Смех и горе у Бела моря

Based on the works of Arkhangelsk resident- writers and bards of the Russian north:

Boris Shergin and Stepan Pisakhov

Laughter and Grief by the White Sea

Screenplay Yuriy Koval, Leonid Nosyrev

Director Leonid Nosyrev

Art director Vera Kudryavtseva

Composer Yevgeniy Botyarov

Cinematographer Nadezhda Mikhaylova

Sound operator Boris Filchikov

Editor: Olga Vasilenko Assistant director: Tatyana Galkina

Animators: Anatoliy Abarenov Aleksey Bukin Yuriy Kuzyurin

Animators: Oleg Komarov Viktor Likhachyov Iosif Kuroyan

Marina Rogova Rena Mirenkova Marina Voskanyants Lyudmila Lobanova Yelena Malashenkova

Voices: Yevgeniy Leonov Yuriy Volyntsev Anatoliy Barantsev Boris Novikov

Mariya Vinogradova Kira Smirnova Tatyana Vasilyeva Klara Rumyanova

Lament vocals Zinaida Popova

"Northern Ringing" author and performer Ivan Danilov

Folk music ensemble under the direction of Dmitriy Pokrovskiy

"Moscow Hornists"

Artists: V. Kharitonova N. Alferova I.Svetlitsa I. Kuzmina S. Davydova Ye. Kachkova

V. Zakharov S. Mashkova N. Mitrokhin L. Biryukova M. Ignatenko I. Balashova T. Yegorova

worked on the film: G. Sapgir V. Kutuzov A. Chekhovskiy O. Isakova Ye. Kunakova T. Dombrovskaya

B. Kotov L. Krutovskaya M. Popova L. Butyrina K. Rasulov V. Yegorshin

Script editor Natalia Abramova

Production director Tatyana Zozulya

My dear country is enveloped, from the north,

by the great polar sea,

the Arctic Ocean.

From the polar sea, to the south, spreads the White Sea

Our fair Gandvik.

Into the White Sea flows the Arkhangelsk Dvina.

Quiet and fair is that river.

It flows from the south to the north

and, under the Arkhangelsk mountain, meets the sea.

Arkhangelsk city is to the whole sea a gate.

High above hovers the blue sky.

Far out expands the ocean-sea.

Uncounted are the endless marshlands

of our Dvina, of Arkhangelsk.

Sleeping, lads?

No, not sleeping.

Living. No, not sleeping.

Living.

Speak, old man.

Of our Arkhangelsk region, so much untruth and silliness is told,

that I've resolved to tell the whole simple truth.

Whatever I say

is all true.

For example,

Eternal Icebergs

For example,

our river Dvina at its narrow point,

is 20 miles wide.

And at its wide point,

wider than the sea.

People travel on it on Eternal Icebergs.

We even have Icebergers;

people who make their living doing the ice business.

They transport icebergs from the sea and rent them out.

To those who want them.

Eternal Iceberg

In Old Times, engaged girls got an Eternal Iceberg for their dowry.

And also a fox fur overcoat.

So that she'd have a way and a dress to visit guests across the river.

Eternal Love

Peace and Love

-In the summer we get many visitors. "Eternal Iceberg Rentals"

They'd come to the Iceberger and start bargaining,

wanting the nicest of icebergs for just 3 kopeks per person!

Even riding a tram in those years cost 15 kopeks a head.

But the Iceberger said, sure; he agreed outwardly,

and slipped him a spoiled, old, rotting iceberg

nearly lifeless.

Here's your thrift item!

That's how it was!

About the Bear

In our parts, polar bears sell milk on the street.

They're trained for it.

Polar bear cubs sell sunflower seeds,

and produce hand-rolled cigarettes.

Various birds chirp

arctic owls, geese, swans...

northern eagles,

penguins.

Penguins, though they don't live here, come to make money.

They use street organs, hand drums...

But brown bears are strictly forbidden from entering.

Because it's the north, after all.

"No Entry for Brown Bears!"

One time a carriage was carrying a flour bag and dropped it in the woods.

A bear found it.

He rolled in the flour, and became like a white bear.

Daddy!

To the market he went, to sell seeds and kvass.

Daddy!

They recognized him, of course; his real self showed through!

Daddy!

No Entry for Brown Bears!

Our folk is kind. They gave him some sliced dried apples, a stone of sugar,

and told him to come back sometime for his wheelbarrow.

Frozen Songs

In the summer, it never goes dark.

We don't sleep.

In the day we work,

at night we go out.

We have races with the reindeer!

And in the fall we get ready for winter.

We dry the northern lights.

At first, after all, they don't shine that brightly.

We yank them down, and hang them in bundles.

and they hang there, not drying out or ageing.

and at wintertime we'll take the northern lights,

soak them in warm water, and ignite them.

They shine brightly, clean the air, and smell good.

In Old Times, temperatures reached -200, -300.

In my memory, they even reached -500.

In that frost, any word which leaves a mouth freezes.

Every word has its own look, colour, light...

Women would make knitted lace from the songs, and various pretty things.

They'd hang them in front of the house,

putting the best words on the roof crest

and funny poems on the sides.

No place was more adorned than our village Uyma.

One time an overseas merchant walked by,

and saw the decorations; the frozen songs.

What a wonderfull, interesting, wild oddity!

VERY GOOD

FROZEN SONGS

The foreigner decided to order some songs,

to bring to his own country for listening and marvelling.

WE AGREE

WE WILL SING

Our daughters, mothers, grandmothers, those who have a voice,

all started singing songs,

freezing them.

Songs don't hurt work; they can be sung while the job's being done

and they bring profit.

SING

They put the songs into special boxes

and marked where the front and the back were

so that they wouldn't be played back to front.

Some big heaps were sung.

In the spring, they sent them over on steamships.

They were brought to a foreign country.

Everyone was curious,

what are these frozen songs from Arkhangelsk?

The theatre was filled to the brim!

A swan is swimming.

My white swan.

A soul is singing.

A fair maiden is singing

with her fair soul.

Though the foreigners don't understand our tongue,

they understood the beauty of our songs.

Fine are our songs here in Arkhangelsk.

Long and lingering they are.

That is true.

Nobody can outyell our women!

Without song, if you want to know,

we have darkness inside.

With song, we air out our essence.

With song, we enlighten ourselves as with a lamp.

Mashka, Mashka.

Zhuzha, Zhuzha.

Here, it's cozy as a feather, sheltered from the raging weather.

Grandpa Sen, another tale, eh?

I'll tell one about these two.

A Pomor tale I will spin,

of kind Ivan and a bad tsar.

of the tsar's devious daughter Ulyanka

who souped in Paris on Solyanka.

And also, I'll tell in this epic tale

of two true friends, and the snake Scarapeya. And also, I'll tell in this epic tale

of two true friends, and the snake Scarapeya.

In a certain land, in our very own kingdom,

in a place flat as a tablecloth

lived Ivan Goodheart with his mother, in the suburbs.

Their home was humble as could be.

No wood to burn, no food to eat.

And so Ivan decided to sell his only hat

to buy his mother some gingerbread for her name day.

Thus he went to the market.

Stranger, why are you torturing that animal?

What, I'm supposed to ask for permission?

Sell me the cat.

Sure.

The whole thing?

The whole thing. I'll give it to my mother for her name day.

The hat is ours, the cat is yours.

All right.

Mother, I bought a kitty.

Named "Mashka".

Named "Mashka". A present for your name day.

"For mother's name day"

Phooey!

We wouldn't need it even were it given freely.

Then Ivan resolved to sell his last shirt.

To buy some flour and fish.

Lad, why are you tormenting an animal again?

What's it to you?