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"It is not the literal past that rules us:

"It is images of the past." George Steiner

THE LAST BOLSHEVIK

PART 1

A KINGDOM OF SHADOWS

FIRST LETTER

We made this mask in 88 for a party.

It's an exact replica of the masks he used in Happiness.

Only Medvedkin could come up with this idea.

Alexander Ivanovich had... a certain quality.

A rare individual extravagance...

Whatever project he was working on,

he always approached it from an angle different to ours.

As an artist, he was quite typical, a product of his time, even.

But his destiny wasn't typical at all.

His biography is full of blank pages.

When the Civil War was on, he took part in the Civil War.

During the period of building,

he'd be on the building sites, or reclaiming virgin lands.

Whatever happened in our country,

he'd always be at the epicentre.

On the one hand, Medvedkin, the man, is outside time.

On the other hand, his own time has left very distinct marks on him.

He's like a big tree with its growth rings

and its bark marked by the carvings of passers-by.

That's why he's so dear to me.

We always assumed, having been shaped by Brezhnev,

that talent and ideology didn't mix.

And that's what first shocked me on meeting Medvedkin:

Realising that talent and ideology

could co-exist.

In this, Medvedkin was unique.

I can assure you of one thing:

He was the favourite

of film-makers of the old generation:

Dovzhenko,

Pudovkin,

Raizman...

Medvedkin had a tragic career.

His very first film was never shown.

Every film he made since then

was admired by fellow film-makers

but was never screened publicly.

Because of this legend,

Medvedkin was to be rediscovered time and again.

And each time, the discovery was a sensation

because everything he did was so unusual for his time,

stepping beyond all the rules.

His film-making was utterly original,

yet deeply rooted in folk culture.

It was this combination which produced a sense of shock.

That's the usual reaction to his work:

"It was a shock."

I'd never heard of Medvedkin when I was a student at the Film School.

One day, our lecturer, Yureniev, simply showed us a film:

It was Happiness by Medvedkin.

None of us had ever heard about it.

We were spellbound from the start.

We were really elated,

laughing and talking away

all through the projection.

By the end of the screening, we were completely dazzled by it.

It didn't tally at all

with our idea of films in the 30's.

After a reel or two, I felt my mind was refusing to take it in.

Everything was mixed up, topsy-turvy.

It was very strange.

And then I saw something that I'd never seen before.

I'd never believed it possible in Russian movies of the 30's.

It was this scene...

There's never been in Soviet cinema

such an intensely erotic scene.

That was the moment I realised that I loved this film.

When we came out of the film,

we were Medvedkin's enthusiasts.

And we were convinced of two things:

That he was a genius and that he must have been shot after this film.

Only later did I understand his tragedy.

The tragedy of a pure communist

in a world of would-be communists.

He was a harmonious man.

There was this group of film-makers.

And as usual among film-makers, they were forever moaning:

About freedom of expression, about censorship, etc.

And here was this man

who'd been continuously smeared,

always censored, abused, hindered...

Yet he just laughed at his troubles.

He always emanated such a...

such a life-force.

After every discussion with him,

I'd feel as if I had little wings.

Now, when I'm studying his letters,

as I'm going through his archives,

I'm driven on by one question:

What was he like? Who was he?

My father: A Russian peasant.

My grandfather: A peasant.

My great-grandfather: A peasant.

I am a peasant by blood.

This may explain...

touch wood!

...how I managed to survive 84 years.

And I intend to go on living

for as long as possible.

I don't mean until the 21st century,

but another 5 years would be nice.

This cross had been

since 1894

in the Assumption Cathedral

in the Kremlin.

Lenin ordered its destruction.

But the plinth was saved

and the cross restored.

Their Imperial Highnesses...

(Alexander Ivanovich's daughter)

The village people were amazed. They couldn't believe it.

They pleaded: "Be our priest!"

"But I'm a communist", he said. "We forgive you", they anwsered.

I may be wrong, but this is my theory:

In his youth, or maybe as a child,

Medvedkin was very religious.

And after the Revolution,

he abruptly exchanged one religion for another.

My assumption is that he believed in the ideals of October.

And behind theses ideals was the wish

to bring happiness

to all mankind.

Not today, not tomorrow,

but in a not-too-distant future.

In 1919, I found myself

in the 1st Cavalry Army

under Budyenny.

It was a romantic army

and quite possibly,

it was the most fantastic period of my life.

The Red Cavalry

of the Revolution,

poorly clothed, poorly shod,

but awesome!

He was a Civil War man,

so for him, the Civil War period was sacred.

Later on, that attitude underwent some changes.

But that was his youth,

that was the foundation of his life.

That's how he saw it.

A horse would mount the podium.

He'd be wearing a burka...

That's a Caucasian cape.

The hall is bursting at the seams.

And the podium is made up

of horses, only horses.

The speaker is a horse.

In front of him, instead of a jug,

there is a stable bucket.

As he gets nervous, he dips his head into it.

He drinks and resumes

his speech.

The military crowd the hall.

The horses report on the men.

The speaker says:

"My master is merciless.

"At night,

"the platoon leader, Ivanov,

"jumps on the saddle

"and off he rides to visit his girlfriend.

"He spends the night having fun

"while I shiver

"in the chilly wind.

"Isn't it true, Comrade Ivanov?"

Comrade Ivanov is in the hall:

"No... I mean, yes..."

We had planted accomplices,

that is actors,

who helped get Comrade Ivanov

deeper and deeper into trouble.

It provided a whole interlude:

"Did you really? How?

"Who was she, then?"

"Er... Eudoxia."

"Eudoxia? But she's mine!

"How dare you! You'll pay for this!"

That's the spirit Medvedkin

was to try and infuse into films all his life.

He'd remained great friends with many of his old cavalry comrades.

(Isaac Babel's wife)

When we went to Kiev,

he insisted we went to see

the Great Lavra monastery and its caves.

We were escorted

by a cavalry veteran.

The man was working for the NKVD

and was one of Babel's "battle mates".

He was showing us round

telling us how they'd come across a whole hoard of diamonds.

"How did you find it?" I asked.

"Did you tap the walls to find hollow hiding places?"

"No", he said. "We tapped the friars!"

They would detain the monks, take them to the NKVD

and make them reveal where the diamonds were hidden.

Woe betide Russia

Weep, weep

Russian people

Weep, hungry people

SECOND LETTER

Medvedkin's voice (1985)

People now forget

that around 1921-22,

things were quite different from the way they are now.

The country was in ruins,

people were worn out,

the male population

had been decimated

by the Civil War.

There was no bread.

Industry

had been destroyed.

The transport system didn't work.

On top of that,

the First World War

had brought up a generation

of illiterate people.

We got recruits

who were illiterate.

We taught them to read.

His theatre was popular with the army.

As a result,

he was made a member of the Red Army leadership

in charge of Propaganda.

He was in charge of Propaganda for the whole Soviet Army.

Today, his rank would be equivalent to that of colonel

or even general.

They stuck two diamonds

on my epaulettes, a general rank,

but I ditched it for the cinema.

He wanted to make films for the soldiers.

They were simple, straightforward, 10 or 20 minutes long,

intended to be shown with a feature film.

He had to give up his high rank but that didn't stop him.

He told me that when he was developing the negative,

he burst into tears when the first two shots he stuck together

appeared on the screen and made meaningful and eloquent sense.

I saw Battleship Potemkin in Germany

when I was about 10.

Preserving the past is a moral duty.

We live in filthy times but life may improve in 20-30 years.

And then people may want to know how we used to live.

Then they'll have these relics which I've so carefully preserved.

And I, with my little contraption...

- That's enough now! - No, a real shot!

That's a lovely shot!

It felt as if a great big wave like a gigantic torrent

had knocked down the ramparts

and swept the Soviet Union as the Revolution erupted.

The Civil War was hardly over

and already we saw the birth of a new kind of theatre

and a new kind of theatre artist.

People like Meyerhold, like Vakhtangov,

or Eisenstein.

He was all for Meyerhold's style.

The spontaneity of folk theatre, of farce, of the circus.

Both were true communists

and passionate about propagating new ideas.

But that by no means stopped them

from using satire

and feeding it to their audience by the trough.

Come right in, tovarich!

Vertov used to say:

"When you are shooting..."

He saw fiction film as the enemy.

He always said:

"You have to show life as it is."

"The truth of life."

That was the term he used, "the truth of life."

He used to say: "You capture news in 3 stages."

The event itself: That's one!

Absorbing it mentally in a flash: Two!

Pressing the button: Three!

If you can, within 2-3 seconds, execute this triangle,

then, you have the know-how

of a true "chronicler".

What the Bolshevik regime leaves behind

THIRD LETTER

Sasha really liked me.

We'd started together in the same studio,

the Army studio.

Then he told me: "I must travel across the country,

"the better to show it, and know it."

And so he set up his train.

He'd always had the idea of a train, he said.

What's the film-train?

It's something unique in film history.

That's Alexander Ivanovich's desk and his photograph,

taken in France in 1971.

It wasn't easy

setting up a film studio

inside train carriages.

But...

we were young

and we were intrigued by the idea

of pulling the studio off its stone foundations

and resetting it in a train car.

This is a reproduction of the train

made to the exact specifications of Alexander Ivanovich's blue-print.

Every detail follows his instructions to the letter.

He'd been a railwayman in his youth, so it was all very precise.

We took

three passenger carriages,

we removed the seats and all the fittings,

to free as much space as possible,

and then we installed the essential equipment.

The essential thing in a film studio

is the laboratory.

So half the carriage...

(our carriages were larger

than the French ones)

Half the carriage

was turned into a film laboratory.

Here, the films were developed and here, they made prints.

The other half of the carriage

was turned into

an editing room.

Next to the editing table,

there was an animation stand

which was used for captions

and animated cartoons.

The garage with the van and a folding door to let the van out.

This attached van offered the camera crews great mobility.

It could take them to any location they wanted to shoot.

We could get anywhere we wanted.

We would stop the train,

shoot our film,

process it on the spot

and show it immediately

to the people we'd just filmed.

It was an official project

run and managed by a single man

under a very strict socialist economy.

An amazing feat. I asked him once how he did it.

"Kolya, I just went to the Central Committee and demanded it."

The main thing was

we were a bunch of enthusiasts.

We were young and romantic.

We were ready to tackle anything.

He defies the old bourgeois music,

its sentimental lyre,

its melodramatic impulses,

its bitter laments

about personal grievances.

Honegger remains nevertheless

an ideologist of capitalist society.

Despite his talent,

the author is guilty

of fetishism of technique.

One day, Naum Kleiman asked me: "Kolya, do something for me,

"see if there is any film-train material in the archives."

"Haven't they been preserved?" I asked.

"Of course not. No one has seen them since they were made."

I dived into the archives without any data or information whatsoever.

Yet on the very first day, I came across two films.

LETTER TO THE KOLKHOZ WORKERS

We filmed the people

and we'd juxtapose on the screen

the good and the bad practices.

After the projection,

we'd address them:

"What are you up to, comrades?

"How can anyone abuse

"his own livelihood and labour in this way?

"You won't get anywhere like this."

It was as if the dam had suddenly burst.

Everyone was talking

with unaccustomed force.

We had given the people's anger

an outlet.

This raised the question

of unwanted members.

We weeded them out ruthlessly.

There was a revolution going on

and we were very strict.

Nowadays, we tread softly,

but we weren't afraid then

of hurting anyone.

Babel, of course, was horrified by it.

In the Ukraine,

ordinary peasants were convicted and executed

for one simple reason:

Because their farms made profit.

They were by no means exploiters.

He believed that the Russian muzhik didn't go willingly to the kolkhoz

which was so ingeniously designed for him.

Today, we know why he was so reluctant.

Because he was bullied into it at gunpoint, he wasn't given a choice.

If he had a say, he'd probably have chosen other forms,

maybe even a co-operative, but under a different form.

We know today that Stalin's total collectivisation achieved...

very little.

It was effective only in breaking the will of the people.

Collectivisation led to famine

and rationing in the cities.

We all know now that right from the start,

the kolkhoz produced ten times less than individual farms.

But Medvedkin didn't know it then.

He was wrong but he was sincere.

He believed that working together was best.

He adopted the argument which was applied to city workers.

A worker on his own cannot produce much,

but if we all work together in a factory, we'll do better.

Except that land isn't a factory.

The man who works alone from dawn to dusk

can achieve much more than 40 men who do nothing.

But that didn't concern Stalin.

What mattered to him

was that the imperialist regime had the power to commandeer crops.

Everything the kolkhoz produced was requisitioned.

That's what the kolkhoz was admirably suited for.

Medvedkin, who knew nothing of this, was sincerely puzzled:

"Why would people do such a bad job in the kolkhoz? Why?

HOW DO YOU LIVE, COMRADE MINER?

End of Part 1

INTERMISSION

CAT LISTENING TO MUSIC

THE LAST BOLSHEVIK

PART 2

SHADOWS OF A KINGDOM

FOURTH LETTER

Good Heavens!

Moscow, where are you going?

The house is moving!

Medved means "bear".

He loved bear figurines.

He loved animals.

Not just cats, but all animals.

Dogs, horses, everything.

As a veteran cavalryman, he loved horses.

Nastasia, a mischevious cow...

All these constructions

were commissioned by Stalin!

Totalitarian art seeks to level everything.

But Medvedkin, given his temperament and artistic sense,

would try and escape the prevailing reality.

The nobility of his fine mind

inspired the nobility of his films.

That immediately got him into trouble with the authorities,

who, even then, were less concerned with ideology than with bureaucracy.

Creative people

always find it hard to understand

the logic of the bureaucrat who is responsible for creative projects.

Bureaucrats have developed a sixth sense

which makes them very aware

of any ambiguous detail

that could be misinterpreted.

"Who could possibly misinterpret this?" asks the artist.

To which the bureaucrat's usual answer is:

"We're not exactly short of morons."

And if the artist says:

"I made this film for intelligent people, not for morons!"

The bureaucrat would reply:

"It's still not clear for whom you made this film!"

That's why he got his knuckles rapped for Happiness,

despite the support of Eisenstein, Pudovkin, Dovzhenko and Tisse.

That's why his next film was banned.

There are about 30 variations on this theme.

Some muzhiks arrive in Hell and settle down.

Since they've already endured every possible trial before,

they end up feeling at home in Hell.

On the first day of shooting, they stormed into the set,

it was 1936,

and told him it was all over, that there was to be no more shooting.

Why?

Because somewhere in Stalingrad or in Saratov, I forgot where,

some paper came out with a review of his film Happiness.

The critic claimed the film was pro-Bukharin,

anti-Stalin,

against the Party line

and openly siding with the kulak.

Two of his films had already been banned.

He was being persecuted by Shumyatsky himself

because he had openly defended Eisenstein's banned film:

Bezhin Meadow.

It was a difficult theme for him.

It was an ordeal for Babel: A son betraying his father...

Babel couldn't condone such a thing.

Medvedkin once said to me about Shumyatsky:

"He was an old Bolshevik, a party member,

"but he did such stupid things!"

He didn't realise that Shumyatsky had done these stupid things

because he was an old Bolshevik.

"Anyone can be master of his country."

That's the moral given

at the end of many films of that period.

There's always some kolkhoz man or girl who ends up on the platform,

speaking as the master of the country to a cheering audience.

"Master of the country", that, of course, was an illusion.

An illusion which was carefully maintained to serve a purpose:

To conceal the real masters,

or rather the real master, the only real one,

the only one who held the power

to run the country and the people.

Suddenly, I saw Stalin coming out into the Kremlin's courtyard

and I was completely overwhelmed.

But we loved Dziga Vertov so much

that we all followed our motto: "Die but shoot!"

I had to sit down.

My legs were shaking so badly, and so were my hands.

I deserved an entry in the Guiness Book of Records

because I had my boots on, I wasn't wearing sports shoes.

So I had to run in my boots, camera in hand.

That was the last time that I did filming of that kind.

It had become too dangerous.

A cameraman mate was killed when he was filming like that.

After that I always tried to avoid that kind of camera work

and I never filmed Stalin again.

It's nothing, just the sparkplugs!

Instead of wasting time on these old things,

get new ones from America.

They'd be cheaper

and better.

Greetings, Comrade Bukharin.

Bukharin, Rykov, Yagoda,

Whatever the name,

it's still the Fifth Column, the POUM,

it's still the Ku-Klux-Klan.

Fascists, warmongers and agitators

operating in the international arena.

An then, there was the fear.

If Chiaureli, who portrayed Stalin...

who glorified Stalin in his films...

if he was scared of Stalin,

then I was scared of Chiaureli,

because he was telling me things he shouldn't be telling me:

How Stalin would stare at him

when he had to go to the toilet.

He'd tell me: "It's most terrifying when the Chief..."

In those days, we used this term.

How would you translate it?

"Chief and Guide."

"...when He follows me with his eyes."

At that time it was hard

to follow our cinematic activity.

Stalin used to watch every film.

One could never predict what would cross his mind.

He watched every documentary, every newsreel.

(Medvedkin's editor)

No film escaped Stalin's scrutiny.

Even documentaries?

Every single one! He loved documentaries.

He also loved feature films

but he watched every documentary.

Following instructions by Trotzky,

the "Block" leaders

decided, in 1934,

to kill the great Maxim Gorky.

The man behind this heinous crime:

Nedyochevo had been checking a certain newsreel

which the NKVD took away for viewing.

Well, you see, on the platform...

the platform up there, on the mausoleum,

you could see a nose sticking out, just a nose.

It was Yagoda's nose.

They confiscated the newsreel

and we never saw Nedyochevo again.

There were some film-makers, very few, but still,

whose films were designed to pander to his taste.

These were Chiaureli,

Alexandrov, Pyriev...

At that time,

almost all of Vertov's projects were denied production,

and his films hardly ever got screened.

So he tried to compromise

and stifle his theoretical conceptions.

He even tried in one film, to follow Stalin's personality cult.

And he made Kolybelnaya (Lullaby),

In Kolybelnaya, in the shot of children bringing flowers to Stalin,

there's a black bar on the right,

which means that someone had been erased out of the frame.

Who was it?

I really don't know.

And now...

Now, we'll never know...

There was this awful business

when he was accused of being a cosmopolitan.

And there was Vertov, a proud man,

weeping, beating his breast,

confessing to being a cosmopolitan.

You heard him, he pleaded guilty.

I heard too much.

The testimonies, the confessions...

It's a sham.

They were reciting, like a lesson. I don't believe in this trial.

Why would the Party try them if it wasn't the truth?

There were precedents, remember?

That's just it!

For three hours the charge is being read before a silent hall.

They film us

and we'll soon be displayed on the screen.

Hard to imagine that a man like him,

such a brilliant artist,

the creator of such amazing works,

is suddenly arrested

and accused of being a Japanese spy.

I often went on expeditions then.

When, on my return... my God!

I saw the magazine Ogonyok.

There it was, a great headline.

It was printed in red:

"Sentence carried out!"

Well, I am a placid man by nature

but when I saw that, I sat and cried.

It was terrible, as if they'd killed something within me.

It made me realise

that a person's existence was utterly meaningless.

One could do with it what one liked.

It was monstrous and horrible.

Now, I must stop for a moment.

Maybe Medvedkin did manage to escape all this horror

by taking refuge in his work, in his thoughts about art...

Art was a haven.

He didn't like discussing the 30's.

He admitted they'd been terrible years,

cruel, intolerable and unjust,

but he didn't like talking about it.

They conducted a search...

that is, they took all his manuscripts.

I didn't see how it happened.

We just sat side by side

holding each other's hand in silence.

As we were taken out,

as we got in the car, he asked me

to make sure Andr� knew about it.

He meant Andr� Malraux.

Then he said: "They didn't let me finish."

He meant the book of stories he was working on

and intending to complete in the autumn.

We didn't talk much during the drive

but he did say to me:

"I must beg you to make sure

"the little one wants for nothing."

Our child, Lydia, had just turned two.

I said: "Of course, but I don't know where I'll be."

I knew that wives were arrested too.

So the one seated next to Babel said:

"We have nothing against you."

We finally arrived.

It was the big Lubyanka building.

Babel hugged me tight and said: "We'll see each other again."

He got out of the car and walked towards a door,

flanked by two guards.

They opened the door and he vanished.

As for me, they drove me home,

to our Moscow flat.

I asked if I was allowed to go to work.

They answered: "Of course, you are."

So I changed my clothes and went to work.

FIFTH LETTER

I was so happy

when the Munich agreement was signed.

"Thank God, there'll be no war!"

Then came the pact with the Soviet Union...

Not only

does the Soviet-German pact

bond together

two great powers,

it strengthens world peace as a whole.

We all wondered: "Where are we going?"

We never guessed it would be Russia.

We thought we'd cross over to Persia

to attack the English from the rear.

The Bolsheviks burn everything down!

Here are a few specimens

of those Bolshevik sub-humans

who, on Stalin's orders,

were to plunge Europe

in fire and blood.

He was amazing,

like lightning.

And he was afraid of nothing.

We weren't ready for a winter campaign.

We had only lightweight clothes.

We'd already been through the mud,

now, we had the freezing winter.

Our vehicles couldn't go forward.

So as the whole thing collapsed,

our blankets got smaller and smaller.

The Byelorussian plains

are swept by the Soviet offensive.

Our cameraman enters the town.

This may be the only working example of Medvedkin's camera

which he invented while working at the front.

He'd had this extraordinary idea.

He needed soldiers who'd agree to serve as cameramen.

He chose volunteers from the disciplinary battalions.

Choosing these battalions was a shrewd move

since, like Stalin's camps, they recruited mostly educated people:

Civil engineers, teachers, lecturers...

people who already had the basics of technical knowledge.

Teaming up in twos or threes,

they would sneak up the rear of the German lines

and achieve some incredible feats:

Two men would capture a German

as the third would film the operation.

I was really scared of being taken prisoner by the Russians.

I knew certain things had happened during the war

which weren't quite regular.

They were shooting a scene:

The steppe in flames.

But as it happened, the female extras,

who were supposed to look anxious and serious,

noticed a big hole in my trousers

and everybody started to laugh.

So I'd spoiled the whole scene.

Then Alexander approached me

and seeing how upset I was,

he put his arm around me and said:

"Albert... don't be sad.

"I know what it's like, to be a prisoner of war."

He was so happy when I came over.

He would hold my hand:

"We've been friends for 42 years.

"It must last till the end of our days."

He wasn't just saying it... It wasn't blah-blah...

It came from here.

And I can tell you quite sincerely

that when I heard of Alexander's death, I cried.

There's nothing to eat!

Go sober up!

I don't drink, you bitch!

I worked all my life!

Ruining the country is easy,

but to do it in 5 years, that's really something.

We came out of Afghanistan

as if recovering from a long illness,

leaving behind

the folly of frozen dogmas.

And so, Afghanistan has decided to forge ahead

towards democracy and progress.

This is what I was told in so many words by comrade Brezhnev.

There are only women here!

One August night, in 1991, people

rallied to defend the White House.

The only ones out in the streets at night

are criminals, rogues,

prostitutes, thieves and homeless tramps.

Any normal person

would be in bed, fast asleep,

between midnight and 8 a.m.

Why was I not called to the White House?

Why were you called?

Who called you?

Our conscience!

Their conscience called on your grandparents

to storm the Winter Palace in 1917.

We've seen the result!

Look, guys, Felix hanged himself!

LAST LETTER

He was due to get the Stalin Award for one of his documentaries.

But during the night, one of his friends...

as we say: "There's always a friend on guard"...

one of his friends managed to leak out just in time

that Medvedkin had almost been expelled from the Party,

that he had dissenting opinions,

that he often voted against the district committee

and slammed the door at the drop of a hat.

In short, doomed by the bell.

They'd taken his photo and told him to read the paper the next day.

Next day, he opens the paper: Nothing, no photo, no award.

Come, you indomitable youth!

Stand united as one man!

In the history of mankind,

there has never been a generation like ours.

To take an example from astronomy,

it's like those "black stars".

They measure only

a few cubic inches,

and weigh several tons.

One such "black hole"

could represent my life.

Medvedkin defended all his life

his convictions of the 20's.

Was that good or bad? I can't judge.

I believe there are some documents in the archives

which do not show him in a favourable light.

But Medvedkin never lied

either to others or to himself.

And if he's done things

which seem now, even to me,

politically damning,

it's because he was true to himself.

I can't blame him for it

but I can't praise him either.

It's a matter of life's circumstances.

He was what he was.

The will of Lenin's Party has welded

his men into a monolithic army

which is also entrusted

with the protection of wildlife.

As we take measures to advance

scientific and technical progress,

we must do all we can to ensure

that they conform to a responsible treatment

of natural resources.

All these people were aware at the time

of the full scope of the horror, the tragedy.

All that they told us on TV,

every word they uttered

over the video pictures

which were filmed by me

or by my colleagues,

were a monstrous lie!

This is just another aspect

of this atrocious system

that regarded human life, whether one or millions,

as utterly worthless.

To the memory of Jacques Ledoux

and the happy moment when we first saw HAPPINESS

THE LAST BOLSHEVIK

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