone on him.

In Russia, can you imagine?

No wonder everything spun out of control.

What?

Was it for communism and for my father?

He lost everything.

His job, privileges, reputation.

What about you?

What did you do in those times?

My father wanted me to be a diplomat,

but I was never keen on studying.

I did odd jobs, found television sets,

cassette decks, and resold them.

Business was good.

I started to make more money than my

father, a lot more than my father.

I was just a no-nothing kid.

That's why I was better suited to the new

world.

In the early 90s, Moscow was a dynamic

city.

The place was filled with hope for a few

years, just a few.

Band books were coming out every week.

Solzhenitsyn, Bastolak, Bulgakov.

Art magazines and literature reviews were

selling in the millions.

The Russian appetite for freedom was

insatiable.

So I enrolled in the Russian

Institute of Theodorats

in Moscow and began living

a messy life of a Thespian.

We were barely 20 in a whole

new world that opened up to

us just as we were finally

strong enough to conquer it.

We

were so excited, we never slept more than

three or four hours a night.

We were convinced it was finally our turn

to rebuild society on new foundations.

We could see plays from Europe.

We'd meet the actors and directors and

talk with them all night long.

You really think that

freedom will change everything

and you will leave in a

world of culture and poetry?

Our generation rejected the system.

Our parents, they kept their heads down.

Not us.

You will not like what I am about to say.

How can you say such things?

And their communism being a loser was the

only way to be a decent human being.

You were not complicit, at least.

How's the camera?

Chaos is their threat.

That's you in my head.

Chaos is their threat.

That's you in my head.

Unshoo, unburnt in the snow.

No, they will never know.

Hustle will come round.

You're a train wreck.

Seriously shot to tell you, Tom,

around your neck.

Unshoo, unburnt in the snow.

No, they will never know.

You can't know what I mean.

When I say agi, nah, dee nah, dee nah,

dee nah.

You really impressed me?

No, nah.

I had to tell you because it doesn't have

an outfit.

Okay, well...

That's interesting.

This must be pretty important.

What exactly impressed you?

You?

Your performance?

What performance?

Well, wasn't that you singing?

You called that singing?

Well, what do you call it?

Trendy bullshit.

Well, I did that as a favour.

For who?

The KGB agents watching us.

I'm happy to give them something to spice

up the report.

That's a shame you have talent.

Because I do what New Yorkers did 15 years

ago.

Aw, you're a real self yet.

You think the world's just waiting for

you.

And you're not a real Soviet?

Well, my parents were poor and crazy.

They were hippies.

They cotted me around from commune to

commune.

Now they're old and sick

and they don't believe in

the old values any longer

and I'll tell you one thing.

I am not going to end up like them.

I'd like to talk to you about a role which

you've made.

You mean like the kind of actresses?

Yes, like the kind of actresses.

Well, unfortunately, I'm not an actress,

but I have no desire to be one.

I might even say I've done everything in

my power, not to be one.

Do you know you have Genes in Manhattan?

An icon, the most conventional

avant-gardeist.

I'm not into that stuff.

All due respect, you're missing out.

I put him on a version of his novel Wii at

the Institute of Theatre Arts.

You take risks.

I might be warming too a bit.

Do you have a car?

Yes.

Take me home.

I'm down on this party.

You're in a hurry.

What?

Too fast for me?

I don't know how I managed to make contact

with Planck Senior, but I knew immediately

that even if I were to live a thousand

years, I'd never meet anyone else like her.

Alright, everyone, I'm going to take it

again from the top.

Places, pleases, D-503, places.

Let's go.

Which scene should we start with?

The scene we've been doing all night,

Yuri, the mirror seat.

And should I sit down or lie down?

I should be lying, and then when you feel

the lights are near, you may sit up.

Alright, it's all in the repetition.

This was excellent.

Thank you, ladies.

The dinner scene was far too casual,

and I need something more mechanical.

Is the integral ready?

Alright, keep your

actions going until you feel

the lights from the

integral at which point?

This is a bad case.

It appears you have developed a soul.

Is it very serious, Doctor?

I'm treatable.

But what exactly is it?

I don't understand.

How can I explain?

Take a moment.

This one observes it and retains a trace

of everything.

My brothers, as you all

know, down below in the

city, they're building

the integral spaceship.

Down with the integral, down with it.

My brothers, the integral must be ours.

And you will be ours.

When she rides the skyward for the first

time, we will be the ones aboard.

But we have with us the builder of the

integral.

He left the city and came here with me to

be with you.

Your ambitions may

have been vague, but in

any case, Muscovide Arvin

got theatre at little

chance of satisfying them.

I know I lived in Moscow doing those

years.

There were no limits.

Everything was collapsing and being

rebuilt at once.

It was fascinating and terrifying time.

Stania and I lived

in our artistic bubble

while life outside was

rife with possibilities.

Nearly every day, some

former classmate would

come to me with an idea

of business proposition.

First on this grandfather's

bicycle, then in

an armoured Bentley

surrounded by bodyguards.

That's pretty much how it happened for the

Metri.

Siderov.

Siderov, yes.

To Metri, Siderov.

I known him in high school.

Now he was head of the Uncommunist League

at the University.

Don't think he was a incubator for Russian

capitalism.

I liked hearing about his adventures.

I wanted to write a play about

entrepreneurs like him.

You see, Dimitri?

It's not in finance.

They were a new social class emerging out

of nowhere, a matter of months.

It's pretty remarkable.

Good to see you.

Listen, this cafe was my first business,

but obviously I use it as a party.

There is no more legality that's over.

Forget it.

Let me tell you a story.

No more writing.

Close your eyes.

Pretend I'm your mama.

Once upon a time, I come across the supply

of Konya.

Give me fake Konya.

Fake real who cares.

That's not the point.

I put it on the market for $50 a bottle.

You hear that?

Nothing.

No one wants it.

I market up to $500.

They're f*cking fighting for it.

I'm sure you don't stop at Konya.

Computers, as it was Jean's tourist drink,

it's software.

All the thanks to the student cooperative.

A few minor cons.

I struggle to believe you.

Get for you.

These are some stories to make you laugh,

to make your audience laugh.

It's a play.

It's a play.

In actual fact, I came up

with a scheme to facilitate

the flow of payments

between state-run businesses.

In a nutshell, I borrow

money and lend it to others

for a fee, basically

what is known as a bank.

But... Oh, in this country, knows what a

bank is.

You could say that, in essence,

I created Russia's first commercial bank,

and I'll tell you how I did it.

I found a book, Commercial Banks of

Capitalist Countries.

Remarkable work.

I explained simply in great detail how the

banking system works, and I said,

hey, I like this.

Would you describe yourself as greedy?

Absolutely, yes.

Absolutely.

I didn't used to be, but I go greedy now

by the day.

It's an asset in my line of work.

I have a banker's personality.

I love money.

Nice, suit.

Nice shot.

Good read?

They're behind the times.

You used to let your moustache.

They're not only so always behind the

times.

I don't need to tell you about your...

Bloody heck, moustache.

He didn't well to shave it off.

How's the play coming along?

I play about you.

Yes.

I won't write it.

Why?

Because it's over now.

You can't tell me the truth anymore.

You're right.

But you know, we never could tell you the

whole truth.

No, but you used to tell me a bit more.

So, this is the famous Dimitri?

I see no other.

Vadim says he was 18 million rubles a

year.

Is that true?

It could be, I don't know.

He also says he worked out.

Is that so?

There's nothing wrong with that.

Lily, it's Nodden.

A bit too flashy to be elegant.

That's cheap.

It's just the girl with a f*cking bear on

her head.

In the world I move and it's better to be

flashy than elegant, you get more respect.

That explains your dreadful tie.

I never heard of it.

Never heard of it.

Of course you happen.

Just one tiny boutique.

It travels the world to make ties to

measure.

They make ties to measure.

In the world I move and I count.

You like champagne?

It's too flashy for you.

I should have known from that very first

encounter that my fate was sealed.

Exania could choose Dimitri, his

vulgarity, his energy.

He felt it immediately.

And so did I.

But for a long time I refused to believe

it.

Yes?

Coming, coming, coming.

By the time Dimitri, I wanted to surprise

you.

Come, come, come, come, come.

Let's go, let's go.

Are you hungry?

I have some flashy things.

Come here!

Come here!

Maybe you put me in a play, I'll show you.

From that moment on, Dimitri became a

frequent visitor to our house.

And there I was, thinking he came out of

some deep-rooted respect for the Ark.

Exania and I had chosen to dedicate our

lives to.

As if culture still had the power to exert

any influence over the real world.

The sleek, shiny world of money was

Dimitri's natural habitat.

Nothing could turn him away from it.

What he wanted, Exania,

so he was willing to spend a

little time with us on the

ruins of the city of the dead.

As the months passed, Exania became

increasingly receptive to his largest.

Everything that initially defined our

friendship, books we shared, concerts,

the all-night discussions

had fallen by the

wayside in favour of more

money-centric activities.

Gallery and disco tech openings,

dinners at White Sun or Amitage.

Exania was getting hired by the Minutans

on Dimitri's lifestyle.

Hylie!

Hylie is the Minutans and is the only

wealthy to invent.

You're going to be a part of it!

He doesn't

like to go around.

Or Hylie!

It's going home.

I remember waking up one night and gazing

at her for a long time.

I felt so tired, even though I hadn't

accomplished anything yet.

I nurtured the illusion that Exania would

perceive my greatness.

But as the days passed, I noticed that the

way she saw me was changing.

What began as a vague look of irony was

morphing into contempt.

You're stronger than I am, because you

don't love me.

I wanted to tell her.

My pain only augmented her boredom.

Yeah, you want some water?

Dimitri, I've told you ten times you drive

too rough.

I don't know either way.

They'd let him take the wheel or hitchhike

home.

Do you want to go in the back?

That's sweet of you, honey, but I could

even stick her in the back.

There's something I forgot to tell you.

I'm listening.

I'm leaving.

Is that all you can muster?

You saw me in the car with Dimitri?

Do you think I missed that?

Yeah, it's been over for a long time.

Come in.

You're not disturbing me.

I was afraid to wake you.

I have a seat.

Finally, I have an excuse to stand bed all

day, reading the classics and dozing.

Let's use me.

There's the illness.

This may surprise you, but illness is not

necessarily a serious thing.

Serious things like effort and work are

the burden of people in good health.

Those who are dying have nothing more to

do.

They can just enjoy their days.

You

have to stay here.

I know.

You'll have a dozen opportunities to start

over.

I expected to suffer terribly,

but I feel lighter and strong.

You see?

But theatre is no longer enough for me.

Loosing tenure has made me ambitious.

Ambitious now?

That's unexpected.

But all the better I'll take it as good

news.

I cannot bear the right as failure to

affect reality.

I want to be part of my times.

I'll just don't witness.

You know what?

I'll leave your times to you.

With no regrets.

Oh, this is Sputnik, the only one allowed

inside.

Let me, a sputie, say hi.

My daughter loves him.

In the end, my father had an attack and

died very suddenly.

The ceremony wasn't exactly headline news.

Four poor souls followed

the horse in a beat-up car,

while the shiny SUVs of the

Nouveau Reach spent past them.

He died too late.

He probably would have wanted a nicer

funeral.

But in the end, he didn't give a time.

At least.

I hope he didn't.

I needed to get my mind

off things, and Moscow

in the mid-90s was the

perfect place to do that.

Imagine all those young men

and women suddenly seeing

a new world of possibility

opening up before them.

They could become whatever they wanted,

a mass fortunes, travel the world.

It was enough to make your head spin.

It was a time of incredible violence.

It was g*nf*re everywhere, and for the

most frivolous reasons, men of no

importance were escorted by private militia

until the day they were blown sky-high.

Turning my theater experience

into a career as a TV producer

was like going from a horse

and car to a Lamborghini.

One day, I was sitting

in a kitchen table,

rhapsodizing about

Mayakovsky and drinking hot tea.

The next, I was nursing a latte in an open

space designed by Dutch architects.

Forget Channel One.

Forget State TV were a private company

times have changed.

We're going to do game shows and politics,

but different.

The Soviets tried to smother this country

under a little boredom.

The first rule, don't be boring.

There's one project that stands out from

the others, this one.

Do you know why?

No.

Because it has all the Russian

stereotypes, not a single one left out.

Provincial Babushka, the nihilistic

student, the ambitious sl*t.

I read it, it stinks.

I read them all, they all stink,

especially that one except that it'll work.

Remember, we're not just producing shows,

all the other institutions have collapsed.

It's now up to TV to show the way.

Maybe a reality show about

finishing schools that teach

young girls to attract

freshly minted millionaires?

That's not bad, does that genuinely exist?

It totally exists.

It's big and it's getting bigger.

It's very initial superstar.

My dream is to buy my mom the most

beautiful house in Krasnaya.

My dream is to be the

trophy vibe of the richest

oligarch in Russia, and

with my life in Monte Carlo.

She's the one.

No, seriously, she's the one.

Oh, it's an excellent project,

Emma.

Let's go, rightfully belongs in it.

At that time, the owner of RTP

Channel was a mathematician

who'd become a billionaire,

Boris Barrozovsky.

He bought an old palace on Nova Krasnaya

Street.

He was meant to be the

headquarters of his business,

but Barrozovsky did

something else with it entirely.

Something far more special, made it a club

of sorts, the Logovars Club.

It was very exclusive.

The creme de la creme of politics,

big business, showbiz and crime.

So, Pigeon Si, we're in the Caucasus,

we're in Chechnya.

And I'm standing in front of a warlord who

has taken Russian officers hostage,

and there's no joke.

He's already been haddied one of them.

But it wasn't politics, it was business.

He wanted money, only cash.

Right now, I don't have any cash on me.

I don't walk around with wads of cash.

But I know it is implying

my watch that it's

fairly nautilus, like when

I'm wearing it tonight.

So I say to him, well, you don't know

watch.

Do you know how much it's worth?

It's worth melting in your hostages.

And he says, I know exactly what it's

worth.

It's worth $800,000 used.

And that floored me.

We knew the exact price.

Restam was no fool.

He said, if you take the hostages home,

the publicity will get on TV.

He's worth more than

$800,000, and he gave me

this vacuous soldier's

stand, zero bullshit.

So you come out ahead, is it a deal?

So I gave it my watch, I took the hostages

home.

It was the opening story on the evening

news.

In those days, my modest

achievements as a TV producer

got me the occasional

invitation to look of us club.

Usually, Perzoski would summon me for an

update on some project, or to suggest I

hire some random relative, or equally

random mistress.

Coming.

Our friend, Vadja, is a wizard.

With his help, we pulverize our opponents.

So you're happy where you are?

Well, I'm not sure I understand.

In this country, you run the same risk

whether you have a dog in the fight, or no.

I'll tell you my story, and you'll see

what I mean.

So I was perfectly content doing my own

thing.

I built a smart, modern, clean business.

From what I hear, your business was more

of a scam.

Your results sold in cars right off the

assembly line.

I was only doing what everyone was doing

at the time.

Anyway.

One day, this b*stard shows up, tries to

steal my business out from underneath me.

What do you think he does to see you open

a competing dealership, trying to beat me

fair and square, let me do it in the US or

in Europe?

No, Boris, that's not what he did.

Son of a b*tch, filled an old opal with

TNT, parked it on my route home,

and as I passed, he pushed her remote and

boom.

No more Perzoski.

At least that was the plan.

And unfortunately, it didn't work out for

him.

And I ended up with my chauffeur's head in

my arms.

I survived.

But that day I realized that if you don't

grab power, power grabs you.

I'm selling to Switzerland for two weeks

to recover.

And do you know what I did when I got back

to Moscow?

You learned to play tennis?

It wasn't easy.

I hate the sport.

You hate all sports.

The old President Boris Yeltsin was in

decline.

He overdid it on the vodka, they say.

He had a sports club built on Spero Hills

that looked out over Moscow.

He spent all his spare time playing tennis

there.

It was the only way to get near him.

That's why he said Boris was finished.

The elections were coming.

His numbers were in the dumps.

His whole retinue of petty schemas were at

rock bottom.

And they quickly understood that I was

there any hope.

We hadn't lost yet.

You listen to me.

Boris Yeltsin could have it here.

Russia still need you, your courage and

your integrity.

No one loves me anymore.

I say democracy, but democracy here means

that everyone has become poor.

Except for a few smart devils like you who

have gone and filled the rich.

Well, if you give me a

control of state TV, then I will

give you an election campaign

that you never seen before.

You're in dire straits now, but in two

months you'll be on top.

This is how I took control of Channel 1,

how to see people as it's now called.

For the record, I get my word.

I revived him in the polls.

What you did was sink his rivals.

A bunch of communist nostalgic taking them

out was a cinch.

You were defending your interests and

those of the other oligarchs.

Well, yeah.

It's true.

So what?

It's all part of the democratic process.

Right.

When you were a very loose notion of

democracy.

Your mum began to enjoy himself.

The problem was that

two weeks before the

election, you went and

had a heart attack on us.

That was a close call.

The very day that he was supposed to

record his final speech to the nation.

Obviously, we counseled everything.

But a few days later, the rumours began to

spread.

He had to show up.

Except his doctor wouldn't let him leave

his residence.

No, it's too risky.

So we figured keep up appearances.

We bring the Kremlin furniture to him.

Change flags.

Put the flags in the stands.

Federation flag on the left.

Check the distance.

The president is... Oh, he's redone.

No, no, no, no.

Good morning, Boris, and a collage.

Don't ever see what we've done.

It's the perfect copy of your office in

the Kremlin.

No one's going to notice the difference.

Help him with the chair.

Russian citizens...

Sly...

The motherland...

Let's try again.

I'll take place.

Misha, can you slow down the prompter?

For the future.

Russian citizens...

Once again, please.

Russian citizens...

The Thor of your eye.

Elections died.

You will not only vote for Yeltsin.

This is not going to work for the future.

Just making movies, nips.

And we'll dub in bits from his old

speeches.

Yeltsin was re-elected by a landslide.

And then he fell back into lethargy.

He had two more heart attacks.

Before years of his second term,

Berzofsky was the real leader of Russia.

The oligarchs raked in everything they

could.

That's how my old pal,

Demetri Sodorov, bought

himself a fossil fuel giant

for a mere 168 million.

He would go on to make him three billion a

year.

Oh, yeah?

Berzofsky sensed the winds were turning.

Russians were tired and needed order.

They'd grown up in a motherland, and

now all they had left was a supermarket.

The challenge was to come up with a

solution before someone else did.

So, yes.

I have friends in the Kremlin,

and I lend a hand from time to time.

But the scenario has completely changed.

It's no longer a matter of supporting the

current regime.

We need to invent something new.

Something and someone.

President won't make it to the end of his

turn.

Someone to embody it, of course.

That's the easy part.

But what we need, first, is a party

forever going to rally around.

The unity party.

What do you think about you?

I already have an emblem.

The bear.

A symbol of the Russian soul.

So will you join us?

Let it go for us.

I lack my job.

It's the same job.

I'm merely suggesting that you graduate to

the next level.

Stop making out stories.

Start inventing reality with me.

And then the FSB, they can go to Canada.

The old Giza trusts him.

He's shown his mantle at decisive moments.

And there's a modest guy.

You're liking.

Director Putin, we'll see you now.

Come sit.

Sit.

I know where you're here.

Of course you do.

You're the best informman in Russia.

I've been thinking it over Boris

Abramovich.

You see, the Secret Service

has all the advantages

of politics without

any of the drawbacks.

I'm at the center of the system here.

I'm well positioned.

I hear.

I see everything.

I can effectively intervene to protect the

President of the President's family.

I've done it before.

I'll do it again.

Well, you take me out of here.

You put me in government.

They chew me up.

They spit me out like

every other prime minister

these past years,

these past months, right?

And you lose the most loyal guardian of

the state.

If we don't act quickly, with any year,

there will be no more President,

no more family to protect.

And the first thing that the new head of

the Kremlin will do is replace you.

Mind me?

I'm a civil servant.

Sure, I've given a

couple of speeches in

public, but they were

never earth-shattering.

The President steps into a room and sniffs

the air.

Everyone is on his side in

two minutes laughing and

they're crying like they're

having a chat in his kitchen.

I'm not that mad.

I'm not cut from that cloth.

If I may, Vladimir of Vladimirovich,

that's exactly what this is about.

President, that's one of a kind

personality.

His human qualities were

essential from moving our

country from the old Soviet

Union to today's Russia.

But he's all you stop.

We need someone different.

A clean break.

If the President names you

Prime Minister of Vladimir of

Vladimirovich, you will

represent legitimate authority.

Russians need stability and security.

You're young, athletic and energetic.

Something about you says I can handle the

full responsibility of command.

Your career in the secret service is

guaranteed.

You're trustworthy.

And being a man of few words will work in

your favor, not against you.

Russians are tired of carnival barkers and

the campaign that we have in mind.

Won't be the usual rallies and empty

promises.

We want to take the risk of portraying you

as a different brand of politician.

Vladimir of Vladimirovich.

I don't know much about politics, but I do

know a few things about communication.

There are two dimensions in a society.

The horizontal axis that is daily life and

the vertical axis, which is authority.

The Soviet system was vertical.

Then all of a sudden, since the end of the

Soviet period, it has become horizontal.

Too much horizontality is synonymous with

chaos.

Russians dream of verticality.

A psychoanalyst would say they are waiting

for a leader to obliterate the language of

the mother and oppose the word of the

father once again.

Public opinion coalesces fast,

but we only have a few months to convince

the Russian people that you are the man of

the hour.

And remember, you will be on your own.

I'll be there by your side to help you and

to advise you whenever you need me.

It's in the back.

He's no rocket scientist, but I know he'll

do just fine.

I'm not at a long and laughed

with him, but things were a

bit more complicated than

what Barzovsky seemed to grasp.

When he addressed him

with his own brand of chummy

joviality, I sensed a hint of

annoyance and Putin's gaze.

And then there was that

flash of irony when Barz

promised to guide him

every step of the way.

It seems that the very

idea of being guided

by this man was wildly

funny to the FSB chief.

Hurry up, Vladimir.

Vladimir is waiting.

Good afternoon, sir.

Recommendations.

Today we have excellence, sea scallops,

or cauliflower, muscle in.

A bowl of kasha.

Two.

Certainly, sir.

I have a lot of respect for Barzovsky.

I'm grateful for his

offer, but if I embark on

this journey, I'll be

relying on my own strength.

Thanks.

Not someone else's.

The Russian president cannot and must not

be subservient to anyone.

It's unthinkable to me.

Your analysis the other

day was very interesting,

but first we should

clarify something.

If you accept my offer, you'll be working

exclusively for me.

I'll give you

your concept of verticality.

It's potent, but it cannot remain

abstract.

We need a well-defined arena where we can

restore the verticality of power,

otherwise we appear helpless like all the

other politicians in this country.

Indeed, for that I may

have put out a mirror

b*tch, but we can't

just snap our fingers.

There is always the unexpected.

The unexpected is always a result of

incompetence.

We're at the mercy of circumstance.

Circumstance.

Staring is in the face.

Don't you see it?

The Islamic fundamentalists.

No longer content with just Chechnya.

They want Dagostan, Ingushetia,

Bashkoutistan.

We let him have them.

In a few years, there will be nothing left

of the Russian Federation.

I'm sorry, but I would think twice before

getting involved in that mess.

In his past few years,

Chechnya has k*lled more political

careers here in Moscow

than enemies on the b*ttlefield.

None of them have put enough energy into

the issue, those politicians.

All the w*r that dare not speak its name.

A humane w*r, like the Americans do.

I'm talking about something else.

I'm not interested in winning the Nobel

Peace Prize.

What interests me is restoring integrity

to the Russian Federation.

I want to comment on geopolitics.

It's not my field of expertise.

What I will say, however, is that it's

political suicide.

I think you're mistaken.

I think you've let Westerners persuade you

that an electoral campaign has to be two

teams of economists discussing PowerPoint

presentations.

In Russia, power is something else

entirely.

That day, I didn't understand

precisely what Putin

meant, but I left the

lunch with one certainty.

There Zovsky had just made the biggest

mistake of his life.

In the early days of

August, Boris Yeltsin

chose a new prime

minister, unknown to most.

The choice of Vladimir Putin was greeted

with general skepticism.

He was the fifth head of government

Yeltsin and thrown in less than a year.

Our officers were located in the former

House of Soviets dubbed the Russian White

House, a giant block of naphthalene on the

banks of the Moscow River.

The whole floor had been freed up for new

hires.

Putin knew there were only a few weeks

left to harness public opinion.

He had no time to lose.

So that son of a b*tch, the prime minister

wants results on the grounds.

Doesn't matter how.

Sorry, but the media doesn't set our

agenda.

Politics does.

We're here to produce results,

not limp excuses.

I have the polls you requested.

I need you to crunch the numbers.

Okay, I'll meet you in your office.

I have to see Gusinsky first.

We're on the right track.

To meet you in its language, we shouldn't

be on the right track.

We should already be there.

Where's Gusinsky?

Unfortunately, he couldn't make it.

What are we not important for him?

He's abroad.

So who are you, his messengers?

We're on the NTV network.

Please give Mr. Gusinsky the following

message.

The policies of the Russian Federation are

not to be decided in the offices of NTV.

That never crossed Mr. Gusinsky's mind.

I watch Kukli, your political puppet show.

Sometimes I find it funny.

I laugh.

I do.

Unfortunately, the Prime Minister doesn't

share your sense of humor.

He suspects Mr. Gusinsky may have a bone

to pick with him.

No way.

Never in a million years.

It's a shame he's not here to explain that

himself.

You represent the Prime Minister of

Vladimir of Vladimir Vich Putin as a m*dget.

That's not a different word.

A different word manipulated by oligarch.

I think in the minds of a Gagman,

he's more of a child.

Yes, exactly.

And you see that as grounds for laughter

and infantile gnome.

It's a satirical show.

It's up to the Prime Minister to determine

the line between satire and insult,

especially during election season.

The Prime Minister has determined a line

that must not be crossed.

I believe Mr. Gusinsky can guess where

that line is.

If not, he'll find out at his own expense.

Good day.

Of course, I was working 18-hour days

back-to-back meetings with the Prime Minister.

Every single one of them involving

decisions of major historical importance.

But the deeper I sank into the routine of

governing men.

The more the world seemed to be rife with

misunderstanding and missed opportunities.

And that's when the unexpected happened.

One autumn night, just

after midnight, a terrific

rumbling tore through

the darkness of the Capitol.

On Goyanova Street, on the outskirts of

Moscow, hundreds of kilos of expl*sives

literally cut a nine-story apartment

complex in two.

Dozens of sleeping families were swallowed

up a lie by the expl*si*n.

Four days later.

A second expl*si*n rocked

the city at five o'clock in

the morning, destroying

another building in the suburbs.

Over a hundred victims.

It was our September 11th.

Before that, the Chechenmoor had felt

remote.

But when buildings started

blowing up in the Moscow suburbs,

Russians found themselves

with a w*r at their front door.

Of course, you know what people say.

They say we were behind it.

Like we, I mean the FSB, isn't just a

rumor.

There's serious evidence to back it up.

Frankly, I don't know.

And if this is a bona fide

secret, thank God nobody

shared it with me, but why

would we have done that?

We were certain to win,

to instill fear, so that the

Russian people would feel

threatened by the Chechens.

And to justify the second

Chechenmoor, perfectly timed,

warm public opinion to a

coming authoritarian regime.

You know, like public speaking, right

now the people need to hear your voice.

Here on a state visit, not from the

Kremlin palace.

You have to get them a sense of urgency.

I'm not an actor.

I'll give them a simple statement.

What has it ordered the

bombing of Grossman

Airport in the retaliation

of their attacks?

Don't you think such actions could

aggravate the situation?

Part of answering this kind of question.

We'll get the t*rrorists wherever they're

hiding.

If they're in an airport, we'll strike the

airport.

If they're in the shitter, excuse my

language, but we'll get them in the shitter.

You have no idea the impact that one

sentence had on the Russian people.

Finally, we were hearing a voice of

command and control.

Russians hadn't heard that in the longest

time.

Stalin's voice.

Or not Yeltsin's, in any case.

Or Gorbachev's.

That day, Putin became the Tsar.

The Tsar wanted to bring in the new year in

Chechnya, more than that's where we'd go.

At 1am, we got into some chiefs and headed

for the mountain passes.

Thirty-third division of Lieutenant

Colonel Petarov.

Welcome to the base of Mr. Putin.

Men, what you're doing is so important.

People believe in you.

I'm here to tell you that.

We're proud of you.

We're working hard.

I know what work you and your men have

done even very courageous.

I want you to know the Russian people

think of you.

I'm proud of you.

A Happy New Year.

I would love to drink a

toast to the health of the

wounded and to wish everyone

present here Happy New Year.

But we have serious tasks ahead,

as you all know.

We're not only fighting for the honour and

dignity of our country.

We're fighting to prevent Russia from

disintegrating.

We can't afford one second of weakness,

not one second.

We let our guard down.

All those who died died in vain.

So I suggest we put our glasses down.

We will toast, but later.

I am leaving.

Leaving before the end of my term.

I understand that it is necessary.

Russia must enter a new millennium with

new political leaders.

And I'll leave you all in the trusted

hands of Vladimir Vich Putin.

The Yeltsin era is over.

Your friend Berizovsky has to know and fed

up with these bullshit memos.

I thought he was our friend.

Boris is a very smart man, but his

intelligence is no safeguard for his stupidity.

Better bring him in.

Boris Abramovich, company, sit.

I've read your messages, some of your

memos.

You've always offered good advice on more

years.

Voulogia, you made me wait your time.

Look, you asked for this meeting.

Here we are.

Go ahead.

Well, I'll be brief.

We're becoming too negative, Voulogia.

It's too dark.

We're at w*r, fine.

We get it.

You're a great general.

You're going to lead us all to victory,

but let's make an effort.

Give these poor Russians a little bit of

hope, too.

Otherwise, rather than voting for you,

they're going to jump out the window.

Rally's and concerts and TV commercials,

posters.

We need to make a splash.

We'll pay for that.

I will, of course.

I heard you passed up free public TV

airtime.

That's correct.

It's our choice, our strategy.

We'll see if the facts prove us right or

wrong.

If you keep this up, people are going to

forget you're a candidate.

Don't be ridiculous, Boris.

I've been interim president for three

months with the government.

Our campaign is the news, what we're

doing.

The history we're making.

Nobody believes advertising anymore.

Facts are the only advertising we're

interested in.

The Tsar had reinstated the power vertical

and voters were grateful to him for it.

He was elected president of the Russian

Federation with no runoff.

There are some who stopped bombarding the

Kremlin with unanswered phone calls.

Naturally, his media mocked the pompous

inauguration ceremony.

But Boris was waiting for something else.

A chance to show the Tsar, who is really

in charge.

I remember you like your medium rare.

Thank you for remembering.

Sir?

Mm-hmm.

On August 12, 2000, the Kursk,

one of the world's largest nuclear

submarines, sank during a training

exercise in the Bar and Sea.

There were 100 crewmen aboard.

Some of them died instantly.

Others were trapped at the bottom of the

sea.

This was the opportunity Bursovsk had been

waiting for.

We're into the helicopter to keep a

constant eye on the area where the subsink.

Has it been identified?

Yes, the information's just dropped,

but no rescue team is on site.

That's revolting.

That is what we have to expose.

Russian experts won't go into records.

Then find them abroad.

We have a crew in Germany.

They say NATO forces often be helped,

but Russian Navy toning down.

There are spy ships.

Russia can't humiliate herself in front of

them.

Can't humiliate herself in front of them.

Go find the families, ask them what they

think.

That's what we're doing.

TV's all about emotion.

The emotion's with the families of the

sailors.

Can you imagine their anguish,

their loved ones, may still be alive,

they're trapped inside

a watertight container,

waiting for a rescue

that may never come.

The situation was out of control.

I rushed to Sochi.

I couldn't understand why Putin wasn't on

the ground.

What would you have me do?

They're all dead.

It's obvious.

Can't say it, because we haven't been able

to reach them yet.

According to all the experts, there are

still survivors on board.

That's a fact we have to save them.

No one cares if they're dead or alive.

Berizoski's circus is about hurting me.

Everyone is waiting for you to act.

I act when I decide the time is right.

Your composure has

enhanced your popularity

thus far, but now it's

becoming a liability.

The Russian people are suffering and

you're not with them.

This is a serious matter.

Since the authorities are

still refusing to budge, RTP

has created a fund for

the families of the sailors.

Call this number if you want to support

the relatives of the Earth.

They destroyed the state, pillaged it for

ten years.

Bank corrupted our army.

Now they're raising money.

f*cking b*stards.

Why don't they sell their f*cking shallows

in son Marits?

Look at that son of a b*tch on the phone.

Yes.

Do you

realize what you're doing?

Your network is giving

round-the-clock airtime

to wh*res pretending

to be sailors' wives.

What are you talking about?

You're out of your mind.

They're not wh*res.

They're the real wives.

Estate, television, Boris, and you're

conspiring against the presidency.

What does that mean?

What does this mean?

Exactly.

I'm asking you a question.

I have a question for you, Vladimir,

Vladimir of it.

What the hell are you doing?

Vacationing on the Black Sea.

Shouldn't you be in more demands,

running operations?

Where are you?

Laughing.

Where are you?

Coat to zero, right?

What are you doing in the coat to zero?

Oh, come on.

I'm not the president.

Nobody gives a damn where I am.

Plus, it so happens I am in Moscow.

Just think about it, Vladimir.

If you go and console the sailors' wives,

your ratings will go through the roof.

And our network will put its full

firepower behind you.

You know that's substantial.

Well, we're going back to Moscow,

set up that f*cking meeting.

We have no choice.

And once there's messes behind

us, we'll take care of your friend, Boris.

How could Boris have deluded

himself in thinking that he'd

tolerate a relationship of

equals with one of his subjects?

Well, we all got scotter wrong.

And he decided to bet on Putin.

He thought they were changing strum in it,

not the whole system, yeah?

Taking off a pass-offskis network.

It's a piece of cake.

He wasn't the majority shareholder.

He only had 49%.

Well, it took us a call

to the CEO of RTP, and

he was now to take his

orders from the Kremlin.

He doesn't mean you any harm.

He respects you.

He stays safely in Moscow to whatever

business you like.

But you must stay out of politics once and

for all.

Politics is his business.

Putin is the pure product of the KGB.

His fierce species.

He will put Russia in shackles.

And all that we've done

over the last 10 years to

turn it into a normal

country will be swept away.

Even you, but yeah.

You're creating a regime that's worse than

the Soviet Union.

At least back then, the party could muzzle

the KGB guard dogs.

But now the party no longer exists.

The FSB is worse than the KGB.

Who's going to stop them?

You?

Certainly not.

You've become one of them.

They're vicious animals.

They come from the void.

They've cleared their path with a

sledgehammer.

No rules.

No limits.

They're hungry.

It's brutish.

Hunger.

Well, they were humiliated.

They descended from centuries of

humiliation.

They have to grab everything right away.

Because they know the tables will turn.

Maybe Boris.

I don't know.

What I do know is that Russia has always

been forged this way with an axe.

Cautiously, Berzovsky chose exile in

London.

Meanwhile, we were taking off for New

York.

When you reach the

top, politics propels you

onto the world stage

with no preparation.

The world's greats become your peers.

But they're a close circle.

They've had time to get acquainted,

learn the ground rules.

However much you may be feared and

respected in your own country.

Here, you're just the new kid on the

block.

The world of a story is the best hotel and

protocol has booked as a whole floor.

Twenty rooms.

And house?

No.

Why not?

The top three floors are booked by the

year for the Saudis.

So I'll take more than an hour.

Fifteen minutes, the TV studio,

half hour interview, fifteen minutes back.

It's a good hit for us.

Mm-hmm.

What's this?

It's the Fries.

Yeah, US presidents motivate us on the

move.

No one else can part.

How long is it last?

Depends.

So what's it like being a spy?

Not very different from being a

journalist.

Your job is to gather information,

to synthesise it.

You show it to the decision-makers who can

use that information.

Did you enjoy it?

Working in intelligence allowed me to

broaden my vision, to acquire certain skills.

Mm, skills of management, focusing on

priorities.

A learning experience.

The Kursk tragedy.

Shook, everyone.

Can you tell me what happened?

What happened to the submarine?

It sank.

If f*cking Martians were to seize power in

Moscow, the United States would

immediately see them as a legitimate

government.

Just as long as they

didn't go near their

interests and deferred

to them as the big boss.

See, the trouble is

they think they won the

Cold w*r, but the

Soviet Union didn't lose it.

Cold w*r ended because

we freed ourselves from

a dictatorship, which

is not the same thing.

We dismantled the Warsaw Pact.

We offered them a knowledge branch,

not surrender.

They should bear that in mind,

just once in a while.

I thought

he despised me.

He's a visionary.

Everyone has a place in his party.

So, what do you think of my revolutionary

avant-garde?

Kremlin isn't exactly quaking in its

boots.

The Kremlin is very wrong.

Sit down.

So, how was the trip?

Well, you know what it's like over there?

Always fairly amusing, I guess.

Yes, New York can be fun, as long as you

avoid the Americans.

What one do you prefer, Edward?

This one.

Have you ever been to one of their posh

dinners?

All the men have been to Princeton or

Yale.

They all have children who go to the same

schools.

At least when I was

younger, I could screw one

of their box and blonde

wives in the bathroom.

The discreet charm of the bourgeoisie.

It's the same everywhere.

Oh, but yeah.

America has destroyed the bourgeoisie.

The bourgeoisie had values.

These people only believe in numbers.

They're boring as hell.

Imperialism isn't the problem.

American culture is.

You used to be attracted to it before it

swallowed you up and spat you out.

Watching Yeltsin turn Russia into a cheap

version of the American nursing home

prompted me to form the National Bolsharik

Party.

And you know why I called it that,

to infuriate you.

Nazbo.

We bring together former Stalinists,

h*m*, and punks, anarchists,

skinheads, religious fanatics from British

to Orthodox.

The hardest part is keeping them from

smashing each other's heads here.

You can be sure they will sooner or later.

Oh, you don't understand.

These young people want to escape the

boredom of ordinary life.

They crave heroics.

And it would be a shame to waste that.

They're above a cigarette, Sergei.

Yes, sir.

They need a walk.

I'd always seen Edward

Lee Monov as a brilliant

sociopath with no political

acumen whatsoever.

So I wasn't yet ready to recognize that he

was right.

For the first time, I saw his reasoning

for what it was.

I'll throw a result of rigorous analysis,

far more than casual intuition.

Come in.

Light at me, validity, medical.

But the email is safe, it's easy to see.

I'll make him in.

How are my ratings?

Elections are coming about you.

You don't really need to worry.

Around 60%.

The closest candidate gets no more than

I'm not interested in them.

They're insignificant.

One Russian is more popular than I am.

Stalin.

I believe he's been dead for some time.

Well, you're intellectuals.

You insist on denouncing the horrors of

the Gulag.

You think Stalin was popular in spite of

the killings.

You're wrong.

Stalin was popular

because of the killings,

because he knew how

to handle a thief, a traitor.

You know what Stalin did when the

Soviet-run trains started to derail?

No, I don't.

He had the head of the railway shop for

sabotage.

Didn't solve the problem, possibly aggravated

it, but it allowed an outlet for fury.

Fury is a structural given.

No point fighting, it must be managed.

You want to feed the fury?

Yes, people want a head-to-roll.

Who?

The most arrogant oligarch?

The mittry sit-off.

Your former friend.

I'm told he ran off with your woman.

Which must make you happy.

Didn't last long.

They're bygones, be bygones.

You know, he's

planning to sell a majority

share of his fossil fuel

empire to ExxonMobil.

You're working on that merger long enough.

He'll make himself $20

billion richer by putting our

fossil fuel giant in the

hands of American investors.

Could say that our Russian company will

acquire international status.

I won't say that because it isn't true.

He's gathered a huge w*r chest to run

against me in the 2007 election.

How do you know?

How do you think we tapped this far?

Non-entity.

That's what he calls me when he speaks to

his friends in Washington, D.C.

and non-entity.

When he explains that,

when elected, he will change

the constitution and

dismantle the nuclear arsenal.

And non-entity.

Non-entity.

This man has fed me more mud than I can

swallow.

So, I've ordered the meatry sit-off be

arrested tomorrow at dawn.

He's heading to Siberia.

He has to stop to refuel.

That's where we'll take him.

Cameraman.

Photographers, they'll all be on site.

Your job is to orchestrate it for the

media.

This is it.

The news went all around the world.

The immediate effect

was to remind people

that money can't protect

you from everything.

Of course, for you Westerners,

this is totally taboo.

A politician arrested, why not?

But a billionaire, unthinkable.

Because your society was

founded on the principle

that there is no power

greater than money.

My job was to fit Demetri's fall from

grace into a successful TV format.

This wasn't difficult.

The masses have always loved to watch a

powerful man's head roll.

There's no bloodier dictator than the

people.

Once Todorov was arrested, Putin's

reelection was a mere formality.

From that point forward, the Russian

government began undergoing a profound change.

The power struggle shifted from the public

stage to the Tsars in a circle.

The state once again depended on court

intrigue.

There are those with an office close to the

Tsars and those with a direct line to him.

There are those who

accompany him on overseas

missions and those who

vacation with him and Sochi.

No detail can be overlooked, no matter how

trivial.

From seating plans at Gallaudinars to waiting

times in the President's anti-chamber.

Nothing escapes a courtier's attention.

I adapted to the new regimes.

I adapted to everything.

Some were far better at it than I was.

Like Kegor said.

Especially, Kegor said.

Like many men of his kind, he drew his

strength from being underestimated.

In the period of the courtiers came

around.

He was in this element.

Indeed, he was head courtier.

Demetri Sodorov in prison.

The problem was what to do with his

company.

Sechin gobbled it up in a single bite.

Judicial receivership.

A public auction with just one

participant.

And it ends up in the hands of a financial

group.

So, oh, hey, he doesn't even have a phone

number.

Well, did you get what you want?

God, well, the Tsar wanted.

You mean he wanted Demetri's business for

himself?

What he wants is to destroy the other

guards.

And replace them with silly viki like

yourself.

Russia has always needed strongmen.

Soldiers, spies, police.

That's how I got where I am.

And why you take what you want?

Well done.

That's how you wish to put it in the next

stage.

Oh, and, uh, watch out.

He's back from the G20 in Berlin.

Tired.

Bad tempers.

It's always the same.

They treat me like I'm the president of

Finland.

They better watch out.

They need to be very careful.

The ability to inspire

fear is a poor man's

sole weapon when he's

defending his dignity.

I learnt that on the street.

Trouble is, Mr. President, by spooking our

enemies.

We're in danger of spooking the markets,

too.

We can't afford that.

Markets never rule Russia, Vardia.

Maybe once.

Maybe once under Yeltsin.

What was the result then?

The lore of the jungle.

We need to take control.

We need to take control of all the wealth

of the country.

Forests and the mines and the gas,

the petrol.

We'll see to it that it serves the interests

and the glory of the Russian people.

Like with Dimitri.

What about Dimitri?

Oh, the oilmen are blues, and directly

from Zadora's pocket to sedgiums.

What's that got to do with the interest

and glory of the Russian people?

A lovely weather.

You should have a dip for your life.

Thanks.

Another time.

You prefer such?

You know I am here.

I'd like to hear you say it.

There's a rumor.

You wouldn't come here about a rumor.

We are very reliable, Intel, that you're

one of the Ukrainian protesters,

main supporters.

Well, since you know who to this spitting

man.

I was worried that, in fact, you come

bearing goodness.

Your brain has been an integral part of

Russian territory for centuries.

Do you genuinely believe it?

I'm just a messenger.

Know what he said.

Go and see that f*ck.

Tell him he's gone too far and tried to

reason with him.

You know what his problem is?

I know what you think it is.

That he's not your regular politician.

That he's KGB.

He's a spy.

No.

He's not a spy.

A spy's job is to gather accurate

intelligence.

But he's a counter spy.

A counter spy's job is to be paranoid,

to see conspiracies everywhere,

and to invent them, if necessary.

You've been an exile too long.

You've lost touch.

As if the poor Ukrainians

don't have every reason

to revolt against a

pro-Russian government.

You know who the main supporters of the

Ukrainian protesters are.

The CIA, the U.S.

State Department, major American

foundations, George Soros, and you,

to the tune of 30 million dollars.

What so I've heard?

Well, that's politics bad, yeah.

Do you know what else it is?

It's democracy.

You forgot the meaning of that word long

ago.

Remember, I'm not here by choice.

I'm leaving an exile here, bad,

yeah.

If I even set foot in Russia, I'll end up

in Siberia, like Ciderov.

Boris, despite our differences,

the Tsarist is still your friend.

That's why you were permitted to sell your

Russian assets 1.3 billion correct.

Far less than they were worth.

What if I keep on with it, huh?

You're gonna send a hate line from me?

Look, I've got some of my own.

And they're better than yours.

Do I pay them ten times more?

I didn't come here to threaten you.

I understand your resentment, which you

can't turn against your country.

Putin's Russia isn't my country.

In spite of all our flaws,

we managed to build

a free country where you

could do what you want.

You could say what you want for the first

time in Russian history.

And you have wrecked all that in just a

few years.

You turn Russia back into what it always

was.

A prison the size of a country.

Just like in the Soviet times.

Since your boat.

Nothing is ever mine.

At least not in the way you mean.

All the gark money.

You're afraid?

Afraid your masters will point out.

Masters?

From what I hear you're in the service to

power now.

I suppose so.

You don't like Vladimir Vladimir,

it's very much.

No.

You're right.

I don't like power.

I like it even less when you kid yourself

and pretend it's modern art.

Sorry about that, but I want you

despicable.

Despicable.

It's a bit harsh.

You found it.

You dodged my question of me being

bankrolled by oligarchs as we speak.

This boat belongs to a businessman from

Portland.

He embedded some software

when he was 24, was a

multimillionaire by 26, and sold

his company to Microsoft by 28.

Been bored stiff ever since.

He'd like to have another idea in his

lifetime, but it's slow and they're coming.

He's sleeping, I think.

Absolutely not.

When I have an idea of a line of jewelry,

he funds it.

Sometimes he makes a bit of money.

I've been clearly chum changed to him.

And he lends you his boat when it strikes

your fancy?

Yes.

When I'm bored of this world, which is

often, I take for a future.

A gilded cage of comfort zone.

I loved a meat tree.

I mean, we had fun for a few months.

I loved the crazy wind that was blowing.

And then you got rid of him too.

That wasn't cool.

Not that time.

We grew apart to meet you got interested

in oil.

That didn't bring much luck.

A few years, I preferred Los Angeles to

anywhere else.

It was Hollywood up to your standards.

It was Hollywood.

I stayed away.

I stayed away from Hollywood.

It's like Moscow.

Only powder relationships count.

The rest is insignificant.

I like the desert.

I like the ocean waves.

Driving along the Pacific Coast highway.

And when I felt like going to Japan,

I went to Japan.

This is the prettiest cold.

The plain awaits.

Tonight I'll be in Moscow.

I'm miserable.

The following autumn, as expected,

the situation in Ukraine wasn't.

The protesters refused to accept the

election results.

Hundreds of thousands of them occupied the

Maidan Kiav Central Square with songs,

orange ribbons, multicolored tents,

and pro-western slogans.

Yes.

Suddenly, commissions of international

observers came out of the woodwork to

dispute the results of the election,

which were won by pro-Russian candidate,

Janik Kovach.

Those elections were notoriously rigged.

I happen to be there.

Really?

Well, there had just been a vote in Iraq

with American soldiers controlling the

polling stations, and everyone thought

that was fine.

But not in Ukraine?

No.

In Ukraine, there had to be another vote,

because the result wasn't right.

They called that fast the Orange

Revolution.

And the previous year in Georgia,

it was the Rose Revolution.

Another poetic revolution,

all pretty girls and lofty ideals,

yet another stooge of the

Americans has catapulted to power.

Do you seriously believe it takes a CIA

conspiracy to make Ukrainians want to flee

Russia's orbit in favor of the European

Union?

What people do you mean?

Do you really think everyone finds your

Europe so attractive?

No, we don't need a crystal ball to see

the Russia's turn is coming.

The next lovely color-coded revolution

will be in Moscow.

The future president of the Russian

Federation will have a degree from Yale.

That process seemed inevitable.

The young people were fed up with us.

And the Americans, for

making the most of that

rebellion, we'd have to be

stronger than them to survive.

Now, the old methods outlived the

usefulness, locking up agitators,

expelling diplomats.

If we were in a bad

boot that day, eliminating

opponents, I don't

believe in any of that.

So I took a chance and tried a different

tack.

The president has been informed of your

arrival, since its greetings.

Alexander Sigevich, I've been following you

and your nightwalls for a few years now.

I'm impressed.

You take those lost souls and give them a

home, a sense of discipline.

Our group gives them two things.

They lack fraternity and strength.

You aren't just a biker g*ng.

You're true Russian patriots.

They have values.

Russian values.

Those of our holy mother, the Orthodox

Church.

I understand that.

Alexander Sigevich and so does the

president.

Wolves are not merely predators.

They're also the guardians of the forest.

Did you see what happened in Ukraine?

Yes.

A revolution.

A coup.

And you know who took power?

The Americans.

Spot on.

They set up a youth organization,

paid for free concerts in Maidan Square.

And that even the Orange Ribbon was

thought up by an ad-man.

Everything is geared to

the young because their

energy is the most precious

commodity out there.

Their frustration.

Their desire to change the world.

Young people need a cause.

And an enemy.

We need to find them

a cause in an enemy

before they choose those

things for themselves.

What was the Americans' choose for them?

Except we can't do that.

Look around you, Alexander.

All we have here are

bureaucrats and suits where

the adults were in power

with their true enemy.

You're younger than me, I believe.

You've taken a different path.

You embody freedom and adventure.

Your vitality is undimmed.

Young people can feel that.

That Tsar is with you.

He's your brother.

He's not bureaucrat.

He likes speed.

He does judo.

He hunts.

He is of the race of conquerors.

Do you think he joined one of our rallies?

Of course.

The nightvuls would be honored.

We'll hold a rally for all the young

patriots.

We'll kick off the struggle against our

true foe.

The decadent West and its false values.

Maidan, about the universe.

Exactly.

Russia must become a place where people

can vent their rage against the world

while remaining faithful servants to the

Tsar.

Basically, you want to make revolution

impossible.

Let's just say we want to remove the need

for one.

Without a drop of vodka, Zaldostinov left

the Kremlin intoxicated.

A little did he know that my

next meeting was with the

intriguing spokesperson of an

Orthodox Renaissance movement.

Followed by the head of a group of

strikingly crusts of young communists.

And the leader of the Spartok supporters.

I recruited them all, bikers and

hooligans, anarchists and skinheads,

communists and religious fanatics from the

far right to the far left and beyond.

After what happened

in Ukraine, we could no

longer leave the forces

of fury unchecked.

Monopolizing power was no longer enough.

We needed to monopolize the subversion.

Who didn't I bring on board?

The technocrats responsible for the

disasters of the 90s.

They're remaining oligarchs.

The politically correct banner waivers.

Thank you, the vegans.

Actually, I needed those characters in the

opposition.

They were my best players.

Of

course he writes, marched into the

Cathedral of Christ to save your yelling

obscenities against Putin and Patriarch

Kirill.

We went up five points in the opinion

polls.

I thought they were heroic, personally.

They go about it in the wrong way.

They score against their own team in

politics.

The sanctionists swift.

The sanction cuts both ways.

Gave them worldwide recognition.

Without that, she's not coming.

Wait, I will be back.

Vaidim!

Miss Jacob?

I'm so flattered that you blessed us with

your presence.

Mark me, you know how influential your

salon is.

Love.

Society gossip has never had much

influence on power.

Thanks to you, I can rock shoulders with

my opponents.

Indeed.

Gary Kasparov is here.

Just champions have never gone far in

politics.

Vaidim Barana?

The wizard of the Kremlin.

That's me.

I hear you've given your doctrine a name.

Indeed.

Sovereign democracy.

Her Russia needs to be a democracy in

order to benefit from globalization.

I've seen all traces of democracy in our

society, but do carry on.

And sovereignty is politically

synonymous with stability,

the more stable the regime,

the more competitive it is.

You know what people say of your sovereign

democracy, that it is to democracy.

What an electric chair is to a chair.

It's just a bit of clever wit,

at least it's funny.

You left the courtesia?

I never stay anywhere for long.

You know me, it's not one of my

attributes.

Are you living in Moscow?

When I'm here, I stay at the hotel

metropol.

I read a sweet year round.

Are you inviting me?

Do you remember my dear friend,

the Dogman?

Of course, a saint.

He's in a claim director now.

He's putting a Monteverdi sort of fail.

He's turning the whole theatre into a

pagan basilica.

He calls it a space liturgy.

How was his high priestess in Paris?

You want to come?

Maybe that kind of provocation no longer

interests you.

I'm not sure I remember who you are.

I get lost in all your mazes.

It's a game.

Politics is really the only game was

played.

You become cynical.

You've reached the limit of your

intelligence.

Cynical.

Possibly.

But not only.

I don't know.

I have to give back to you on it.

As for now, I'm not sure.

Come with me to the opera.

We'll die at the Metropolitan.

What of?

Using your black magic in the service of

power?

The other day I caught a glimpse of myself

in a mirror only.

It wasn't me.

It was my father.

My father's face imprinted on my despite

my best efforts.

Let's go in.

I'm cold.

Last time you asked me a question.

You remember?

Yes.

You told me you needed some time.

Now I can answer.

You aren't just cynical.

You have chosen to espouse your times.

You could have just as easily have grown

away from them.

Do you like these times?

They're ours.

We're not better or worse than they are.

I don't think I'm kidding myself.

I embody the worst of them.

And you think you're gonna have to answer

for them one day?

Do you believe in the future?

I don't.

The future doesn't give a sh*t about us.

I wound its roar beneath the yoke of these

times.

See?

Behind the forest we walk, trembling.

Have a castle already lit in the evening

awaits.

Really?

I've never been fascinated by St.

Petersburg.

It's a museum city stuck in the past.

The Tsar, on the other

hand, can only fully

relax there, with his

oldest, truest friends.

A motley crew of former

FSB agents, black belt

judokas, and real-life th*gs

who have hit the big time.

They, it must be said, were straight out

of Richard III.

In just a few years, the

shady provincial dealers

had amassed wealth

worthy of golf and mirrors.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Okay, guys.

A new chef's specialty is Truffle Risotto.

Let me know if I should keep him or send

him back to Italy.

Bon appetit.

Zeya, you let us down.

You serve us Truffle Risotto, but where is

the arugula?

Shall I remind you

that our ice hockey team

finished the last

championship in sixth place?

We've moved up seven spots in the ranking

and over to the enamel Moscow.

Wait till next year.

You will see.

Well, then you'll have your arugula next

year.

I can't find this in arugula

in Russia, but I'm just

bought in a state by the

Black Sea in order to grow it.

It will be Magnaiperson, but there's a

wait.

Keep the chef.

He knows what he's doing.

He was quiet, long-term.

Pisa was already booked.

Oh, on the Ryan Earth.

Clearly

has high standards, but his talent goes

beyond food.

It touches on geopolitics.

Even some of the subjects

we've been discussing

lately, it would be good

if you two had a word.

I didn't know Progosion well, except as a

restaurateur.

But I did know Putin had been shepherding

his ascent with unwavering benevolence.

A five-minute flight.

Shortly after taking off, we began

maneuvering to land on Kamani Island,

with the Tsar's close

friends lived in the

grandest palaces of

the Imperial aristocracy.

I'm not an intellectual like you,

but life has taught me a few lessons.

I'm not on an angel.

I don't doubt that.

You know how I started out?

My partners and I obtained St.

Petersburg's first ever casino license.

You obtained it?

What the Tsar gave it to you when he was

deputy mayor there?

You know what the casino is?

A monument to human irrationality.

Why the hell throw away your money when

all the odds are against you?

When you bet on human irrationality,

you always win.

Sure.

Sure.

Take an average guy.

As long as he's comfortable, has a safe

job, can take family holidays at the

seaside, has their retirement,

plan, he stays put.

But if things don't look so good.

If he loses his job, his house, if the

future is less certain, will he play it safe?

Hardly.

He'll prepare a risk to a hopeless state

of school.

Chaos becomes more attractive than order.

Westerners see China, India.

Thank God.

The Russia making great strides while they

are stalling.

And they're willing to make the most

unreasonable bets?

Oh, a job is to encourage them.

The internet?

It's the battleground of modern warfare.

I build the tool.

Now that I want you to take over.

The internet research agency.

I thought of the name.

Sounds good, right?

What do you think?

Oh.

Anton.

Our managing editor.

He has a PhD in international relations

and speaks every language you can think of.

Please, to meet you, Anton.

Tell me what you guys are doing here.

Influence, information, Russian point of

view on the West, for Westerners.

There convinced their

media and elites lie about

everything, so they'll

buy alternative versions.

The message we're sending is that we tell

the truth.

Russia tells the truth.

Like Russia today.

Except that we work on social media,

not TV.

Shall we get some coffee?

We have a nice little break area with

sofas and house plans.

And being born very well.

You go on, we'll catch up with you.

You have given your... I have to

explain because I don't quite get it.

Something wrong?

Can we talk?

Sure.

I thought our goal was

to affect mindsets in

Europe and the States,

get into people's heads.

Sure.

And now you bring me Anton.

He's the best.

That's exactly the problem.

Don't you realize that Westerners aren't

interested in politics anymore?

If we want to screw them over, we

should talk about anything but politics.

We don't need Anton.

Who do we mean?

We need idiots.

Highly addictive ones.

Cyber dependant otaku's.

Beauty advice, bimbo's YouTube conspiracy

theories.

Anything that generates clicks.

What we are going to have to get our

message through it somewhere, don't we?

Who do you think we are?

The common turn.

I regret to inform you that the Soviet

Union is gone.

No more party line, no message to get

across, either you have guinea,

just why are...

Come on, let's go, we're wasting our time

here.

What do I do, you mean?

How do you break a wire?

You twist it one way and then the other.

That's what we're going to do,

you have guinea.

And how do you do that?

Build your network and see who takes the

bait.

They'll all have an obsession,

we won't know if the clicks will show us.

One will be an anti-vaxxer, another will

be pro-life, pro-choice.

It doesn't matter, we're not going to

convert anyone, you have guinea.

We just need them all

to have something that

drives them nuts, and

someone who enrages them.

It's infallible.

No preferences, you have guinea.

No arguments, just wire.

We twist it one way and then the other

until it breaks.

Okay, I got it, wire.

But everything is traceable on the internet,

and sooner or later we'll get caught.

Yes, we will, and that's what we're after.

Serving our allies is

predictable, but how will they react

when they realize we're also

supporting our own opponents?

They think we're fools.

No, they'll go insane, lose their

bearings.

All they'll know is that

we've gotten into their heads

and are playing with their

neural circuits as we please.

The Americans wrote the algorithm.

We'll use it too, only better than them.

Anyone accusing us of plotting against

democracy will be an ally.

They'll build the myth that we're all

powerful.

It'll be the greatest of all secrets

because everyone will know it.

The Russians are controlling the modern

world.

They are its masters.

That's the interesting

thing about politics, you

have getting anything that

makes you seem strong.

Actually increases that strength.

Adya.

I'm bearing a message.

Sorry, Maria.

No message.

So what do I do this?

Purely pleasure.

You're in London to see the British

Olympics association.

Your well informed is there, Paul?

The sort your Olympics seems to be the

only thing that occurs about these days.

The president was kind enough to let me

supervise the opening ceremony.

Well, I hope you'll be giving out medals

to the best political assassination.

I don't know, Boris.

The main thing is for Russia to come out

on top.

I'm not worried.

You're fine.

The worst possible solution.

You always do.

You may

not have a message for me, but I have one

for him.

No, come on, there's no polonium in it.

It's a letter to the Tsar.

I wrote it from the heart, and you can

read it if you want to.

I beg you to grant me your forgiveness as

a Christian.

Are you serious?

I'm appealing to his faith, and I'm

offering my services.

Based on the experience I've gained.

Listen, honestly, no way.

But times have changed.

You're not in the running anymore.

Sorry if I'm being cruel.

I'm appealing to his humanity.

Boris, who are you kidding?

The hardship of exile?

The passage of time, death, drawing near,

I get it.

But I don't think it'll make him blink.

For the comfort of spending my final days

in my motherland.

You don't understand that.

I have to go now.

Just give him the letter anyway.

I think it might got it.

I genuinely do.

I wish I could have told him it would

work.

That the Tsar would be

moved, and we'd all sit

together at the Olympics

and the VIP box seats.

I was fond of him.

He wasn't a saint, but there was a

childlike joy about him.

Ever since the Tsar had

banished him in his kind, all that

was left on Moscow was strong

men in their grim determination.

First of all, I'd played a part in making

it happen.

So, did it go well?

How could it possibly be?

He helped you.

You could get him a hand.

Boris sees the search olympics

approaching.

There's still plenty of

money to be made, even

if everyone's already

lying in their pockets.

Present company included.

Do you like those?

The main costumes for the opening

ceremony.

Most importantly, does the British Olympic

Association like them?

Who cares?

They've already had a swallow

of winter olympics at a balmy

seaside resort of totally

devoid of athletic infrastructure.

Have you seen the others?

No, not really now.

Look,

each island represents a period of

history.

Animatronic floats amid an entire literary

history will go marching by.

All the domes of St. Basil's will fly

away.

And then, Swan Lake.

Like it.

How do other Russia doesn't exist?

At least not anymore.

But they're the ones who inspired us back

then.

It's too late now.

You know that?

You won't say yours all.

The ceremony is

just a mosque with a

dictatorship, and the

rest is just empty pretext.

I see through you.

It doesn't mean I don't love you.

But I'm not going to be your potter in

crime.

May I throw a drink?

Champagne.

Ma'am?

Same.

And Tsar is going for your old friend

Dimitri.

Are you sure?

It isn't the first time you told me that.

You'll do it two weeks before the start of

the game.

Western media will have a field day.

It's the idea.

You never asked me

what I did with my day.

I'm not shopping.

That's not like you.

Something edgier.

You're up to Tsar castle for five minutes,

will you?

I wasn't being sarcastic.

I was trying to get... I

went to the gynecologist.

I'm pregnant.

You look good.

I'm a little shocked, yes.

Actually, I'm blown away.

I have no words.

According to early

police reports, Boris

Berizoski's death is

consistent with hanging.

Berizoski was found dead last night at his

ascot residence.

Pathologists have found no signs of a

struggle.

Access has been closed

until the results for the test for

chemical, biological and nuclear

agents have been returned.

At the end of this way, exile was too

painful for him.

Oh, miss him.

He painted an appalling image of the

opposition.

That was priceless for us.

This is the program for the opening

ceremony.

Updated according to your notes.

What is Darth Punk?

Electronic music.

Number one worldwide.

Two Frenchmen who never removed their

robot helmets.

This set-up wasn't in the previous room.

They won five Grammy Awards last week.

We have to get up to date.

You've asked the police choir to sing

their song.

Wait a minute, she's throwing the whole

ceremony so far.

Okay.

Explain your rationale to Eagle.

Today it's what people want to dance to.

It's that simple.

It will be ridiculous.

No, it will be Kitch.

The entire world, three billion

spectators.

A way thing for the greatest show they've

ever seen.

It can only be the apotheosis of Kitch.

Kitch is the only language available to us

if we are to communicate with the masses.

We want to show them our Russia.

They don't want to see your Russia.

Besides, you have nothing to show and

everything to hide.

We want to paint the picture of an open

Russia.

Sure-footed, but also capable of smiling.

Today's world requires self-deprecation,

not sure.

Baller-like is equal.

Do you understand what I'm saying,

or is it cheaper to you?

What can you do?

The idea is an acrobat.

An artist for politicians, a politician

for artists.

Be careful, either.

Soon or later you might miss the trapeze.

And fall flat on your face.

The twenty-second winter Olympic Games of

Sochi open.

That was probably the night I should have

left.

I should have closed the book at that

page.

It was a good ending for me.

The

cranium independence

movement seized on the

Olympic ceasefire to

occupy Maidan Square again.

Two days before the end

of the Games, they ousted

pro-Russian President Jan

Kovich, who fled the same day.

The chaos that ensued gave the Tsar a

golden opportunity to invade Ukraine.

Russian sn*pers k*lled over 100

protesters.

I say you were in charge.

Who says?

Ukrainians.

From your own emails.

I say you have Ukrainian blood on your

hands.

It's the night before the closing

ceremony.

Following his grand plan, the Tsar decided

to annex Crimea.

Crimea was part of Ukraine.

Who went about to send regular trips to

invade a sovereign country?

No.

You sent in Russian soldiers who weren't

wearing any national insignia.

Little green men.

Was your fellow journalists used to say?

When Zalda Stonov and his night walls

brought this circus to crime here,

you were the one pulling the strings.

True.

I gave them a supporting part.

Supporting actors are important.

As long as they don't get too carried

away.

Have you seen all the flags?

We're not using the Federation once

anymore.

We have something else in mind.

We are no longer a Federation,

will ya?

We are conquering new lands.

We have taken back the army from the

Ukrainians.

Soon a hollowed on bus will be Russian.

This high time will take stock.

It takes stock.

Truly.

I'm a man of action.

We are here to support the Russian army.

Help them bring you victory.

Who said anything about victory?

What we want in the Ukraine isn't

conquest.

It's chaos.

The Ukrainians have fooled

themselves into thinking

that their orange revolution

would get them into Europe.

But it's going to take them back to the

Middle Ages.

If you listen to Westerners' promises,

it always ends like that.

They drop you at the first hurdle and

you're left alone, your country and ruins.

That's the moral of the story.

You see, Alexander, this w*r isn't fought

in real life, but in the people's mind.

On the TV news in Moscow, Kiev,

Berlin.

You are actors in a

play that goes over your

heads and resonates

far beyond these borders.

Either you agree to be upon in my game

with the attendant advantages,

or you don't.

But just remember, I can pull the plug on

you whenever I like.

And then things will get a great deal more

complicated for you.

Your walls, your little business ventures.

It's flourishing from what I gather.

Can I bother you for a moment,

Madam Alexesh?

All right ahead.

How did you trip to the Gansko?

Well, I'm sure you've read your services

reports.

We have news from the Americans.

What news?

It seems they have drawn up a black list

of people forbidden under soil.

Your name is on it.

But if you'll have to forget about going

to New York for a while.

There's sanctions for the takeover of

Crimea.

When do they start?

This Monday.

It's a good thing I stopped liking New

York a long time ago.

I've heard something else too.

Go on.

It'll be official tomorrow.

Your name is also on the Europeans'

shortlist.

Paris, London, no more.

I'm told you're misnapals.

Well, I won't bother you any longer.

I'm sure you have arrangements to make.

And fast.

Leonia, have you heard?

Yes, sanctions.

Yes, tonight, or tomorrow, the latest?

No.

No interviews.

Just a press release.

Can you take this down?

Yes.

I see the sanction as an Oscar awarded for

my entire political career.

It means I've served my country honorably

full stop.

No.

That's all.

Thank you.

Xavier, pack your bags.

I'll be over for 15 minutes.

A few hours later, we landed in Stockholm

for our last European weekend.

What's bound to happen?

Only you could avoid it.

By resigning.

For instance.

The power is addictive.

It's a tough habit to kick.

Before, when he spotted that kind of

truism, I could hear the irony.

Not anymore.

There was none.

The w*r in Ukraine is like the rest.

They never wanted it.

They even opposed it.

If you say so.

Indeed.

I do say so.

And I also say that once it's hard made up

his mind.

I did everything I could to see it

succeed.

Out of habit.

Out of pride.

And because I could.

With no compunction.

That's true.

That's how it's always been.

With the Moscow bombings.

And the w*r in Chechnya.

With Dimitri's arrest.

And Boris Rowsky's fall.

And now the murders on the Maidan.

I never wanted any of those things yet.

And each depended on my tireless labor.

And now you're tired.

Russia devoured my grandfather.

You met my father, it devoured him too.

I don't know about me, I don't know if

I'll be saved.

Probably not.

In any case, it's too late.

But our child will be saved.

Chechnya!

Chechnya!

Chechnya!

Chechnya!

Going to Novo or Garievo was never much of

a thrill.

A bleak, sporty mood pained me.

After I got back from Stockholm,

I almost never set foot bare again.

A prince's trust is not a privilege,

but a conviction.

I had played my part.

I was no longer of any use.

At some point, I let him get out of the

habit of seeing me.

That's all.

He gets up early in breakfast on fresh eggs

sent by Patriarch Kirole from his farm.

If there's an emergency,

that's when he reads his

confidential notes and

makes his wishes known.

Next, he swims a kilometer.

His first visitors wait by the pool.

Minister's advice is CEOs.

The presidential motorcade only leaves for

the Kremlin in the early afternoon.

The streets are closed half an hour prior.

Putin drives from Novo Garievo to the

Kremlin through his frozen capital.

And his real day begins.

Sometimes, only ending a dawn.

One man stays awake.

When everyone else who matters in Moscow

shares his vigil, I can start on his day.

Who's that who is this?

Oh, hi, my sweet one.

Can I play with Machika?

Of course you can, you're not bothering

us.

Where is she?

Where's that Machika?

Is she under the table?

She's not under the table.

Is she under the cushion?

No.

Are you sure?

Is she under the piano?

No.

There she is.

There she is.

Well,

the happiness I've known in the world is

concentrated in her.

Daddy, what do you think Machika would

say?

Hmm, I think she'd say... I'd

have more fun with a real rabbit.

Daddy?

No, no, no.

She'd say, I like you best of all,

Anya.

I only want to play with you.

Cats aren't my favorite thing, but how much

longer will I be able to make her happy?

I never felt fear before, Anya.

From the moment I first laid eyes on her,

I'd been living in terror.

I realized my life is in her hands,

not the other way around.

My daughter doesn't count the hours of the

days.

I've always lived in the future.

She's given me the present.