Taurus (Телец)

LENFILM STUDIOS

THE MINISTRY OF CULTURE GOSKINO, RUSSIA

and the producer Viktor SERGEIEV

present

Leonid MOZGOVOI Maria KUZNETSOVA

S. RAZHUK, N. NIKULENKO, L. YELISEIEV

in a film by ALEKSANDR SOKUROV

TAURUS

Written by Yuri ARABOV

- You've spoilt my sleep. - I don't know what I was doing.

Give me the newspaper!

Where'd this newspaper come from?

Eh?

Water!

Of course, the gentleman wishes to drink.

Excuse me.

I heard music in my sleep.

It seemed to be a sonata.

As a child I used to listen to the music of the rain.

My mother said it was the angels singing...

and that only children could hear them.

She preferred to believe that a thunderstorm...

was angel song...

rather than a simple meteorological phenomenon.

If the poor woman had understood something so simple...

she wouldn't have prayed to God, but to electricity.

That would have been more useful.

We go on not knowing whether God helps us or not...

while electricity can power a dynamo.

Who is it?

You're all spying on me!

Good day, dear leader.

Good morning, Herr Askulap. Excuse my appearance.

You have circles under your eyes. Are you feeling well?

It seems to me I'm more than ill

but really half-dead.

I'm not just ill.

- I could die any moment. - What nonsense!

From the metaphysical point of view...

death is still an unproved fact.

That means

metaphysically...

it hasn't been demonstrated that death exists.

Let's see... 36 and a half.

What did I tell you? He's faking.

Please stand up!

Oh, you're naked...

- One arm here... - This arm...

Give me your hand.

Come on, get him dressed.

Now the head.

He has something of a fever.

What do you have there?

- No, I can do it by myself! - He doesn't want it!

Let go of me! By myself!

Go on out.

That's it!

All right, close your eyes.

Close your eyes.

Hold out your arm, very good.

Now with your index finger...

try to touch the tip of your nose.

I'm sorry but it appears I'm unable to.

The people can and you can't?

- And can you touch your nose? - Of course I can.

Look!

I knew it.

I'll reveal a secret, dear leader.

My whole right side is becoming paralytic.

And my left side isn't doing too well either.

It's enough to make you cry!

It fell. What do we do now?

We shall live in spite of all common sense.

Common sense?

Come on, let's go.

What is the point of this hopeless suffering?

There's always hope.

You don't know the diagnosis, yet you speak of hope.

Who says I don't know what ails you?

You have motor and sensory aphasia.

- What is aphasia? - Well, it's...

If I have aphasia, what do you have?

Me? I don't have anything.

Nonsense... Foolishness... Melancholy...

Melancholy? Why?

Because you know what's going to happen?

In 1919, a peasant told me:

"You will die of apoplexy...

because your neck is too short."

One must be tough to die of an apoplexy.

I don't know. Never tried it.

I'm sick of this damned dressing gown.

Help me, please, dear leader.

Will I be able to think once the paralysis is total?

Let go of me, for God's sake! Damn it!

You'll be able to think.

There is a precedent.

Once a bourgeois hurt his head...

- Should I take it away? - Wait.

...he went to see the doctor.

And the doctor found...

a screw in his head.

They operated and removed the screw.

Did he live long?

- What? - Did he live long?

He died instantly.

It turned out that the poor man...

couldn't live without that screw in his head.

Very Russian, yes.

A screw as an existential necessity.

It's possible to live even without a brain.

Sometimes, when they open the cranium...

they discover new humours.

But you don't have to worry about that.

You are our athlete of the intellect.

Your brain ought to be developed like a muscle.

Oh, how I'd love...

to be able to see your brain!

- Do you have a punch? - I have a saw.

Don't worry, you won't have to wait long.

No, no, no!

Soon you'll get better.

You're almost cured.

You'll get better.

Better? When?

In a month, perhaps two.

Can you be more precise?

More precise?

- To be... - You don't know anything!

To be more precise...

you will be better...

as soon as you can multiply 17...

and 22.

Yes, you heard right.

17...

and 22.

And...

your recuperation will be complete.

I guarantee it.

- Your temples are sweating. - That's easy...

- 17 and 22... - Perhaps it's a fever.

But if it's so easy...

17... Where's my pencil?

I'll figure it out it in a moment...

17 and 22...

Fedor!

Take the lamp.

That's it.

Turn off the light, Fedia.

That's it.

Good lad, you're learning.

Why do you speak to me in German?

17 and 22...

17 and 22...

What does this symptom mean?

Here is an X, that signifies multiplication.

Signifies...

Signifies...

But how do I multiply it?

How do I multiply...?

Soon...

they will kill him.

An X, an X...

What are you thinking?

Is it Russian or German?

Since he's dying...

they will execute the sentence.

- Enough, enough already. - Shut the door!

- Well, perhaps they won't kill him. - Yes they will.

At most they'll strip him of his rights...

...and exile him. - Do you need me?

- Exile. - Shut the door!

Fedor!

Fedor!

Valentin Vikentievich, have you examined him? And?

Well, he's past the crisis.

If he wants, he may go hunting.

Then we'll go hunting.

Shura, dear, bring me the stool please.

- Why the scissors? - Just because.

- Go to your place. - All right.

Shut the door, I said!

I already did!

- Good day. - Good day.

- Very well, I'm coming. - Go.

Oh, Lamprei!

I'm sure you haven't slept well.

You're not going to be ill? Let me touch your forehead.

You're cold.

Excuse me, I must have a look.

Cow!

Good.

- Hello. - Hello.

Excuse me, that's all.

I've found out what you were asking...

about corporal punishment in Russia.

- Did you sleep well? - Very well, today we'll go hunting.

I jotted down what you wanted to know...

about the last hours of Marx.

We'll speak of Marx later.