All language subtitles for The Great S03E04 Stag 1080p HMAX WEB-DL DD5 1 H 264-playWEB (1)_track3_[eng]

Just remember,
the wine bladder is Paul.

Head shot is the go.

- It fuckin' moved.
- Yes, they do that.

Need some more practice.

Don't worry, Paul.
This is why we practice.

So, they're having to source
a lot of monkeys.

History will judge me harshly

for the monkey in every village idea, rightfully.

You did what you had to do. Huzzah!

Peter must be happy. He came up
with the idea when he was 12.

Of course he did.

- They killed Simitz.
- Of course they did.

- They had to.
- Why is the day already unbearable?

It is not.
It is ripe with possibility and joy.

Leave that behind and focus
on Paul's ordination and the stag ritual.

What is this stag thing?

Peter the Great invented it
as a celebration of Peter's ordination.

It's a fun way to celebrate.

Peter loved the idea
of continuing the tradition.

Actually, I have a surprise
in this regard. Wait.

Fuck.

Paul's ordination.
If we could go over the words,

some of which
are the traditional blessing,

and then I follow on
with some inspired free-form.

Bad news? Can I help?

No.

- What were you saying?
- Paul's ordination.

Paul's ordination!
What a day it will be.

Taste this.

Delicious. What is it?

When Paul was born,

your placenta was taken and placed
in a barrel of the finest vodka,

to be toasted on Paul's special day
at the end of the stag ritual.

- I just drank my placenta?
- You did.

- Sweet and strong, like you.
- It's a little yeasty, though.

If we could look at the wording.

We're hoping for a shaft of sunlight
to hit his forehead as I say,

"You are anointed by God to lead."

I do it in a baritone for effect.

I will cry, I know it.

Right. I need to go to the Nakaz salon.

I thought that the Nakaz
would taste of the future,

but it is fucking merde in my mouth.

How dare you, Voltaire!

Our empress is the bravest and brightest,
and she will prevail!

I... I didn't see you come in.

Awkwardly singing your praises.

We started with murder,
we've ended up with monkey.

- The people love the monkeys.
- Huzzah.

Let us focus
on what's next for the Nakaz .

Education for all!

The peasants were reluctant to vote,
as the church said they should not.

And having talked to them,

they would also be prefer to be whipped
than made to read books.

The church clings to them
like a succubus.

I'm right here, Frenchy.

Perhaps we could have
a reasonable discussion

about the role of the church
in our lives, Archie?

Open hearts.

Wife!

- Amazing news!
- In the middle of something.

Something not as important
as Paul's first word.

What?

He was sitting on the floor playing,

when suddenly, he looked up at me
with this delighted look, and said...

What was it?

"Pussy."

- What?
- Pussy.

I suspect his next word will be "eat."

Say "eat," Paul.
Who would like to hear Paul's next word?

- No! Stop!
- What? Yeah, say it for Mommy, Paul.

Paul, no!

- Leave him.
- Take him!

I'm very confused right now.

How is this a bad thing?

I do not want his first word
to be "pussy."

Why not? He has focused on
what will be a joy in his life.

I want him to be
a thoughtful and kind child,

led by brain and love,
not by pussy.

Well, I, for one, accept him as he is.

Of course you do.
He's like you!

Huzzah.

And you fucking love me,
I will remind you.

Not today!

You are out of control
and also very fucking annoying.

He is a child uttering a word.
He doesn't know what it means.

But I do know what it means.

It means his next word will be "murder,"
and then "cunt," and then "knife fight,"

and then "bacon-wrapped fig,"
and then, "cut some fucking throats!"

It means he's like you.

And you want him to be ordained by God
to lead this country?

- No. Not fucking happening!
- Don't you fucking dare.

- The ordination is canceled.
- What?

And so is the fucking stag ludicrousness.

Fuck.

There are lines that cannot be crossed.
My son's destiny is one of them.

Do not even threaten it.

I do not threaten it.
I promise it.

For I will not risk he grows up to be you,

and I gave him the chance
and the right

to manhandle this country's people.

Shut the fuck up,
or I am cutting throats!

Point made. Got a problem?
Grab a knife, cut a throat!

Come and get it.

Cut my dumb, dumb heart out
for loving you.

I came here with happy news,

and you have been a terrible wife
and a fucking bad mother.

- She can't mean it.
- Of course not, of course not.

That was very... Gosh.

Paul has to be legitimized
in the eyes of God.

Even she must recognize the danger
of leaving that door open.

They just had a fight that was a bit
rattling to soul and mind, that's all.

If you're not worried,
then why are you shaking?

Oh, God. I am a bit. How odd.

Good Lord.

Brings my center together.

All right. I'm fine.

- We have to nip this in the bud.
- Indeed.

Grigor, you're not gonna...

Well, isn't this adorable?

- It was.
- What's up?

A little war broke out
between Catherine and Peter,

and fuck me, I thought there was going
to be bloodshed for a second.

- What?
- Shit. Is he all right?

He looked as angry as when they took
his pet tiger off him when he was nine.

Oh, God. Towel!

Bye-bye.

Thinking about your former friend?

I can't believe he likes fucking that.

He loves fucking that.

And he loves me.

Love is blind, and I guess,
in your case, it needs to be.

You broke his heart a thousand times.

I guess he gets to do it to you once.

I do not want to see anyone.

My role is pastoral care
as well as political avarice.

- Are you all right?
- Not really, no.

I once told fat Mother
that I would never visit her again

if I saw her eating another cream cake.

And as I did, I angrily pushed one
into her enormous mouth.

- What the fuck are you talking about?
- Things get said. They're just words.

They blow away on the wind,
but the love is left in the body.

Two days later, we sat at afternoon tea,
and I let her eat herself to vomiting.

- Archie, go away.
- The ordination is about Paul, not Peter.

So it is not pastoral care after all
that brings you here.

I am a gifted priest,
so I can do two things at once.

Moving on to political avarice.

Without the ordination, the Russian
throne stops being hereditary.

A tradition that, if we're to be fucking
honest, has kept you in power.

- I'm not hereditary.
- You are seen as such.

Had you not had the marriage
that made you family,

you would not still be on the throne.

Bear shit.

The family ordained by God
or any cunt can decide to take it.

You risk the legitimacy of your rule.

Am I risking the legitimacy of my throne
or the power of your God?

Both.

High stakes, isn't it?

Fuck me, that was something.

I was at the front in our war,
and it was less fucking intense.

- Sauternes and duck liver parfait?
- No, I'm too fucking angry to...

- It looks good.
- Soothes the soul.

What the fuck is she doing?

Trying to take
the throne off your own son.

I mean, fuckingoj,
as we say in Sweden.

- Are you okay?
- I don't want to speak ill of her.

- She's a monster who hates your son.
- I bought a carrot cake.

For an emperor? Fucking carrot cake?
Do you hate him?

- That will not fucking do.
- I was rushing!

I just heard. It's the talk of the halls. Passion.

I mean, I still remember that
when we were first married.

- It's beautiful.
- It's not passion.

- It's an attack, is what it is.
- She cannot do this to you.

I need to do something.
Let us run at bags.

I will not fucking talk to her
until she apologizes.

Will you fuck her?

- Because fucking often leads to talking.
- Do not fuck her.

For once, we are in agreement.

Of course I will fuck her.
I'm not a monster.

- But there will be no talking.
- Out, gentlemen.

- They're giving me solace.
- And some amazing sauternes.

Are you all still here?
It seems an eternity since I said, "Out!"

- Are you all right?
- Not really.

It was a bruising encounter.

I don't understand this rage.

Thank you, Aunt.

Never pick up a knife like that again
in front of the court.

- But I wanted to chin her. I was--
- Angry?

Hurt.

She does not want my son
to be like me, and yet she loves me.

That is a fucking
head-splitting conundrum.

Well, let me simplify.

This has nothing to do with love.

Your feelings don't matter.
Your love does not matter.

Only your family and your job matters,
and you will do what you need to do.

You're being very aggressive.

You have one job as a son to your father,
and that is to preserve the line.

Right. Well, she couldn't have meant that.

I remember playing
badminton in this room,

naked,
using passion fruit as shuttlecocks.

Your father sent a forehand
smashing into me, and I loved that.

The sting of it as the fruit broke
all over my nakedness.

And he roared with laughter,
as only he could.

Dropped to the floor.
And I ran to him...

and he looked at me with those eyes that
held you and broke you at the same time,

and he said,
"Keep my line, my love."

Then he died.

Right.

I'm not going to say anything more,
as what else do we need?

Understood. Understood.

I hoped you'd be here,
having heated, sensual lovemaking.

Slick with sweat and bruising.

Let me smell you.

Fuck off. Did you see the fight?

Yes, and I feel like it offers
an ajar door for you and her.

And I suspect from
your sudden giving a toss, for you?

Why shouldn't we all win?
It's what God wants.

Funny.

This baby needs to be ordained
by the church.

A soft ear for her,

and a whisper of, "Let's not
take that off Paul just to spite Peter."

And also, let's not take away
the church's right to deify leaders

and undermine its power.

I knew you'd understand.

You're actually simmering. I can see.

Broiling with a mèlange of emotion.

Go on, get in there. Get a nostrilful.

Vanilla.

How strange.

I was hoping for musky.

Are you fucking kidding me?

You have a fight with your idiot husband,
you come running to me?

- I was actually just walking past.
- Liar.

Oh, fuck's sake.

I am the ruler of this great country
because it was my destiny.

And also because I suggested it.
Possibly mainly because I suggested it.

I took it because I have the ideas
and heart to do it,

not because a man in a big hat
representing a god

who may or may not exist
in league with one noble family,

decides that the fate of millions
is on a baby

who could become a fucking monster!

Albeit, we are talking about my son,
who I love, obviously.

Yes. Yes, agreed.
We are at a leader's whim,

and if the whim is that of
a blind giant dancing, we're all doomed.

- Thankfully, we're all at my whim.
- Clearly my next point.

It is a relief
to have you beside me again.

Against your husband,
we will always be in agreement.

I understand you hate him.

You just do not have to throw
it in my face.

Or you your love for him in my face.

That could be a rule.

Because I hate it,

this love.

Today, I do too.

- But it is there, even in the rage--
- You're about to talk about it again.

Let us fence it off,

and then my love for you
can live next door.

I've missed you.

Hated you...

and missed you.

Empress!
Hello, welcome.

Darling, you never said she was coming.

Maxim.

Why are you using those glasses?
I'll get the crystal. And snacks?

Such a catch.

There you are.

I was worried.

I went to your apartment.
Are you all right?

I am.

- I went to Marial's.
- Lovely.

When love is at the root,
it always grows back.

I suppose. I am very angry.

- Things are said in anger we don't mean.
- I meant every word, anger aside.

Here is a book on the science
of marriage by the Choglokovs.

It's very modern. You'll love it.

Your love is fierce, too fierce at times.
This will help.

A royal marriage is a job.

Do the work, or broken hearts, shattered
lives and blood all over the floor.

I'm writing notes to myself.

"My wife does not like interruptions
during intellectual salons."

Funny.

"What the fuck?" is my prevailing reaction
to what the fuck happened in there.

It did escalate.

It was like I was falling off a cliff
and the momentum kept building.

I believe it happens,
sudden outbreaks in marriage.

Here, Father would often
throw urns at Mother,

and Mother would often fill his mouth
with crushed glass while he slept.

My mother would suddenly break loose,
similarly to me then.

A boiling-hot wave that swept the room
and took my father's legs out,

and then she held him
under the metaphorical water

as he gasped out lame excuses.

So it is normal.

A kind of momentary marital madness
where things not meant are thrown.

Some of it I meant.

From my sister, Angela.

"Where is Mother?

"She does not answer my letters.
Please respond, I am concerned."

Right. That's annoying.
I thought that one was buried.

Perhaps today was
an accumulation of our past.

It seems every week,
something else adds to the weight of it.

Let us forget it.

We have said things we didn't mean,
or did, but so what? Just words.

I suggest we remove our clothes
and stop talking.

I meant what I said about the ordination.
Know that.

What are you doing?

I have no choice.

You will break us.

Elizabeth gave me a book.

We could try it.

The science of marriage, apparently.

How is it?

How do you think it is, Agnes?

It's like a rat threw up blood in a glass.

I miss aquavit.

Don't wait up for me.

I'm going to your apartment.
Meet me there tonight.

I...

Yes.

But we need fire and action,
not just words.

Blinis.

- Here.
- What's that?

I thought you'd need to wash the taste
of all the lies out of your mouth.

You should join us. That wit is wasted
on just being a bitter bitch.

Disagree.

I just think our job for the empress
is to challenge her on every level,

for the country.

- Isn't that the--
- I'm torn.

How so?

I want to keep listening, but I want
to listen whilst you suck my cock,

yet that would make it hard for you talk.
It's a conundrum.

Blini?

You have trampled
a very romantic moment, Georgina.

She really hasn't.

I imagine sometimes if you were
castrated and could focus only on ideas,

how great you would be, Voltaire.

And sad, no? Voltaire without a cock.
No. No, no, no.

Well, let's leave Voltaire
to suck his own cock and ponder that,

and we shall go
and speak words unencumbered.

Love to.

- This exercise is called tug-of-war.
- Tug-of-war.

The papers attached to the rope
have your issues written upon them.

You each argue a point,
the other attempts to see your side,

and takes a step towards you
when they do.

You hopefully both see enough
that you slowly reach the line together.

Go!

"Catherine's reign."

You do not share my desire
to transform this country.

Because it's mad.

Brilliant, but fucking mad.
And you don't listen to my advice.

I would like you to read
all the works of Diderot,

as you cannot truly know me and know
what it is I seek here without it.

How many are there?

Forty-seven,
not including annotated pamphlets.

Forty-seven? Are you fucking mad?
Is she mad?

You can't read a book?
You do nothing but eat and hunt all day.

Set yourself free in the forest,
and I will hunt and eat you all day.

- Off topic!
- Was it?

Arkady.

- Marriage science is strangely fun.
- You're losing.

No, you're losing.

I don't think that's the point.

Well, that's just fucking bragging.

The couple must stay balanced.

Keep connected at all times
as we throw balls at you.

- I have you always.
- I know you do.

- Sorry.
- We can take anything.

Look at me and tell me we can't.

I do believe it now,
if we are just in the now,

but the past and the world outsi--

- Fuck!
- Sorry.

- Says increase force as it goes.
- Where?

Somewhere.

No, it was just an argument. Out of hand.
We can pretend it never happened.

Is that the secret to a happy marriage?
Amnesia?

Fuck! The next ball that gets thrown
comes out of Arkady's ball bag.

In arguments,
it is best to use "you always" statements.

Example: "You always do this,
and I hate it about you."

You always go to work,
and I hate it about you.

- Excellent.
- Thanks.

I'm saving Russia.

No. You have to say, "I accept what
you say. I am awful. Have me anyway."

I'm not saying that.

I am to hit you in the back of the head
using a protruding knuckle if you don't.

Then I have to fuck Peter
while you watch.

- It doesn't say that.
- It says some improvisation allowed.

Fine. I accept I am awful,

and I do put work and the saving of
Russia from all you did to it before you.

- Accept me anyway.
- I do.

You always kill whenever you want,
hunt, eat and fuck when you want,

and do whatever you want,
and I hate that about you.

I accept I'm amazing at arranging my life
in an exceptional and fun way.

- Accept me anyway.
- Funny.

We are now, terrifyingly enough,
apparently to make an observation.

You two?

You are a fucking big-cocked hedonist,

and you are a stuck-up bitch
married to her work. It's doomed.

Wrong. No.
Arkady, what do you think?

I think you're both exceptional people,
and that makes it hard.

You live life at its edges,
and the edge of anything is sharp,

so you wound each other
mainly because you are you.

So, you need to find a way to accept
that there will be wounds,

or that, at points,

you will need to step back from
yourselves for the sake of the other.

Fuckin' hell, Arkady.

- Indeed.
- I do notice things, you know.

He does.
He has excellent fucking eyes.

Peter! I have brought you a pheasant.
Pheasant as a present.

And 11 bottles of rosé and 46 oysters,

and I had the chef make madeleines
stuffed with cantaloupe.

And I was going to suggest badminton,
but you are... something.

- Finished with this. I have work.
- No, stay and play.

You are always improving Russia.

- Let us have fun.
- Fun?

It's actually chapter six.

Let's try it.

- We need four, then. Shall I get George?
- Or six of us is good.

- Hugo.
- I think he died.

I heard that too.
Well, we can stay. Me and Tatyana?

No, Grigor. Get Marial.

Thank you, you two. You can go.

- A four.
- Unbelievable.

Marial?

Marial.

"Get Marial," she said.

- Fucking couldn't believe it.
- Once you love me...

I, of course, agree.

You're so happy.

The four of us, together. Friends.
Fucking amazing.

And Hugo can fuck off.

- Glad it's about me.
- I'm happy for you.

- Don't fuck this up.
- I won't fuck it up.

You hate him. Just hide it, all of it.

I am a very good actress.

Yesterday, that orgasm.

It was real.

Was it?

That was good.
I almost believed you.

You'll end up loving him. We all do.

You all do.
That's almost a good point.

- Hello.
- Hello.

- One rule. You can't speak ill of him.
- But I can think it.

If you must, but we are in agreement
on the speaking part.

Understood.

I have half-filled your glass.
We cannot have slosh.

- But we can be sloshed.
- By the end of the game, it is essential.

- What are the sides?
- I'll play with you.

Agnes.

I was hoping you weren't undressed,

so I could tear every stitch
from your body.

First, this.

- We're going to play a war game.
- What?

I'm Sweden, you're Russia.

This is where the battle was
when the cease-fire deal was done.

- You think you would've won?
- I know I would've.

Well, I know what our plan was.

Let's find out.

I may be in love.

It'd be offensive if you weren't.

Let's begin.

- Keep your eye on the cock.
- I cannot keep my eyes off it.

Are you flirting with your own husband?

I'm using his self-love against him.

- One-nil!
- Brilliant.

Fuck!

- I'm very competitive.
- You're very shit so far.

Hey, back off my partner
and serve the cock.

- You okay?
- Yep, yep.

Two-one.

Marial, stand further up court.

I know where to stand.

- Oh, fuck!
- Three-one.

- Eyes on the cock, a yard up court.
- I know how to play.

With all the missing, it was confusing.

Then we counterattacked
on your flank with a division--

But I'd turned you,
so it's not my flank anymore.

You're looking into the teeth
of thousands of men,

bristling, guns ready, cocks hard.

- Fuck! Then we retreat--
- I'm on the ridge!

Above the valley you retreat into.

And that's it!

You know where I march next, don't you?

- Stockholm.
- I win!

- I knew I fucking would!
- Well, maybe you would've.

Guess you'll never know, really.

And now, I'm in Stockholm.

Are you the spoils of war?

Come here.

Get on all fours.

Smell me, and wail like a buffalo.

As much as I want to,
I can never fuck you. I'm married.

No, but I--

But know that I am slick with want.
It is a sweet torture we must endure.

No...

I'm dying.

This is something I desperately want
before I die.

And so was Sweden.

Yes.

It's horrible to die
with many things unfucked and unwon.

My heart breaks for you.

So I'm to sit and rely on Peter
to solve this for us?

Peter? I'll just say it again
for impact. Peter?

He has his gifts,
and making her love him is one.

And if... And if I may say the obvious
out loud, when he fails,

what then?

Archie, you and I united against anyone,
who wins?

True.

Understand though, this is...

How shall I put this?

A big fucking deal.

I have tried to stay aligned with her,

and she does nothing
to stay aligned with me.

At some point,
you will hear a tearing noise,

and it will be me coming loose
and letting loose.

You're very worked up.

Should I teach you the bird noises?

I came to take you.

But obviously not a good time.

I envy your life sometimes.

Really?
I never envy you.

Although sometimes I love your hats.

You could ask Vinodel to come back.

I love to watch.

Still watching?

When are you going to give in, Archie?
That's the tearing noise I'd like to hear.

- This fucking pheasant!
- It's how I shoot them.

With a gun?

It is amazing.

We all sit at a table,
gorging on pheasant and forgiveness.

Even Marial and her myriad of betrayals
are in the fire.

- My fucking betrayals?
- To Marial.

All love is complicated.

And sometimes love is unintelligible
to outsiders.

- A monster to one--
- I tend to shoot them in the neck.

- What?
- Pheasants.

So the shot does not get in the breast.

And when pan-fried,
the pheasant retains a silky texture.

- Amazing.
- Silky. Well done, darling.

Are you being sweet to another human?

It is sporadic.

- It is a sight to see, you in love.
- And you in love is also a sight to see.

- Careful.
- To Grigor and Marial.

- To Catherine and the future of Russia.
- And to Peter and Catherine.

- Huzzah.
- Huzzah.

Catherine got a letter
from her sister today.

A strange and possibly incendiary subject

to lob into our dinner, husband.

Gosh, what did she say?
"Where's Mom?"

Marial, put a whole lot of pork
in your mouth and chew. Slowly.

I've been thinking on how we respond.
I've written a letter.

- You know, all in my head, but--
- You what?

"Dear sister-in-law, you don't know me,
but I'm the former head of Russia,

"married and sick with love for the new
head of Russia, your sister, Catherine.

"In regards to your mother's whereabouts
and state of health, we'll get to it."

- I like the start.
- Are you really doing this?

I am. You will not be alone in this.
I start strong.

"Love, it is a prick.

"Take it from a prick
who has been lead too often by his prick.

"Your mother's love, for instance.

"She came and saw her daughter had
blossomed into a leader

"of such light and power
and could not abide it,

"so wished to suffocate her for it,
and our love with it.

"And, for two and a half minutes,
including all foreplay, I aided her in it.

"Your mother is dead.

"I do not regret her death,
but the circumstances of it, yes.

"Now, if I had my time again,
I would not fuck her.

"Merely pick her up,
and toss her out the fucking window."

- Right.
- Indeed.

"For she came to destroy us, and we are
a love that cannot be destroyed.

"Rest assured, your sister did avenge
your mother and stabbed me five times.

"Each stab in my body was deserved,

"and as I watched the blade go into me
over and over,

"the fact she could live without me
brought a chilling blackness,

"the look of pain in her eyes
as she did it, almost worse.

"The terror I would leave her
and Paul forever, worse still.

"Somehow, I lived.

"As I said, our love is fierce.
It is a sun, it burns within us,

"and sometimes it feels it will
consume us, but it never does.

"All the best,
your brother-in-law, Peter.

"PS, please come visit.
Spring is the nicest time."

- Thoughts?
- You are a wonder to me.

- And you me.
- And also to me.

Are you fucking...

tasting this pork thing?
It's amazing.

Two great discoveries I made in France.

Enlightenment and French 75s.

- I also discovered cunnilingus there.
- Giving it or getting it?

- Both.
- What a country.

- Thanks for helping me.
- To women and ideas.

These fucking weak, mealy-mouthed,
all-talk intellectuals.

- I hoped for fire in there.
- Are you really on her side?

No one knows.

- You're mysterious.
- I am not at all.

France changed me forever.

My concern is it is all talk
from Voltaire and the others.

The empress needs us to be wild,
as you said,

with our ideas, our push,
our actions, if needs be.

I so agree.

- Wow, this is strong.
- As are we.

I need a friend who believes in what I do.

If the drinks are always this good,
you have one.

What a fucking night.

- It felt so right, all of us together.
- Are you fucking kidding me?

What? You liked him.

He is a fucking monster,

and someone needs to kill him
so you idiots are free from his spell.

I really thought
you were having a good time.

Misread, like the orgasm thing.

I'm relatively sure
we just made a new baby.

Perhaps.

Paul!

You said to bring him
if he said anything new.

- What is it?
- I'm scared to ask.

I don't want to ruin the surprise.

Hi.

What a cutie.

What did you say, Paul?

I'm really hoping
for the word "enlightenment"

to balance your mother and I.

I don't want to ruin the moment,
but you can't take this off him.

Just think about it.

All right, I will.

Book.

- Did he just say "book"?
- I think he did.

- Perfect.
- Hey!

Practice! Let's practice the stag ritual!

It's the middle of the night, Velementov.

We're a long time dead,
and you must get it right,

or Paul's head...

Look at him.

Peter the Great.

- Velementov, are you all right?
- He was always there.

I miss you.

Go home, Velementov.

We should honor this man, little Paul.

Look at him.

Ruling family cuddling up.

What a day it will be.

I'm glad I live to see it.

- Anyway, let's practice!
- Yep, I'll take him home.

To see him ordained,

knowing how your father wept
the day you were.

- He did?
- Like a baby. Baby.

He made me slap him several times
to try and stop him.

Yes.

So, you remade the friendship.

How do you know?

The court is all a flurry.
I felt proud of you.

And Peter and you, how did that go?

I prefer Pugachev's version.

What?

He's living downstairs.

I sometimes go back to my old life.

He's fucking funny, that guy.
He does Peter pitch-perfect.

Evil and charm, fused.

Really? Interesting.

And you mentioned
the ordination tonight?

No, but she's going to give in.

I can see her wavering,
and he'll keep pushing.

He knows just where to punch her
in the heart.

He was born to have what he wants.

Great news!
Join Maxim and I in a port.

- The drink and the game.
- No, I'm exhausted. Good night.

Women, so delicate.

So many late night visitors.

Don't give in.

I'm not.

Your voice is faltering
even as you say it.

You cannot leave Russia in the hands--

- He's half of me.
- His first word was "pussy."

A salient point.
His second, "book," though.

He works you,
and you don't even see it.

Don't.
We had rules, Marial.

I love you too much for rules.

Don't give in.

Well, this is a sight for tired eyes.
Success, I take it?

- Guaranteed.
- As in not yet?

As in not yet, and yet, it will be.

As in, "No, I haven't done my job."

Don't scratch at me.

I have mended our hearts, and will soon
give the gentlest push, and she will fall.

- When? There is no time!
- I will know the moment, as is my way.

The whole family line rests
on my impeccable instincts.

You can be confident I will bring it home.

Indeed.

I'll rest easy, then.

- Morning!
- Morning.

I hear you've found peace
with your husband.

- Such passion you two have.
- We do.

I look at Paul, and I think,

"How can he not be
anything but extraordinary?"

Obvious and clumsy from you.

It is important. My mind shakes a little
at the mistake you could make.

Also slightly threaten-y.

I'll stop. You start.

I cannot espouse
the ideals of meritocracy,

and then let the church say
a man in a cloud has chosen my son

to rule all your lives,
whether he is built for the job or not.

I enjoyed the speech,
but that's not why.

It is why.

Also, what if I had a daughter?

I don't think that's happening
when you have a cunt full of lemon top.

I don't know what you're talking about.

What are you...
Hey, what...

What the fuck are you doing?

- I can smell it. Lemon top.
- Get away from me!

I will get it out,
or you will admit it's in!

Yes, all right!

God.

I'm too busy to have another baby,
that is all.

The truth.
Let's have more of that, shall we?

God.

Let me go.

It's fucking madness, ordaining Paul.
You should see that.

It makes him an option for others.
Get rid of me, choose him.

Yes?

- So you know that?
- Yes, of course.

And you would still have me do it?

You've always been under threat,
always will be.

People are plotting
to kill you somewhere right now.

- Perhaps even in here.
- Funny.

Was it?

It strengthens you
as much as it weakens you.

And it preserves the family line
of Peter the Great, your great love.

And you.

But mainly him, for you.

It can work for all of us.

I always think you are for me,

but really, it is all for him.

I think I've done enough
to prove my love for you.

I am asking you rather desperately
to do something for me.

My instinct is no.

It screams in me.

No.

As you wish.

Are we sure the barrel
of this gun is straight?

Yes, we're sure.

- I think Paul said "dead."
- "Bed." He said "bed."

Maybe we need an old, slow stag.

They are.
Shall I find a three-legged one?

Oh, fuck off, fat boy.

Why don't you shoot me?
I'm probably more your range.

Let's just do it again.

- Huzzah!
- Yep.

- Cheers.
- Paul!

Huzzah, Paul!

Chosen by God.

And loved by Daddy. Yeah!

Hi. Mama, wave to her.

Did you see that?

I saw you.

I have thought on it.

- I will allow the stag ritual.
- Huzzah.

But not the ordination.

I don't have the right
to discard my father's legacy.

How do I explain that to him?

- He's dead.
- No, he's not.

- We are the future.
- You mean you?

So I must push my family into a ditch
to get out of your way?

My father built the room we live in,
the palace we live in,

in the city he built with a will of iron.

A thousand-year reign was his desire.
You are legitimate because of him.

I am legitimate because I fucking took it,
because it is my destiny.

No, because I gave it.

- We're back here?
- Yes.

- And what of Paul?
- Paul will have us.

How do we explain to him
he's a fucking nobody?

Do you not think we are exceptional,
you and I?

Of course.

And that our child will likely be similar?

You ask too much, of me, of Paul.

I ask you to choose us.

What the fuck?

You fucking brought her here,
you chose her as a wife.

- This is your fucking fault.
- You couldn't control her.

Because I love her! You should never
have brought me someone I would love.

- Total mismanagement!
- It's not my fault.

Peter the Great ruled his women.

I thought you might be something beyond
a shadow of him.

Total misjudgment.

That was cruel.

You're both here. How fortuitous.

- Archie, get off the ground.
- She's not doing it. I failed.

What the fuck will Daddy say?

- Happy to make some guesses.
- Hush.

Which is why I have a plan, a sedative.
You dab it on her lips once she's asleep.

It will absorb,
and put her in a heavy sleep.

At midnight, Paul will be one.

You bring him to the chapel,
he's officially ordained,

she never knows until she needs to.

I like it.

God has intervened.

Yeah, fuck it. Give me it.

It is a secret you must keep
until it's done.

Right, right, right.

Oh, that's fucking reassuring.
"Right, right, right."

- I will hit you again.
- And God will note it down again.

I believe in you, darling.

To Emperor Paul.

- Huzzah.
- Huzzah!

Huzzah.

- So yummy.
- Her placenta is divine.

Yeah, it tastes like Mommy's.

This is exciting, Paul.

Your first step
toward becoming an emperor.

What if it is not for you?

It was not for me.

What if I'm just putting a burden
on your neck?

It is exhausting to carry the weight
of Peter the Great.

Maybe a good father should protect you
from that.

Nod if you want it.

Imperceptible.

You're right. I'll decide.

He's late.

Right.

Watch, watch, watch.

- Noble!
- Emperor.

Come here, bend over.

- Thank you, sir.
- You may go.

- He actually thought you were him.
- Good at my job.

These frescoes are so beautiful.

Are you trying to distract yourself
from the weakness of your nephew?

Yes. I am, actually.

Only God can control destiny.

Well, have a word then, will you?

This is fucking bizarre.

One minute they're like,
"He's chosen by God,"

and now they're strapping him
to a wild animal and shooting at him.

This is Russia.

We'll be home soon, though. I can feel it.

I'm sorry.
I know what it meant to you.

Love can carry wounds.
I will carry mine.

I took it out this morning, the lemon top.

And I look forward
to meeting your daughter.

Or the possibility of a bushel of children
to choose a leader from.

- Grigor. Should I be nervous?
- Not at all.

Fuck!

New gun.

It's fine.

Release the stag!

Huzzah! Huzzah!

Pugachev.

God has called you.

- You fuckin' me, or I fuckin' you?
- Neither.

We're fucking the empress.

Love it.

Revised and Synchronized by
FAST TITLES MEDIA