Original subtitles

THE SEAGULL

Good evening.

Hello.

Good evening, Masha.

Why do you always wear black?

Why?

I'm in mourning for my life. I'm unhappy.

I don't understand.

You're in good health, your father's well off.

For me life is hard.

I only earn 23 roubles a month, less pension deductions,

but I'm not in mourning.

It's not the money. Even the poor can be happy.

In theory.

I, my mother, two sisters, my brother

and only 23 roubles...

..to eat, drink, buy tea, sugar, tobacco...

We have to make do.

The show will start soon.

Yes, Nina Zaryechnaia will act in Konstantin Gavrilovitch's play.

They're in love.

Today their souls will be immortalised in art.

But our souls have nothing in common.

I love you, Masha.

I love you.

I feel depressed, I can't stay at home.

I walk miles here and back to see you.

And all I get is your indifference.

I know...

..I'm poor, I have to keep a family.

Who'd marry someone without even enough to eat?

Nonsense.

I'm touched by your love, but I can't return it.

- Want some? - No, I don't feel like it.

You talk of philosophy or of money.

You say there's nothing worse than poverty.

But it's better to be a beggar,

or to wear rags, rather than...

But you'll never understand!

Last night I went to bed at ten.

I woke up at nine...

with the feeling my brain was stuck inside my skull.

After dinner I fell asleep

and now I feel awful.

You can't stay here, go away!

We'll call you when it starts.

Masha,

tell your father to free the dog.

It's always barking, my sister can't sleep at night.

Tell him, not me. Let's go.

Call us when it's starting.

The dog will bark all night!

As always!

I could have enjoyed country life...

I came for rest, but people bothered me

with silly things...

..within a day, I felt like running away.

I was always pleased to leave here.

But now...

Now I'm retired, I don't know where to go.

I've got to stay here, like it or not.

Konstantin, we're going for a swim.

Don't be late, we're starting soon.

All right.

That's the stage.

The curtain...

open space.

No scenery,

just the lake and the horizon.

Magnificent.

Nina should be here already.

Her father and stepmother keep her locked up.

Coming here is like escaping from prison.

Your hair and beard are ruffled, cut your hair!

It's the eternal tragedy of my life.

Even as a youngster I seemed a drunkard.

Women never really liked me.

Why is my sister in a bad mood today?

Because she's bored.

And she's mean.

She's got 70,000 roubles in Odessa.

Ask her for a loan and she bursts into tears.

You're afraid your mother won't like your play

and you're already angry.

Calm yourself, she adores you.

She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not...

She loves me.

You see?

My mother doesn't love me.

Why should she?

She wants to live, to love, to wear white blouses...

and I, with my 25 years, remind her she's no longer young.

When I'm not here, she's 32.

When I am, she's 43... so she hates me.

What's more, she knows I loathe the theatre.

When the curtain rises

on a room with three walls,

those talented people,

those High Priests of Art...

who depict the way men eat, walk, drink,

make love, wear their clothes...

When, from a thousand banal situations and phrases,

they try to squeeze out a moral,

a trite one for domestic use...

When I'm presented with the same old things...

I flee, like Maupassant from the Eiffel Tower,

disgusted by its banality.

The theatre...

We can't do without the theatre.

We need new art forms.

New art forms are necessary!

And if there aren't any, then better nothing!

Uncle...

I love my mother.

I love her with all my heart.

But she leads a fatuous life.

She goes around with that novelist.

The papers are always talking about her,

and that makes me mad!

It makes me mad that she's a famous actress.

If she were an ordinary woman,

I'd be much happier.

I'd be much happier.

Who am I?

What am I?

I left university in my third year,

I have no gifts

and not a penny.

My passport says I'm unemployed, lower middle class.

By the way,

what is that novelist like?

He never talks, he's difficult to understand.

Well...

He's intelligent,

he has good taste.

Sometimes melancholic.

He's a decent fellow.

He's only 40,

but he's already famous.

As for his writing... what can I say?

He's got talent,

but after Tolstoy or Zola who wants to read Trigorin?

Being a writer, even a mediocre one, is very pleasant.

- I'm not late, am I? - No.

I've been in a fluster all day.

I was afraid my father wouldn't let me come...

but he went out with his wife. I'm so glad.

These little eyes so full of tears, it's not right.

It's nothing.

I'm out of breath. We must be quick.

- I've only half an hour. - We'll start right away.

- Call the others. - I'll do it.

Stop crying

Like a girl

Laugh and it will pass

Once when I sang like this,

an Assistant Prosecutor said:

''Excellency, you've a strong voice.''

And added: ''But a revolting one.''

My family won't let me come here.

They say you're bohemians.

They're afraid I'll become an actress.

But the lake attracts me, like a seagull.

How I'd love to live here with you!

- There's someone... - No, nobody.

- Is that you, Yacov? - Yes, sir.

- Are you nervous? - Very.

Yes, but not because of your mother. Because of Trigorin.

I'm afraid of acting in front of such a famous writer.

He's a famous writer. Is he young?

Yes.

- His stories are marvellous! - I haven't read them.

It's difficult to act your play.

The character's aren't alive.

We shouldn't depict life as it is,

but as we dream it.

There's so little action, it's all spoken.

For me there ought to be love in a play.

It's damp.

- Put on your galoshes. - I feel hot.

You don't look after yourself. You're a doctor, stubborn.

You know the damp's bad for you.

You want to make me suffer.

Last night you stayed outdoors on purpose.

Tatiana, it's sad to say goodbye...

You were so intent on talking to Irina

that you didn't even notice the cold.

Admit it, you like her!

I'm 55...

So what, that's not old.

You're well preserved, women still like you.

Well, so what?

You'd all throw yourselves at the feet of an actress.

Don't say I waste my youth...

Society always treats artists better than...

shopkeepers, for example. It's natural.

It's idealism.

Dear...

People are arriving...

When does it start?

In a moment, please be patient.

Oh, Hamlet...

thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul,

and there I see

such black and grained spots

that will not leave their tinct.

Bravo!

Nay, but to live in the rank sweat

of an ensumed bed.

Ladies and gentlemen!

The show's starting. Your attention please!

I'm starting!

Oh venerable ancient shades

who float over this lake at night,

lull us to sleep

and show us...

what there will be 200,000 years from now.

In 200,000 years there'll be nothing!

Exactly. Then let us see that nothing.

Well then, let's sleep.

Men, lions, eagles, partridges,

the antlered deer, geese, spiders,

silent fishes, starfishes,

and other unseen, silent creatures...

in short, all living things...

- All living things!

- All living things... - Having completed their cycle...

.. Completed their dreary cycle, died out at last.

For hundreds of years,

the Earth has not borne living things...

and the poor moon now lights its lamp in vain.

The cranes no longer wake in the fields with a cry...

No May bugs in the thyme thickets...

Come on!

Cold, cold...

Cold.

Empty, empty...

Empty.

Terrifying, terrifying...

Terrifying.

All living bodies are turned to dust...

She's good, isn't she?

The Eternal Matter changed them into water, clouds...

their souls merged into one.

The common soul of the world is I!

In me live Alexander the Great, Caesar, Shakespeare, Napoleon

and the lowest leech.

In me is merged human consciousness with animal instinct

and I remember all!

I relive those lives.

- This is Decadentism! - Mother!

I am alone.

Every hundred years I open my mouth to speak.

My voice resounds dismally through this void...

unheard.

Not even the pale spirits hear me.

At dawn the stagnant marsh regenerates you

and you wonder until daybreak,

aimlessly,

fearing lest life reappears in you.

The Father of Eternal Matter, the Devil...

Hello.

Has created in you, like in rocks and water,

a perpetual flux of atoms so that you...

are constantly changing.

But the Spirit alone remains unchangeable...

in the Universe.

Like a prisoner cast into a well,

I know not where I am, nor what awaits me.

I know only that in my struggle with the Devil

I will win!

Then Matter and Spirit will merge in harmony

and the reign of Universal Will shall begin.

But this will only happen when,

after many millennia,

the Moon and the Earth

will be turned to dust.

Until then... horror!

Horror...

Horror.

My enemy, the Devil, is approaching!

I see his terrifying red eyes...

I smell of sulphur! Was that necessary?

Yes!

- Ah, for the effect... - Mother!

He longs for man...

Put your hat on before you catch cold.

The doctor took his hat off to the Devil!

That's enough!

The play's over!

The play's over!

It's clear that only a select few

may write and act plays.

Why are you so upset?

What do you expect? Calm down.

I have infringed the monopoly!

What's got into him?

Irina, dear, you shouldn't offend a young man's self-esteem.

You offended him.

What did I say?

He told us it was a joke and I took it like one.

Now he says it was a work of art.

It was no joke to fill the air with sulphur.

He wanted to teach us how we should write and act...

And those jibes in my direction...

they'd annoy anyone.

- He's spoilt and presumptuous! - He wanted to please you...

Really?

No one should separate Spirit from Matter.

Maybe Spirit is a combination of other Matter.

- He's very ambitious! - Everyone writes what he believes.

As long as I'm left in peace.

- Jupiter is getting angry. - I'm not Jupiter.

I'm a woman and I'm not angry.

I'm just sorry a young man wastes his time so.

I didn't want to offend him.

Someone should write a play

about how we teachers live. It is a hard, hard life.

Right.

Let's not talk about plays or atoms now.

Boris, listen to the singing, how sweet it sounds.

Ten or fifteen years ago on this lake

we had music and singing every night.

All was noise and romance, such romance...

The idol of those days was Doctor Evgenij Sergeevic.

He's still very attractive now,

but he was irresistible then.

Where's Kostja?

I didn't mean to offend him.

I'm sorry.

I'll go look for him.

Well, the play is over, so I should go home.

Don't go. Stay.

- Bravo! - You were amazing!

You're so talented!

With your looks, it's a crime to hide away in the country.

- You have to work on the stage. - It's the dream of my life...

which will never come true.

This is Trigorin Boris Alekseevic.

- I've read all your books. - Don't be afraid of him, dear.

He's famous but he's also a simple soul.

It was a curious play.

Yes, I didn't understand much.

But I liked it.

You acted with such sincerity.

Then suddenly, much to our surprise,

we heard from the gallery...

A whole octave lower!

Like this.

The audience was left breathless.

The setting was beautiful.

- Are there lots of fish here? - Yes.

I love fishing.

I know of nothing more pleasant than sitting on a lake shore

with one's eyes on a floating cork.

For one who has tasted the joys of creation,

no greater pleasure could exist.

An angel of silence is flying over our heads.

I told you, my dear,

compliments embarrass him.

- I must go. - Goodbye, my dear.

- Stay. - I can't.

Bravo.

Kostja!

Kostja!

Everyone has gone, there's no one left.

I'm here.

Masha's been looking for me, she's unbearable!

Konstantin Gavrilovic...

Your play delighted me.

It strangely delighted me.

It was strange, I didn't hear the end, but it made a deep impression on me.

When Nina spoke of solitude

and when the red eyes of the devil appeared

my hands trembled with excitement.

It is fresh, ingenious.

You're talented, you must persevere.

Thank you.

You chose your subject in the realm of abstract thought

and you did right.

A work of art should invariably embody some great idea.

So you advise me to persevere?

Yes.

But express only deep and eternal truths.

As you know, I have led a varied life

and I am contented.

But if experienced the exaltation felt by an artist

during moments of creation,

I would spurn this material envelope of my soul

and soar away to an ideal world.

Do you understand?

You should know why you write,

or you'll lose yourself, your genius will be your ruin.

- Where is Nina? - She's gone home.

I have to see her.

Calm down.

Konstantin, go home, your mother's worried.

Tell her I've gone away. Leave me alone,

stop following me about!

Youth...

It is always ''Youth...'', when you have nothing to say.

Don't do that! Get rid of that, it's horrid!

Let's go home.

Wait a moment.

What do you want?

What is it?

I do not love my father,

but my heart turns to you.

For some reason, I feel that you are near me.

Help me, please,

or I'll do something foolish and ruin my life.

I'm at the end of my strength!

I'm in agony.

- How can I help you? - No one imagines how I suffer.

I love Konstantin.

How excitable you all are!

How excitable you all are!

And how much love there is

in this lake of spells!

What can I do, my child?

I love you so, Pimpinella

I love you so, Pimpinella...

You're 22 and I'm almost twice your age.

Doctor, tell me, which of us is younger looking?

You, of course.

Thank you.

Why is it?

Because I work and keep myself busy.

While you never move off the same spot.

And I live by another rule.

Never look into the future.

Never admit the thought of old age or death.

Just accept what comes to you.

I look after myself.

I feel as if I've been around for ages.

I trail my life behind me like an endless scarf.

Often I have no desire to live at all.

Don't worry, I'm talking nonsense.

You have to pull yourself together and shake off such nonsense.

Doesn't he ever get tired?

What are you reading?

Maupassant, but I don't like it, it's very boring.

I'm worried about Konstantin.

He's always so sad, lonely...

He's always at the lake, I never see him.

His heart is heavy.

Nina, please recite something from his play.

Shall I?

It is so uninteresting.

When he recites it, his eyes light up

and his face grows pale. His voice is beautiful.

Pleasant dreams!

Petrusha!

- You're sleeping! - No...

You need help!

I'd get help, but the doctor says no.

At 60?

One still wants to live at sixty.

Take some chamomile tea.

I think a thermal spa would be good for him.

Why not? He could go.

I don't understand you.

There's nothing to understand, it's clear.

Pyotr Nikolaevic, you should give up smoking.

Nonsense.

It's not nonsense.

Wine and tobacco destroy individuality.

After a cigar or a vodka,

you're no longer Pyotr Nikolaevic,

Pyotr Nikolaevic plus somebody else.

Your ego breaks in two, you begin to think of yourself

in the third person.

It's easy for you to condemn.

You've had a life, what about me?

I served in the Department of Justice for 28 years.

but I've never experienced life.

That's why I want to live now.

You're satiated with your life,

that's why you like to philosophise.

But I want to live,

that's why I drink and smoke cigars.

That's all.

You have to take life seriously.

Getting cured at 60 and regretting your youth...

is trifling.

It must be time for lunch.

My leg's gone to sleep.

She's going to have a drink before lunch.

She's unhappy.

It's all talk, all talk.

You sound like a man who has all he wants.

Oh, dear!

What could be duller

than this dear tedium of the country?

It's so quiet and peaceful...

Nobody does anything but philosophise...

It is pleasant to sit here and listen to you,

but I'd rather be in a hotel room learning a part.

I understand how you feel.

You do?

Here we are! Good morning.

Good morning.

You look well.

My wife tells me you want to go to town.

Is that so?

Yes, If I may.

Splendid.

But how will you get there, madam?

We are hauling rye today, all the men are busy.

- What horses would you take? - Horses... any horses.

Horses.

Any horses, as long as they're horses!

Madam, you do not know what it is to run a farm.

It's the same old story. Well...

I shall leave for Moscow today then.

Order a carriage for me from the village!

Or I'll walk to the station!

I resign from my position, find yourself another manager!

It's the same every summer.

Every summer I'm insulted.

I'll never set foot here again.

Boris, come here!

Boris!

How strange to see a famous actress weeping

and for such a trivial matter!

And yet he, the famous writer,

the idol of the public,

the papers are full of him, his photo is everywhere,

his works have been translated into many languages...

he is overjoyed if he catches a fish.

I thought famous people were unapproachable and proud.

But they weep, play cards, laugh...

and lose their tempers like everybody else.

I committed the cowardly act of killing this seagull today.

What does this mean?

What's happening to you?

Soon, I shall end my own life too.

I do not recognize you anymore.

I don't recognize you either.

You've changed.

Your gaze is cold, my presence bothers you.

You have grown so irritable lately.

You talk so darkly and symbolically.

This seagull is evidently a symbol, but I do not follow you.

I'm too simple to understand.

All this began when my play failed so miserably.

Women never forgive failure.

I burnt the manuscript to the last page.

Your estrangement is to me terrible.

It is as if I've woken up to find

that this lake has dried up and sunk into the earth.

You say you're too simple to understand.

But what's there to understand? You disliked my play.

You have no faith in my feelings

and you think of me as commonplace and worthless, as many are.

How well I can understand you!

It's like a dagger in the brain!

May it be cursed,

together with my pride, which sucks my life-blood

like a snake!

There...

There is a real genius.

Striding along like Hamlet.

You can feel the warmth of the sun and you smile.

Your eyes melt and glow liquid in its rays.

I shall not disturb you.

Good morning, Boris Alekseevic.

Good morning.

It seems we are leaving today.

We'll probably never see each other again.

It's a pity.

I seldom meet pretty young girls.

I can hardly remember how it feels

to be nineteen.

And the girls in my books are seldom living characters.

I'd like to change places with you.

- Same here. - Why?

To know out how a genius feels.

What's it like to be famous?

I don't know...

I've never thought of it.

Either you exaggerate my fame, or I don't feel it.

But when you read about yourself in the papers?

If they praise me, I'm happy. If not, I'm out of sorts for a while.

What a wonderful world! I envy you.

Men are born to different destinies!

Some lead a weary, useless life,

lost in the crowd and unhappy...

While others, like you, who are one to a million,

have a bright and meaningful destinies.

- You are happy. - Me?

I don't know, you talk of fame, and bright destinies,

but those things mean as much to me as sweetmeat do, which I never eat.

No... you're young and very kind.

- Your life is beautiful. - What's so special about it?

Excuse me,

I must begin writing.

There, you...

You've found my weak spot and...

I feel awkward and a little cross too.

Let's discuss this bright and beautiful life of mine.

Where shall we begin?

There are...

There are...

violent obsessions, for example...

when a man thinks of the moon, day and night.

I have such a moon.

Day and night I'm held in the grip of a besetting thought, to write.

When I finish a book, I have to write another...

I write all the time, as if I were on a treadmill.

I can't help it. What's bright bright and beautiful about that?

It's a wild life all right.

Even now, thrilled as I am to talk to you,

I never forget that an unfinished story awaits me.

I see a cloud shaped like a piano and think:

''I must mention this in my story,

the piano-shaped cloud.''

If I smell something, like heliotrope...

I think: ''A sickly smell, the colour worn by widows'',

I'll use it to describe a summer evening.

I catch an idea in every phrase and lock it in my literary store-room,

it may be useful.

When I stop working, I go to the theatre or fishing.

But no, some new subject comes to mind.

I hear my desk calling me, I have to write.

And so it goes, I can't help it.

I'm consuming my life.

To feed honey to the unknown,

to steal pollen from my best flowers, to tear them from their roots.

Am I not mad?

Do my friends treat me as if I'm sane?

''Writing something nice?''. It's always the same old story.

At times I think the praise and admiration

must be a deception.

They deceive me, like I'm a sick man.

Sometimes I'm scared someone will grab me

and whisk me off to an asylum.

But when you create, don't you feel happy?

When I die,

my tombstone will read:

''Here lies Trigorin, a clever writer, but not as good as Turgenev''.

I think you've been spoilt by your success.

What success? No...

I'm never pleased, as a writer I don't like myself.

The trouble is I'm always excited.

For example, I love these trees, this lake, this sky.

Nature speaks to me, I love it.

But I'm not only a painter of landscapes.

I'm also a man of the city. I love my country, and its people.

I feel it's my duty to speak of their sorrows,

also of science, of the rights of man, and so forth.

So I try write on every subject.

My friends encourage me...

I see life and knowledge progressing

and I'm left behind, like I've missed my train.

Then I come to the conclusion

that all I'm fit for is to describe landscapes...

And that whatever else

I attempt...

is completely false.

You work too hard.

You may feel discontented, but to others you're great.

If I were as talented as you, I'd devote my life to the people,

and they'd send me before them

in a chariot of triumph.

In a chariot? Like Agamemnon?

For the bliss of being an actress I'd endure

want, the hatred of my friends, disillusionment,

living in an attic eating bread and water...

I have to pack but I don't want to leave.

It's wonderful here!

It's so beautiful.

You see that house?

That was my mother's home.

I was born there.

I've lived beside this lake all my life.

I know it like I know myself.

It's really beautiful.

What's this?

A gull.

Konstantin Gavrilovic shot it.

What a lovely bird!

Really, I can't bear to go away.

Persuade Irina to stay.

What are you writing?

Just some notes.

An idea for a short story.

A young girl lives beside a lake, like you.

She loves the lake as gulls do, and is happy and free as they.

But a man comes her way,

who sees her

and out of idleness,

he kills her, like this gull.

Boris!

We're not going, after all.

It is a dream!

I'm telling you this because you're a writer,

it may be useful to you.

If Kostja had wounded himself badly,

I would have gone mad.

Yet I am courageous.

I've decided to end this impossible love.

I'll marry Medvedenko.

I don't see the necessity.

To love without hope for years is useless...

Then after marriage, more problems, children...

I'll forget the past.

At least it will be a change.

Another drink?

Haven't you had enough?

Don't look at me like that.

Women drink more often than you think,

but not openly, like I do.

Most of them do it in secret. And always vodka or brandy.

To your good health!

You're a simple man.

I'm sorry to see you go.

And I am sorry to leave.

- Ask her to stay. - She wouldn't now.

Her son has been behaving outrageously.

First he attempted suicide, now he wants a duel.

I can't imagine why!

He's always sulking, preaching about new forms of art...

Art can accommodate both old and new...

without the need for jostling.

It's jealousy, but that's none of my business.

That teacher of mine isn't too clever,

but he's good, he loves me, I feel sorry for him.

And for his mother, so old.

I wish you well, remember me with kindness.

Thanks for your goodwill.

Send me your books, write something in them, but not:

''Madam...''

but simply: ''To Masha, who has nobody

and knows not why she is living''.

- Odds or evens? - Evens.

No...

I wanted to see whether I'd become an actress or not.

If someone would advise me...

One cannot give advice in a case like this.

- Shall I pack your fishing rods? - Yes.

You can give my books away.

Perhaps we'll never meet again.

Please accept this medallion as a remembrance of me.

It has your initials, and the title of your book: ''Days and Nights''.

- It's lovely. - Think of me sometimes.

I'll remember you like on that bright day,

your white dress, as we talked and the gull lay near us.

I have to go, someone's coming.

Let me see you for a minute before you go!

Why don't you stay here?

Going around with that rheumatism of yours!

Rheumatism... I feel fine.

I want to go to Moscow.

Rheumatism...

''Days and Nights'',

page 121, lines 11...

11 and 12.

11 and 12...

Are my books here?

In the study, on the corner shelf.

Petrusha, stay here.

You're leaving,

I'll be lonely without you.

What would you do in town?

They're laying the corner-stone of the new court house soon.

And I want to escape this boring life for a while.

The carriage will be here at one, we'll go together.

Come on, stay here!

Don't sigh.

You mustn't catch a cold.

Keep an eye on Konstantin.

Help him.

Guide him.

There...

I'm leaving and don't know why he shot himself.

He is fond of me,

but feels he is useless here,

little more than a dependant.

It is the pride in him.

He's a misery to me!

He should find work.

The best thing would be if you gave him some money.

For a start, he could dress smarter.

He's had the same old jacket for three years.

He hasn't got a coat. He needs to live a little.

Let him go abroad, it wouldn't cost much.

I could manage his clothes.

But not the rest, no way.

And no, I don't think I can help with clothes, either.

I have no money.

I know, you're a noble and generous woman.

I have no money!

If I had money, I'd give him some, but I don't have any.

I don't have any money!

Of course I have some money.

But I'm an actress, think of the clothes I need.

A dress alone can bankrupt me.

I know you're kind.

I believe you.

But excuse me,

I don't feel good.

- I feel dizzy. - Help!

Don't worry, mother. He's all right.

It's over now.

I'll lie down for a bit. All right?

Pyotr Nikolaevic, do you know this riddle:

''There's 4 in the morning, 2 at noon, and 3 in the evening''?

Yes, and on one's back at night! Get it?

- Thanks, I can walk alone. - Go and lie down.

Let me help you, Pyotr Nikolaevic.

Country life is no good for him, he gets sad.

He gave me a fright.

Don't worry, mother. It's not serious.

If you'd lend him 1,000 roubles...

he could spend a whole year in town.

I have no money.

I'm an actress, not a banker!

Mother!

Change my bandage!

Change my bandage.

Change my bandage.

It's healing.

You'll just have a small scar.

But when I am gone,

will you still play your silly tricks?

No.

That was a moment of despair,

I lost control of myself.

It won't happen again.

Your touch is golden.

I remember when

you were still acting at the State Theatre.

I was a little chap,

there was a fight one night.

A poor washerwoman was almost beaten to death.

She was found unconscious,

and you helped her.

You nursed her and bathed her children in a tub.

- Remember? - No.

Two ballet dancers lived in the same house.

You'd drink coffee with them.

I remember them.

They were very pious!

You see, mother,

recently and during these last few days

I feel I love you again

as tenderly and trustingly as I did as a child.

You're all I have left.

But...

Why do you let yourself be controlled by that man?

Controlled...

You don't understand him, Konstantin.

He is a very noble man.

But when I challenged him to a duel, he played the coward!

He beat an ignominious retreat!

Nonsense! I asked him to go.

A noble man indeed! We're quarrelling over him,

and he's probably in the garden laughing at us.

Or persuading Nina that he's a man of genius!

You're so unpleasant.

I respect him, don't speak ill of him in my presence.

Well I don't respect him, but you consider him a genius.

I refuse to lie, his books make me sick!

Right.

People with no talent love to criticize those who are gifted.

- Great consolation. - Gifted?

I'm cleverer than any of you, if it comes to that!

You have seized the upper hand

and now lay down as law everything that you do!

All else you strangle and trample on!

I refuse to accept your point of view, I refuse!

You're a failure.

Go back to your beloved stage

and act the miserable plays you admire.

The fact is, my dear man,

that I never acted in plays like that

so leave me alone!

You couldn't even write a trashy music-hall farce.

- Miser! - Beggar!

- Whore! - Beggar!

Tramp!

Tramp!

Don't cry!

I'm a wicked mother.

Forgive me.

I'm so unhappy.

I've lost everything now.

Nina no longer loves me.

I shall never be able to write.

Every hope has deserted me.

Don't despair.

This will all pass.

He'll leave with me today.

And she will love you once more.

The carriage will soon be here.

''If you should ever need my life, come and take it.''

Let us stay one more day.

Let's stay.

Stay?

You've lost your mind.

Let me be.

Be a friend to me.

Friend?

Are you so in love?

I feel attracted to her.

It might be what I need, Irina.

What, the love of a country girl?

How little you know yourself!

I feel as if I'm not here...

I'm here but my mind's elsewhere.

Let me be.

No.

No.

I'm a woman too, you can't say such things to me.

Do not torment me, you frighten me.

You're an extraordinary woman.

It's a poetical, youthful love that sweeps away your sorrows.

I've not experienced that.

I had no time for it when I was young and struggling.

Now at last this love has come,

why should I refuse?

- You are mad. - That may be.

You don't understand.

Enough!

Am I so old and ugly

that you can talk to me

without any shame about another woman?

You have lost your senses!

My splendid,

glorious friend...

The last chapter of my life, you are my pride, my joy,

my light...

If you should desert me for an hour,

I could never endure it, I would go mad.

- Some one might come in... - Let them come!

I am not ashamed of my love.

You want to do a foolish thing, but I don't want you to.

I shan't let you do it,

you are mine!

You are mine!

This forehead is mine,

these eyes are mine,

this silky hair is mine...

All your being is mine!

You are so clever, so wise,

the first of all living writers,

the only hope of your country!

We could do great things together.

Don't you understand?

Don't you know?

You think these words are the incense of flattery?

Look into my eyes.

Look into my eyes.

Do you find lies there?

You know...

I alone know how to treasure you.

I alone tell you the truth.

You know that.

You know.

You will go with me?

You won't forsake me?

I have no will of my own.

I never had.

I am too indolent, too submissive.

How can women like that?

Take me away with you, but stay by my side.

You can stay here.

I shall go,

you can follow in a week's time.

Why should you hurry anyway?

Let us go together.

As you wish.

What are you writing?

An expression I heard today, ''a grove of maiden pines''.

It may be useful.

The carriage is here.

The train leaves at five past two.

Would you remember to enquire, Irina Nikolaevna,

where Sudzalev the actor is now? We had a jolly time together.

He was inimitable in ''The Stolen Mail''.

Izmailoff was in the same company, a remarkable tragedian.

Don't worry, you still have five minutes.

They were both conspirators once, in the same play,

when they were discovered.

Instead of saying: ''We have been trapped'',

Izmaijlov cried out: ''We have been rapped!''

Rapped!

- Some plums for the journey. - Thank you.

My dear Irina, we must go or we'll miss the train.

I'll walk quickly to the station,

see you there.

Goodbye, all!

Don't forget me.

There is a rouble for all three of you.

Please write soon.

Konstantin...

Where's Konstantin?

Tell him I've left.

The rouble is for all three of you.

You forgot your cane.

I forgot my cane.

Have a good journey!

Don't forget Sudzalev!

I knew we'd meet again.

I've decided, I'll be an actress. I'll abandon everything

and begin a new life.

I'm going to Moscow, as you are. We'll meet there.

Stay at the ''Hotel Slavianski''.

I must go now.

Wait a minute!

I'm glad I'll see you soon.

Konstantin Gavrilovic...

There is no one here.

His old uncle is forever asking for Kostja.

He can't live without him.

He dreads being left alone.

What awful weather.

A storm's brewing.

It's the season.

It is so dark in the garden!

That theatre should be knocked down.

It still stands, naked and hideous...

And...

It serves no purpose at all.

The other day when I passed by

I thought I heard a voice weeping!

Come home with me, Masha.

I'll spend the night here.

- The baby must be hungry. - The nurse will feed him.

Come on!

Poor thing, three nights without his mother.

You are tiresome.

You used to philosophise,

now all you talk about is the baby, home and the baby.

That's all I ever hear.

Come home!

You go.

Your father won't give me a horse.

Yes, he will. Ask him.

I will.

Will you come tomorrow?

Yes, yes, tomorrow!

Mother, why are you here?

Pyotr asked to sleep here tonight.

Let me do it.

The old are like the young.

Goodbye, Masha.

- Goodnight. - God bless you.

Goodnight, Konstantin Gavrilovic.

No one ever dreamed,

that our Kostja would one day be a writer.

The magazines pay well for your stories.

You have grown handsome.

Dear man...

be a little nicer to my Masha.

She is a sweet child.

Leave him alone.

A woman asks only for kind looks.

I know that from experience.

There now! You've vexed him. I told you not to bother him.

- I am sorry for you. - You needn't be.

I see how things are, and understand...

My heart aches for you.

Hopeless love is only found in novels.

There no point

waiting for the grass to grow, is there?

My husband will be transferred to another district.

Leaving this place, I'll forget it all.

I need him out of my sight.

Once I've left, I shall forget it all in a month.

It is a trifle...

Flour's gone up, I have six mouths to feed.

- A hard riddle to solve! - You can jest about it, you're rich.

Rich? I've not called my soul my own in thirty years of practise...

- What is it? - My cane was stuck.

I scraped together 2,000 roubles.

I spent it all, on a trip abroad.

- You didn't go home? - They won't give me a horse.

I wish never to see you again.

You've changed this room around.

Yes, Konstantin Gavrilovic works here.

So he can step out into the garden to meditate.

- Where is my sister? - She went to meet Trigorin.

She'll soon be back.

If you sent for my sister, I must be very ill.

But it's strange...

I'm seriously ill but you won't give me medicine.

What do you want? Chamomile tea? Soda?

- Can you help me? - No!

The same old story...

- Is that for me? - Yes.

Thank you.

I want to give Kostja an idea for a story.

It shall be called:

''The Man Who Wished''.

When I was young, I wished to become an author.

I failed.

I wished to be an orator,

I speak abominably.

''And then, after all,

well, after all...''

Sometimes, attempting to conclude,

I'd drag each sentence on until I broke out in a sweat.

I wished to marry

but I didn't.

I wished to live in the city,

here I am ending my days in the country.

And that's that.

I wished to become State Councillor

and I am one.

I didn't try for that, it came of its own accord.

To admit at 62

that you have regrets...

- It's a bit late. - You're pig-headed.

Can't you see I want to live?

That is futile.

Nature commands that every life shall come to an end.

You speak like a man who is satiated with life.

You're indifferent and calm.

But even you dread death.

The fear of death

is an animal passion

which must be overcome.

Only those who believe in eternal life

and tremble for sins committed,

can fear death.

But you don't believe in anything,

you've committed no sins.

You've served the Department of Justice for 25 years.

- That's a long time. - 28 years.

We are keeping Konstantin from his work.

It doesn't matter.

Doctor,

may I ask you...

Which city did you like most?

Genoa.

Why?

There is such a splendid crowd in the streets.

When you leave your hotel in the evening,

and throw yourself into that throng,

and move with it without aim or object,

hither and tither.

Their life seems yours, their soul flows into you.

You begin to believe in a great world spirit.

Like the one in your play,

that Nina acted in.

By the way, where is Nina now? Is she well?

I believe so.

I hear she's led a strange life, is that true?

It is a long story, doctor.

She ran away from home and joined Trigorin, did you know?

Yes.

She had a child that died.

Trigorin soon tired of her and returned to his former ties,

as might have been expected.

He had never broken them.

Out of weakness of character.

He'd vacillated between the two.

As far as I know, Nina's private life has not been a success.

- What about her acting? - She failed even worse.

She made her debut in Moscow.

Then toured the province.

I never let her out of my sight,

wherever she went I followed her.

She chose great parts, but...

her delivery was poor,

monotonous and exaggerated.

Her gestures were crude.

At times, she would shriek well

and die well

but those were just moments.

- You think she has talent? - I don't know...

Perhaps.

I saw her, but she refused to see me.

Her servant would never admit me to her rooms.

I appreciated her feelings

and did not insist upon a meeting.

Then after, when I returned home, she started writing me letters.

Clever, sympathetic and caring letters.

But I could tell she was profoundly unhappy.

Every line spoke of aching.

She had a strange fancy.

She signed herself:

''The Seagull''.

The miller in ''Rusalka'' called himself ''The Crow'',

she always signed herself ''The Seagull''.

She is here now.

What do you mean?

In town, at the inn.

She's been there 5 days. I went to see her.

Masha went too, but she refuses to see anyone.

Medvedenko saw her wandering in the fields, yesterday.

Yes.

Yes, I saw her. She was headed for town.

We spoke.

I asked her why she hadn't come to see us.

She said she would come.

But she won't.

Her father has watchmen around their estate,

to keep her hidden away.

How easy it is to be a philosopher on paper,

and how difficult in real life.

She was a beautiful girl.

What do you mean?

She was a beautiful girl.

Even the State Councillor, Sorin,

was in love with her for a time.

Old Lovelace!

We all grow old and wither,

while you have eternal youth.

Your gay spirits, your grace...

Trigorin brought you a magazine with your latest story.

Masha!

- How are you? Did you marry? - Yes.

- Are you happy? - No.

Hello.

- How nice to see you. - How are you?

Fine.

Doctor!

- Thank you. - You're still not well, Sorin.

Konstantin...

Irina told me you've forgotten the past.

- That you're no longer angry. - Thanks for the magazine.

Your admirers send their regards.

Everyone in St. Petersburg and Moscow asks me about you!

How old you are, whether you are fair or dark.

For some reason, they think you're old.

You expect to be here long?

No, I'll go back to Moscow tomorrow.

I have to.

I need to finish a novel,

and have promised a journal...

It's the same old business.

I'd like to see the theatre where your play was given.

I have an idea.

Excuse me.

Father, let my husband have a horse.

The horses have just been to the station,

I can't send them out again.

But there are other horses.

You're impossible!

I'll go on foot then!

Goodbye.

Goodbye, mother.

It's only six miles.

In this weather...

He'll get there, he's not a general.

I shouldn't have troubled you.

Goodbye.

Ten kopecks for each card.

Three.

Doctor, are you in?

Thanks.

During the long autumn evening, we always play lotto. Always.

We played with this set as children.

With our mother.

It's a tedious game, but you get used to it.

It's no worse than others.

- Shall we play? - Yes.

Kostja, won't you play?

I don't feel like it.

Two.

Forty-nine.

- Three. - Here it is.

- You're sure? - Positive.

Forty-one.

Thirty-five.

Fifty-nine, forty-five,

twenty-two, five...

- Sixty-four. - Double!

- Not so fast. - Twenty-two, five...

- Forty. - ''Naughty forty''.

Fifty-six!

I must tell you about...

the reception I got in Karkov, it was amazing.

It was a huge success.

The theatre was on fire!

Twelve.

One.

A real triumph, the students gave me an ovation.

They took the horses from my carriage.

- I can imagine! - No you can't.

The theatre was full of flowers.

36 baskets of gladiolas.

Bernhardt got 18 on the first night of ''Aiglon''!

Fifty!

Ah, yes! My dress...

My dress was a triumph of gems, it cost a fortune.

- Forty-three. - It cost me a real fortune!

Eight.

Twenty-eight.

Kostja is playing.

The poor boy is sad.

Seventy-seven.

''All the sevens''.

Kostja...

- Fifty-one. - The paper's criticize him.

- Fifty-one? - Bad luck.

- He can't strike the right note. - Sixty-nine.

There is an odd vagueness about him,

that verges on delirium.

Eighteen.

He has never created a living character.

Fifty-six.

Forty-seven.

If I lived in such a place, I wouldn't be a writer.

- Seven. - With this lake...

I would just go fishing.

Eighty.

Petrusha, you have three winning numbers!

Thirty-eight.

I have great faith in Konstantin Gavrilovic.

There's something special about him.

He thinks in images, his stories are full of colour.

- They affect me deeply. - Twenty-seven.

It is a pity he has no definite object in view.

He has style, but he cannot go far on that alone.

- I realize that. - Forty-eight.

- Forty-eight? - Yes.

Eighteen.

Seventy-three.

Irina, are you happy your son is an author?

Forty-three.

Four winnings numbers.

Nine, eleven,

forty-three and fifty-one.

I've not read anything of his,

I never read.

Seven.

Fifty-one.

We have something that belongs to you, Boris.

- What is it? - Sixty-three.

Konstantin killed a gull some time ago,

you told me to have it stuffed.

I don't remember.

Forty-eight.

Five winning numbers!

You always win.

29, 37, 55, 74 and 80.

- ...55, 74 and 80. - You've won.

Shut the widow, there's a draught.

Eighty-eight?

Forty-two.

Why am I so restless?

I don't understand.

- Eighty-two. - Full house!

Full house.

- ...52, 81. - Exactly, you've won.

Our renowned guests must be hungry.

Come to supper. We'll continue later.

Kostja, will you come to supper?

- Who is there? - Nobody.

- Lock the door, someone might come. - No one will come.

Your mother's here, I know. Lock the door.

There's no lock...

Let me look at you.

It's nice and warm here.

It's peaceful.

This used to be a sitting-room, didn't it?

Have I changed much?

You are thinner.

And your eyes are larger.

Nina...

It's so strange to see you.

Why didn't you come?

Why didn't you come to see me?

You've been here a week.

I came every day, hoping to see you.

I was afraid you might hate me.

Every night, I dream that you don't recognize me.

Ever since I came back, I've wandered around the lake,

I've often been near your house.

But I never had the courage to come in.

Let us talk.

Let us talk.

It's nice here, so warm and quiet.

You hear the wind?

Remember Turgenev?

''Happy is he who can sit at night

under the roof of his home, in a warm corner.''

I am a seagull!

No... no...

What was I saying?

Oh, yes... Turgenev!

''May God help all homeless wanderers''.

No, Nina...

I'm all right, I'll feel better after.

I haven't cried for two years.

I went into the garden last night,

to see if our old theatre was still there.

I saw it was.

I wept there for the first time in two years.

My heart grew lighter.

I felt relieved.

I'm no longer crying.

So you're an author now!

And I'm an actress.

We have both been sucked into a whirlpool.

My life was happy as a child's.

I used to wake singing in the morning...

I loved you, dreamt of fame but now...

Don't cry.

I'm leaving for Yeliez tomorrow, by train, in a third-class carriage.

The educated tradesmen will court me.

It's a hard life.

Why are you going to Yeliez?

I've accepted an engagement there for the winter.

I have to go.

I have cursed you,

hated you, torn up your letters and photos,

but I always knew my heart was yours forever.

Without you my life is unbearable, I'm suffering!

My youth has been plucked from me.

I feel I've lived for ninety years.

I see your face everywhere,

the smile that illuminated the best years of my life.

I am alone, unwarmed by any attachment.

Why do you speak like this?

Why do you speak like this?

I'm cold, as if living in a cave.

Whatever I write is dry, gloomy and harsh!

Nina, stay here!

Stay with me, or let me come with you.

Don't, I'll see myself out.

Could I have some water?

Here you are.

Where will you go?

- Where will you go? - Back to town.

- Is Irina here? - Yes, our uncle fell ill.

We telegraphed for her to come.

Why do you kiss the ground I walk on?

You should kill me rather.

I am so tired!

If only I could rest....

Rest.

I am a seagull.

No, no....

I'm an actress, of course!

He is there too...

Of course.

He doesn't believe in the theatre.

He laughed at my dreams.

Little by little I ceased to believe in it too.

Then...

came all the troubles of love.

Jealousy.

The constant anxiety about my little one.

I grew trivial and spiritless.

I played my parts without meaning,

I could not walk properly or control my voice.

I knew I was acting very badly.

I'm a seagull.

I am a seagull.

Remember?

Remember you shot a seagull?

A man passed that way, saw it...

and killed it, out of idleness.

It's an idea for a short story.

What was I saying?

I've changed now.

Now I'm a real actress.

I act with joy, with exaltation...

I'm intoxicated by it and feel superb.

Ever since I've been here, I've been walking and thinking.

My spirit grows in strength each day.

Now...

I know, I understand.

Whether we write or act, success is not important,

or the glory I dreamt of,

but the strength to endure.

Knowing how to bear one's cross and how to have faith.

I believe, and so do not suffer much.

When I think of my calling, I do not fear life.

You have found your way.

You know where you are going.

But I'm still groping in a chaos of phantoms and dreams,

not knowing whom

and what end I am serving.

I do not believe in anything.

I do not know what my calling is.

I must go.

When I become a famous actress, promise you'll come to see me.

I can hardly stand.

- I'm hungry. - Have some supper.

No, I'll see myself out.

She brought him back with her.

Don't tell Trigorin anything when you see him.

I... I love him.

I love him passionately.

It's an idea for a short story.

I love him even more than I used to, I love him to despair.

Remember how pleasant the old times were?

What a peaceful,

bright and pure life we led.

How a feeling

as sweet as a flower blossomed in our hearts.

Do you remember?

''All men and beasts, lions, eagles, partridges,

and other unseen, silent creatures,

in short, all living things,

having completed their dreary cycle, died out.

For hundreds of years, the Earth has not borne living things.''

I hope no one sees her.

My mother would be distressed.

That's true.

The same thing happened with me and Sarah Bernhardt.

On her naked shoulder, I extinguished

my cigar.

I didn't know what else to do,

they started it...

- Do come in. - Anna, put it here.

- Did you eat well? - The food's great here.

I read your article and really liked it.

Would you like a drink?

- You liked it? - Yes.

- For you. - Thank you.

- What was that? - Nothing.

Probably one of my medicine bottles has exploded.

Just as I thought, a flask of ether exploded.

I need to talk to you.

Constantin has killed himself.

Subtitles: Laser S. Film s.r.I. - Rome. (Edited by Sklent. rutracker.org, May 2022.)