SOUND: The faint sounds of the St. Petersburg evening: a horse drawn carriage, a young couple laughing as they take a stroll, the sweeping of the sidewalk, two dogs barking at one another...
The CAMERA LOOKS DOWN from above the the moonlit writing desk.
SOUND: A match is lit.
SOUND: Approaching footsteps.
The WRITER places a lit candle on the desk.
The writer sits down at the desk. Only his hands are visible to the CAMERA.
The writer dips a quill into the ink and writes on a fresh sheet of paper.
POPRISHCHIN V.O. da 34 te Mnth. Yr. yraurbef 349
The CAMERA TILTS UP from the page and reveals...
... an open window in front of the desk. Behind the veil of gently swaying thin white curtains shines the full moon smiling in the night sky.
The CAMERA SLOWLY PUSHES THROUGH the curtains bringing into clear view the moon and the delicate clouds that sail across her face.
The CAMERA CONTINUES TO SLOWLY PUSH IN towards the moon until her light fills the entire screen.
POPRISHCHIN V.O.
No, I have no strength left to bear this. I don't, I can't...
My God! What are they doing to me!? They pour cold water on my head. They put live leeches on my nose. They don't hear me, they don't see me. They don't perceive me. What did I ever do
to them? Why do they torture me? What do they want from me? What can I give them??? I don't have anything, I don't have anything.
I can't take this much longer. My head is burning, and everything is whirling before my eyes. Save me... somebody, save me.... Save me?
SOUND: An approaching horsedrawn carriage builds to a deafening roar.
POPRISHCHIN V.O. (cont'd)
Take me away from here. I need a coat, I need a key, I need a carriage. Give me a carriage with two, four, no, six horses as fast as the wind!!!!!
CUT TO:
A team of SIX HORSES explodes through the moon. Brilliant light pours in from behind them.
MONTAGE: A series of CLOSE-UPS of the galloping horses DISSOLVE and SPIN on each other.
SOUND: Whinnies, snorts, and galloping feet swell with the music into a cacophonous frenzy.
POPRISHCHIN V.O.
Drive on, my Coachman!! Ring out, little harness bells!!!
Fly, horseys, fly!!!! Onward! Upward! Further! Farther! Take
me away from this world! Take me away to where there is nothing!
SOUND: The crack of the whip.
Cut to: BLACK.
SOUND: Silence.
POPRISHCHIN V.O. (cont'd)
Nothing. There.
DISSOLVE TO:
SOUND: A gentle whistling wind.
A single, friendly twinkling star comes into view in the black sky.
Wisps of clouds pass in front of the flying CAMERA.
The CAMERA TILTS DOWN, flying with great speed over the tree-tops of the densely wooded countryside. Mist rises from the trees. The moon, shining huge and low in the sky, has a faint smile on her face.
Music cue: A single guitar string playing a gentle Ukrainian Folk song.
The CAMERA flies into a patch of clouds, obscuring its view of the earth.
As the clouds dissipate, the CAMERA looks down from high upon a dreamy storybook view of Italy and the gentle sea that caresses her coast.
The CAMERA flies into another patch of clouds, and sails peacefully above the soft moonlit blanket.
The CAMERA drops through the clouds and flies gently above the Ukranian countryside. In the distance is the faint glow of a small village.
The CAMERA flies towards the village.
A few cottages come clearly into view.
A single cottage fills the screen. In the open window, behind the veil of gently swaying thin white curtains, stands a YOUNG PREGNANT WOMAN staring out hopefully into the night with her hands upon her belly.
The CAMERA continues to FLY IN towards the window and the pregnant young woman.
POPRISHCHIN V.O.
Matooshka?
A strong gust of wind blows the cloth curtain aside.
POPRISHCHIN V.O.
Mother?
The moment before the curtain blows clear of her face...
CUT TO:
The music stops.
POPRISHCHIN springs up in his asylum bed, stunned as he awakens from his nightmare.
Poprishchin takes a moment to catch his breath and get his bearings.
The CAMERA TRACKS AROUND the bed as Poprishchin sits up, placing his bare feet on the floor.
Poprishchin's face is filled with utter sadness. For the first time, he looks utterly lucid, completely and honestly aware of his plight.
The CAMERA TRACKS IN to a MEDIUM CLOSE-UP.
POPRISHCHIN
Mama, save your poor son. Shed a tear on his sick little head. Look what they have done to him. They are torturing him. Hold him tight. Pull the poor orphan to your heart. There's no place for him in this world!!!!
Poprishchin crawls back into a fetal position.
POPRISHCHIN
They're hounding him! They're hounding him. Mama, take pity on your sick little child.
The CAMERA SLOWLY CRANES UP and AWAY from the bed, coming to rest in the far upper corner of the cell.
SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
The final words are written: Mama, take pity on your sick little child.
The CAMERA PANS towards the candle that sits by the window.
The candle is blown out.
The CAMERA TILTS UP, following the smoke of the candle up to the morning sun that shines warmly through the window.
SOUND: The writer gets up from his chair, walks to the door and leaves, closing the door behind him.
MATCH DISSOLVE TO:
The morning sun shines through the asylum window.
The CAMERA CRANES DOWN, following the shaft of sunlight that illuminates the back of POPRISHCHIN, who is laying on his bed.
Poprishchin rolls over and opens his eyes. He is at peace.
Poprishchin sits up. The sun in the window forms a halo behind his head.
Poprishchin looks directly into the CAMERA pointing towards his upper lip.
POPRISHCHIN
By the way, did you notice the King of France has a boil? It's right under his nose.
Poprishchin touches his upper lip and winces from the bruises on his face.
Poprishchin is confused.
Poprishchin's face explodes with revelation.
The radiant light quickly burns through the screen placing Poprishchin in silhouette for a moment before...
Cut to: BLACK.
THE END
Music cue: "I've Got To Be Me" performed in Russian by the theater pit orchestra with trumpet, pump organ, and a man singing.
CLOSING CREDITS