Traktoristy (Tractor-Drivers / Трактористы) (Трактористы)

THE TRACTOR DRIVERS A Comedy

Written by Ye.Pomeshchikov

Directed by Ivan Pyryev

Camerawork by A.Galperin Designed by V.Kaplunovsky

Music by the Pokrass Brothers Lyrics by Boris Laskin

Starring

Maryana Bazhan - Marina Ladynina

Klim Yarko - Nikolay Kryuchkov

Nazar Duma - Boris Andreyev

Kirill Petrovich - Stepan Kayukov

Savka - Pyotr Aleynikov

Kharitosha - Vladimir Kolchin

Franya - Olga Borovikova

Markovna - R.Dneprova-Chayka

Old Man - P.Valerianov

The Fireman - A.Dolinin

The Tankmen, Klim's Friends - P.Savin and A.Kefchiyan

A Mosfilm and Kiev Film Studio Production

And the Samurai fell down before

The onslaught of steel and fire.

So all enemies, and my song can testify to this,

Were destroyed in the fiery attack

By 3 tankmen, 3 merry friends,

The crew of the combat machine.

- For Motherland and friendship! - For those who wait for us!

My wife waits for me, guys.

Oh, she's so fast!

She works at the ball-bearing plant.

- The first gauger. - That's good!

I dream of her every night.

I'm going to the Alazan Valley, to my bride, to my friends.

The collective farm misses me!

No one's waiting for me. They receive me well everywhere.

Klim, let's go to Moscow! Here's the cable,

"The plant needs motor-mechanics badly".

Why Moscow? Luring him, no, friend?

Let's go to Georgia, listen to the letter.

- Do you understand? - I do. The motor-mechanics.

You guessed right! Let's go.

You'll be our dear guest, you'll live beautiful!

You open the window, and there's a peach climbing in.

The wine! The grapes!

Nothing like it! Let's go.

No, guys, I won't go there.

I want to go to the Ukrainian steppes.

Those steppes are so good, guys.

Open the door, there's the wind.

Open the window, there are cherries in bloom.

It's good! I'll go back to my tractor.

To her, to my compatriot.

- She's a good girl! - Who is she?

Maryana Bazhan. The forewoman of the tractor brigade,

the champion of high-speed tillage. I'll go to her.

What's that Moscow to him?

- For Maryana Bazhan! - Her health!

My pleasure.

Let's go!

Take my place.

Steer it right. And listen to him, Granya.

I'm afraid the bush should be replaced in the 2nd con-rod.

- How you doing? - Good, Maryana!

Natalka, how is it?

Good, Maryana, almost over!

- Is there a lot to complete? - I'll finish it by lunch.

Ganka may be free.

The mail!

To no one, apart from Maryana Dmitriyevna.

Sorry. There's one for you.

Poste restante. From me.

- Come on, you! - Please...

Maryana!

Get your letters!

37 non-registered, 16 registered. Here you are.

You brought them again? I don't need them.

I won't take them. Take'em back.

Impossible. My duty is to hand them to you.

Please sign here.

Take pity on me, Kharitosha.

They torture me so much, writing them.

I'd write to you myself, but I have no time.

8 express ones, 1 telegram. I'll die unmarried!

- Greetings! - Same to you!

I'm going, going, going,

Delivering the letters.

Without leaving my bike,

I'm singing to everyone.

Don't be sad, receive the letters,

Those who wait, those who're in love,

The letters tender and dear,

Business and registered,

Are delivered by Kharitosha,

The meticulous mailman!

I bring love and joy,

And the breath of spring

From Moscow and Leningrad,

From all over the country.

Here are the different envelopes

And newspaper pages in my bag,

There are laughter and happiness,

Hopes and dreams!

Speed up, or you'll die unmarried!

The meticulous mailman!

- Excuse me, are you Maryana? - Yes, what's up?

Just a sec. Let me introduce myself.

Taras Fyodorovich Bondarenko, a junior, so to say,

fire-warden from Melitopol.

I was transferred closer to you!

- What's this? - Cockerel flowers.

Have you come here to pick up flowers?

No, ma'am. On the impulse of my heart.

- What? - The impulse of my heart.

Oh, your heart!

The heart...

Have you ever seen Nazar Duma?

Is he an axe-man?

He can do it with an axe, too.

Please meet Nazar Duma, my fiance.

This is Taras Fyodorovich, from Melitopol.

Pardon me, what d'you mean, fiance? I was told...

I can't get it.

- He's come here! - Did you play a trick on him?

I did. I can't stand it any more.

No matter where I go, they're everywhere.

I wish you could save me from admirers!

Listen, Nazar, come here.

Help me, like you're my fiance.

- For appearances. - Should I scare them off?

Right! You're the devil-may-care, they'll be afraid of you.

Could do. For the sake of appearances, eh?

- Yep. - Could we do it for real?

You're starting it, too.

- Appearances, y'know. - That's clear.

But it would be more interesting for real.

OK, appearances, I agree.

Oh thank you!

You, little devil, thought of a way to deal with admirers.

50 letters a day, you see.

So, mosquitoes may ram you...

With a brigade like the one

our laureate Maryana Bazhan has,

the one whose work is a treat to the eyes,

and who's our pride and beacon,

we should apply a strict measure to mistakes and failures.

Let's take the notorious

district chieftain comrade Duma.

What do we see? His team either sets up every record,

or does something enough to make all neighborhood cats laugh.

Why should it be so?

Because of the chief, mosquitoes may ram him.

The foreman should be the mirror.

So that people could look into it and see themselves.

But what do they see looking into you?

- A pub! - And Nazar in it!

Right. It ain't a nice picture.

You horse around, and your team follows suit.

You kick up rows, and your team, too.

They have an inclination to the bottle.

- He has to be married! - Come on, Vaska.

Has he indeed, may mosquitoes ram him?

We'll have a hell of a party!

- Look for a fiancee, Nazar. - We'll send the matchmakers.

Why should you care? I've found one already.

Really? He lies so much the flies cough in embarrassment.

Who's gonna marry you?

- Rest assured! - Who is she, then?

Shut up, boys.

Who, tell us!

- Tell us! - Don't make us wait!

- Maryana! - Who?

Maryana Bazhan, this one.

- How come, Maryana? - He's one fiance for you!

It can't be true!

- Is it true? - How come, Maryana?

- He's a liar! - Well, Maryana?

Order, forepeople!

Order!

Get off the table.

Order!

May mosquitoes ram you.

Comrade forepeople, about personal matters

please to speak calmly and unofficially.

So, about personal matters...

May mosquitoes ram you...

Is it serious for you and Nazar, or?

- Why? - Nothing, I just asked.

Forgive me, Maryana, or course, that I...

Come on, Kirill Petrovich, Nazar and me, we just...

Nothing funny about it. One has to pick up a husband carefully.

- You can't command your heart. - May mosquitoes ram you!

You should understand, he's a murky type.

He's not a match for you. How could you?

Should the collective farm select a husband for me?

- Listen to me, please. - I'm not a baby, I see myself.

You don't see well! The country raised you high.

Strangers write letters to you, asking for advise.

And I'm sick of it! What is the fad with you, sermonizing me.

I understand it, and I'll pick the one myself.

I don't need a baby-sitter. So long!

Bye, lads, and thanks.

- Would you come to us? - No, this is where I go.