I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians

The population is now free,

after a quarter of a century of Red Terror.

They rejoice openly.

People in Odessa and all over the Bolshevik reign

were cut off from the outside world.

Now they hear war news from the Romanian Radio Society.

Above Odessa, the brave soldiers of the Cross

raise the Romanian flag for which they fought.

It waves in honour of Romanian victory.

"I DO NOT CARE IF WE GO DOWN IN HISTORY AS BARBARIANS".

...some writers were watching a boxing match on TV.

One of the boxers KOs the other with a solid punch.

Then one writer shouts:

"That's the Critique of Pure Reason!"

Hello.

I am actress Ioana Iacob, playing Mariana Marin.

Not the poet, unfortunately.

Both me and my character are Romanian ethnics,

baptised as Christian Orthodox.

Unlike me, Mariana is an atheist.

I will be playing alongside Alexandru Dabija, Alex Bogdan,

Ilinca Manolache, Șerban Pavlu -

The seniors are here.

- The oldies. - OK.

Speaking of Ilinca.

Enjoy the film!

Not that way.

Hello, Madam.

Thank you for coming.

So you're interested in our project?

It's a chance to make some money.

I've done things at the Seniors Club.

- Me too! - Marathon, karaoke, poetry recitations.

I didn't like the karaoke.

- There will be work to do. - I'm no stranger to work.

- The boss' word is law. - Oh, a kind of Führerprinzip!

So, show me how you'd run.

As if someone set you on fire.

Run trying to put out the flames.

- He's a good runner. - Please.

Help, it burns my heart!

Mr. Lupu!

Let's not mock this.

Who's mocking what, Miss Pinocchio?

You were.

- Is that how a man on fire runs? - How else?

You show us!

- But I'm no actress. - Me neither.

Mrs. Racoviță, please try -

No, I want something else.

Pretend to cry for mercy.

"Don't kill me" etc.

I've done plenty of crying in this life.

Have mercy, I'm begging you!

Don't kill this poor old lady!

Excellent!

We need some life, some authenticity.

Like Ceaușescu's wife at the trial.

"No, you can't tie me up, my children!"

Did you miss me, Sara?

...he's so irresponsible. But I'll manage.

A father shouldn't say that.

How are you?

Working. These Austrians are terrible.

Germany's dumb cousins.

How's your work going?

Slow, but I have some ideas.

I'll manage.

I'll hang up, I need to read something.

- Show it to me. - What, my cunt?

Yes!

Seriously, Dacian.

- No one will see. - Stop it, I'm tired.

What are you reading?

Isaac Babel.

This was during the Polish-Soviet war.

The Commander has reported Novograd-Volynsk was taken.

- Can you hear me? - Yes.

Our transport is strung like a noisy rearguard

along the high road from Brest to Warsaw

built on the bones of muzhiks by Nicholas I.

Fields of poppies flower around us,

the wind is playing in the rye,

the virginal buckwheat rises like the wall of a distant monastery.

The quiet Volyn river is curving,

withdrawing into a mist of birch groves,

entangling itself in thickets of hops.

An orange sun is rolling across the sky like a severed head,

a gentle radiance glows in the clouds,

the standards of the sunset float above our heads.

There is the odour of yesterday's blood and slain horses.

The Zbrucz river roars in foamy knots in the rapids.

The bridges are destroyed, we ford the river.

A majestic moon lies on the waves.

The sonorous currents ooze between hundreds of horses' legs.

Someone drowns, defaming Virgin Mary.

The river is littered with the black rectangles of carts,

above the serpents of the moon and the shining chasms.

Late at night we arrive in Novograd.

In the house to which I'm assigned I find a pregnant woman and two Jews.

A third is asleep, covered up, against the wall.

In my room - ransacked wardrobes, scraps of women's fur coats,

human excrement and shards of sacred vessels.

"Clear up," I say to the woman.

"What a dirty life you live!"

The two Jews get up.

On felt soles, they clear the detritus,

monkey-like, like Japanese in a circus.

Their necks swell and revolve.

They spread a torn feather mattress for me.

I lie next to the third, sleeping Jew.

A timid poverty descends over my bed.

All has been killed by silence.

Only the moon, clasping her head in blue hands,

loiters beneath my window.

I rub my numb feet and fall asleep.

I dream of the Commander,

pursuing the Kombrig on a heavy stallion.

He shoots two bullets into his eyes.

The bullets go through; his eyes fall to the ground.

"Why did you turn the brigade about?" the Commander shouts.

I wake up: the pregnant woman is tapping me on the face.

"You are shouting and thrashing in your sleep," she says.

"I'll move your bed, you're kicking my daddy."

She raises her thin legs and uncovers the sleeping man.

The old man is lying on his back, dead.

His throat is ripped out, his face hacked in two,

blood clings in his beard.

"Panie," the Jewess says, "the Poles killed him."

"He begged them: Kill me out in the backyard,"

"so my daughter won't see me die."

"But they did what suited them."

"He died in this room, thinking of me."

"And now tell me," the woman said with terrible force,

"where in all the world you would find a father like mine."

That's it.

Beautiful.

Russians. The Suedes' poor cousins.

Bye then.

Where did these come from?

An American film, Zombies vs. Wehrmacht.

- Are they authentic? - Yes.

We can add accessories.

An Iron Cross, a gas mask...

A Linnemann shovel.

- And swastikas? - Not all uniforms had them.

The SS had them.

- Maybe. - Please check.

- It all has to be authentic. - Of course.

- Where can I change? - Shoo, you Venus in Furs!

The Schutzstaffel...

Now hold out an arm.

Shout "Heil Hitler! Sieg Heil!"

Not funny at all.

- Just joking. - Bad timing.

Any Russian or Romanian uniforms?

Sergiu Nicolaescu left us hundreds of Romanian uniforms.

- A bit old, though. - I see.

And they may be shitty fakes.

Oh no, Mr. Sergiu would never...

We can fix them up.

The Russian ones we have to make from scratch.

- Weren't they supposed to be duds? - You mean blanks.

That, yes.

I want the weapons to be frightening.

If it was just us, we could have used training ammo.

But you want civilians as extras.

- Drop them. - No way.

The brass band marched on, The lead drummer at the front

Was slender and mustachioed...

These will do. As long as they look real.

- Horrible! - They're only frightening to girls.

Around 1877, they wrapped gunpowder in paper.

Like candy.

To load your weapon, you had to tear the wrapping -

Can I try this?

tear the wrapping, load up and shoot.

So, to not be sent to the infantry,

Romanian peasants pulled out all their teeth.

With pincers.

So they couldn't tear the gunpowder wrapper.

They couldn't be in the front-line infantry.

- Cowards. - Not all of them.

Mostly the rookies.

Some innocents died in this, in the 1989 Revolution.

The officers mistaken for terrorists.

- Really? - Yes.

Sorry.

Look, bullet holes!

A soldier beheaded an officer and put his head here.

Someone stuck a cigarette in his mouth.

Is the museum allowed to show it? People died in it.

It's not the only one. That's from WWI.

And tanks from WWII.

Items from the 1989 Revolution.

- We can rehearse here. - Good.

Sissies, let's rehearse!

You're a good imitator, can you do Marshal Antonescu?

- Now what? - I don't know.

We have 25 minutes for the whole event.