Amazing!
I am indeed! What's the score now?
427 to 309.
- Whose is which? - I can't remember.
I love this. This is so fun.
- We should have more fun. - Agreed.
Because fun is fun, and surprising.
Like you are surprising. I had no idea you were fun.
Nor I you.
I always thought you were a monstrous slut.
But now we see each other, and it is dazzling and wonderful.
And what a time we have had! And also...
Oh, my God. I have so many thoughts going on right now.
I can see it in your face.
I'm imagining bullets exploding in your head.
- That is what it is like. - Thankfully, only in metaphor.
What if the Enlightenment was fun? The ideas.
My mind just exploded. It's brilliant!
The court see it as dull. The peasants see it as unintelligible.
And the merchants... Who knows what those greedy fucks think?
But if it was fun, they may connect with it in a new way.
- And they would see me as fun. - And they would not hate you.
They do not hate me.
I'm kidding with you!
Fun!
Drinks.
To be serious for a moment,
they do hate me out there.
There are peasants, faces like squashed potatoes, hating me,
face-fucking dolls of me, riled up by Pugachev.
- And you know what? - It scares you?
It makes me fucking hate them,
and like I could boil them alive in my rage.
Gosh!
But that is not a thought for today, for today is fun.
Let us put our heads together.
Literal, but I love it.
This is my idea.
They are apparently inventing a thing called a train.
We build one, we go to the region Pugachev is in, and--
- Kill him? - No!
That is what they want us to do.
We stop in every town, we play badminton,
and we discuss the Enlightenment, as we do, in a fun way.
And then you suck one peasant's cock in each town
to show we feel they are not beneath us.
- And I suck a peasant's cock? - I can do it too. We could take turns.
The train is the problem, as it is not yet existing.
I see. I see. What could we do today in court though?
Yes. Today is more important.
What if we could have a fun day at court? A festival of plays, ideas.
Yes! Everyone must tell jokes and dance and fucking quote Voltaire backwards
and eat kumquats from each other's mouths!
We will call it... something fucking good.
The Festival of Truth, Jokes and Stunningly Clever Ideas.
- Love it! - I love how focused you are.
You only see the future and what you need to do.
You are fucking amazing!
Why, thank you.
Look at me. I fucking love you. You have changed me.
You have torn out the old George
and dumped her compliant body and mind on the side of the road
and made me new!
It's funny you once ate my pussy, isn't it?
- I never think about it. - Me neither.
God.
I need a fucking bath. I smell like a peasant who died of syphilis
and was buried in an ox in high summer.
I was thinking exactly that about myself.
Then let us go bathe and let the fun unleash.
It will be a marvelous lunch that does not stop.
There will be games and music.
We will need birds and a plinth and desserts, obviously, and...
Tea?
- Where's Georgina? - I don't know.
I need you to help me with Madam Dymov.
You know there is a sizzling attraction between her and I
that pulls at the bonds of our class
and one day will tear them and our clothes apart
and we will have each other.
I'm a bit confused. I was... I was dreaming.
- And maybe I still am. - I need help tearing at the bonds.
What's she like? What gets to her?
I had a dream. Where's George?
- She's been gone all night. - What?
- I'm not dreaming, am I? - No.
What does she like? Shall I casually expose a breast?
- What? - Georgina.
I was thinking I might bite her ear. Thoughts?
- George. - Darling.
- You may go, Petra. - I am at your whim. Any whim.
Information I already know.
- Where were you? - With Catherine.
- Is she all right? Did she tell you? - She's fine. And she didn't.
- Are you all right? - No, I'm not.
- How am I gonna be without him? How? - I...
Don't know? Because you can't. Because I fucking can't be without him! I can't!
- Grigor, come here. - You touch me, I'll dissolve.
What am I in this world without him?
- He's... - Everything.
I know.
- I keep seeing us as kids in the halls. - Jesus.
- You haven't told anyone, have you? - No.
Catherine is insane.
They will hate her if she hasn't told them and they find out.
- Indeed, they will. - Fuck.
Every time I sleep, I wake up unsure,
and then I remember the icy water, his face.
God. I loved him.
I know.
I think maybe I should go and see Catherine.
And I love you.
Whatever I do, it's for us.
Wait here a minute.
It's fucking real, isn't it?
Yes, but it's all right.
I know what to do.
If I hadn't fucking told her. If I...
- Maybe I was disloyal. - You weren't. You fucking loved him.
- We were all happy until her. - Yeah.
He's dead.
The words are pounding my head in.
Drink your tea though.
What do we do?
You can sleep.
I need to see Marial.
Careful, darling. You need to rest.
- Is Peter dead? - What the fuck?
You eavesdropping little bitch.
It's my job to anticipate your every need. Helps if I eavesdrop.
- Is he? - No.
- He fucking is. - You can't utter a word.
Shit.
I... Are you all right?
You loved him.
I was so jealous, hearing you moaning under him as I brought him cake.
Petra, you need to keep your mouth shut.
I'll pay you.
I'm more of an experience-driven person.
Fine.
Yes?
That was really fucking nice.
- I knew it would be. - We have a deal.
What the fuck, George?
George!
Fuck.
Leonora, I don't want to be in here.
And where is everyone? And why aren't we working?
Is Russia suddenly running itself?
Well, if it is, it is no doubt into a ditch, as that is its way.
So let us not have that on a day of fun and brilliance!
Morning!
We are to have the funnest lunch today.
- Archie. - Empress?
A joke, everyone.
Why was the lute teacher arrested?
For fingering a minor.
Minor chord, and a minor is a term for a... Fuck me. Really?
How do you circumcise a Georgian?
Kick his sister in the jaw.
Empress, we need to talk about Pugachev.
Smolny, a joke, immediately.
What do you call a man who whistles when he speaks? A cunt.
And then you smash his fucking teeth in,
so the only sound he makes is a gulping noise as he swallows his own blood.
A fucking problematic human, that Smolny.
A roaming, bathing empress! How marvelous.
Elizabeth, a joke!
What's red and yet translucent,
covered in flowers, lives in the sea, eats only plankton and anchovies,
speaks in tongues, can change its color as it wills,
can disgorge poison from its eyes and makes a noise like a small flute?
Gosh. I don't know.
Neither do I, but it will be wonderful when we find it.
Onwards!
They say he'll speak in the hall at midday.
- And then bam, bam, bam! - Put the fucking gun down, Maxim.
I'd love to do it, a gesture of affection.
- Sweet, but no. - Or we do it together.
Get him in a cross-fire situation. And then bam, bam, bam!
Fucking hell.
It would be a fond memory,
and we've not done many couple things in our marriage.
I'm doing it.
- You're waiting in the carriage. - What? It was my idea.
- You heard me. - Unbelievable.
Marvelous.
- What's going on? - We are to have the most fun lunch.
Elizabeth, we are to reinvent discourse in a fun way,
wrapping ideas in joy and shiny paper.
- Are you all right? - You seem--
Inspired, and it is coursing through my veins.
Empress, we must discuss Pugachev.
I have begun negotiations, and he's put some things on the table.
We shouldn't negotiate with any terrorists
who were once sassy but charismatic employees.
What?
She said we shouldn't negotiate with terrorists.
Are you losing your hearing, Archie? My father did. It was so annoying.
Every day, "Morning, Father. I said morning!"
- Is anyone else cold? I feel freezing. - Good morning.
Sorry.
You can face me. It is just an incredible, naked body.
Siberia. Petrov, three facts about Siberia and a joke.
It's cold. Really cold. Unimaginably cold.
What is red and not good for your teeth?
- A flying brick. - Marvelous.
I found Pugachev. Seemed important, hence the bursting in.
You what?
"Found Pugachev." I believe that's what he said.
Your hearing, Archie.
He's in Tekov. Apparently, hiding out in a church.
The...
Outrageous.
There will be flagellations and excommunications over this.
Interesting information,
but basically irrelevant, as I have a deal brewing.
My people tell me he's rallying today. I can have men there in four hours.
I think we have a plan that does not involve bloodshed.
The empress hates bloodshed.
- Let's spare Russian lives, shall we? - Up to the empress.
We have a few options. It's in our plan.
Plan?
Summary: We arrest him alive,
or bring his head home in a bag, put it in a cannon and let rip.
He has quite a militia, so there'll be a bit of a battle.
- Pointless bloodshed. - He's raised an army, actually.
Apparently, he has a real turn of phrase.
Obviously, they're piling up dead nobles like kindling.
In fact, quite often using them for kindling,
which, considering the winter we've been having,
has an efficient kind of logic.
You scared me!
- Empress! - Towel.
I cannot be wet during an important discussion.
Elizabeth, the French should pay their debts in art from now on.
- Make a note. - All out while the empress dresses.
Look at you both. Inflamed with sick, and yet understandable, desire
and pretending you are not.
I'm not pretending. I just wasn't sure how vocal to be about it.
- I have no feelings below the waist. - Thing is, time is important.
I know where he is now, might not tomorrow.
Which is why negotiating is the plan we are on,
which does not have a time pressure on it.
Unless, of course, you're a noble they're about to set alight.
I clearly remember saying "out."
We'd also like to discuss the Swedish campaign,
as no one in the military seemed to know. Everyone's a bit, "What the fuck?"
So, love to catch up on that.
Win my favor. You have ten seconds.
You're handsome and pretty.
Just another word for "handsome." What do you want?
- Whatever you-- - Decide? Will? Whatever my whim?
Yes.
Raise up your clapping hands for Boris.
Thanks for coming up, Boris.
That is how she wants you to live.
She fucking hates Russians. That's the hard truth of it.
- Yes. - Yes, that's true.
Yeah, I knew a woman--
beautiful, smart,
a fucking stick of fire who could drink and spar with anyone,
born to fucking title,
and they just took it from her.
Yeah, suddenly, she's covered in shit, lice,
beatings, the odd cock in her face, taking it from everyone.
And then, suddenly,
they yank her back up.
"You please us, you can live."
Then, "No, you can't," and they throw her back down.
The joke is, she imagines herself an independent spirit.
She is fucking deluded.
She is a puppet.
She is what they made her,
a scared, angry woman, desperate for approval
so she can take a free fucking breath.
And I, for one, fucking love her.
For she does what we all do.
Who hasn't walked into a room wondering,
"What if I displease them? Or have done?"
And I aimed to change all that.
I, Peter,
son of Peter the Great!
You know what I was about to do?
I was about to change everything, and she smelt it.
- You know what I was about to do? - What?
I wanted to free all the serfs.
Yes. Yes. And remove all taxes on the merchants.
Yeah, let people free. Release us from our bonds.
Our brains are as fucking trapped as our bodies, my friends!
Peter! Peter! Peter!
Peter! Peter!
Bring her out!
Peter! Peter! Peter!
Fuck her up! Fuck her up!
Who wants at it?
Fuck her up! Fuck her up!
Fuck her up! Fuck her up! Fuck her up!
Hello.
- You are-- - Very enlivened and excited.
The empress has a plan to reset the way we talk about the Enlightenment,
to throw open the doors to dissent and also satire.
And that's where you come in. Today, you put on your play!
I cannot. I showed only you.
It's treason.
- Very funny treason. - Still treason.
- I was angry when I wrote it. - I think you're being too harsh.
It is a gift, and you must unwrap it and show it to the world.
I don't know, I--
Katya, are you a coward full of hot air who will die wondering if
you could've made an impact on this earth?
Jesus.
You wanna lie in your grave and think what?
"I've tasted a few cocks, I've taught a few girls,
"and my true gift died in my heart like a sparrow in a jar"?
- She will-- - She will love it.
I have been with her all night. We misjudge her.
She wants aggressive discourse. She will fucking love it and you.
And you will be the toast of these halls. You will be seen!
You will be fucking Molière with a pussy.
- I love that. Molière with a pussy. - The toast of fucking Russia.
Get it ready.
So my question is, how much art is enough?
And do we need more museums? Which, of course, we do.
I should tour the regions, incognito, in a hat.
Are you all right?
I'm great. Excited about today.
Something has come loose in you.
I'm...
I was the same whenever Peter the Great went off to battle.
I was quite unhinged.
I had all the doors removed from the west wing
because I thought, when he came back,
I would not have the delay of opening doors.
And I couldn't sleep,
and I took to swimming hundreds of rounds of the lake,
until I would collapse on the bank,
breathless and riddled with cramps and covered in leeches,
and they had to carry me back to the palace.
Yes.
I think that might be it,
that I even imagined him dead.
I did that all the time.
I would imagine him dead in battle, on the road, everywhere.
It haunted me.
- Yes, but was not true. - No!
Your heart swirls and clouds your mind, and it is the worst.
Oh, yes.
It's why I'm so cold, I think.
We must have fun. Let's just have fun.
What are you doing? We have a lunch.
I put grapes in my hair. Try one.
Tart, like you.
What the fuck?
"We shouldn't negotiate with terrorists"? I thought we had a deal.
We can't be seen to support this. Then it would look like we're ganging up.
- And your hands remain clean. - Something like that.
If you want me to carry your water, don't stab a hole in the bucket.
Archie, you need to end it. It seems to be getting out of hand.
Now!
Welcome to the Festival of Fun, Truth and Mesmerizing Ideas.
Release the birds.
Let us set free our ideas and kill the weak ones,
leaving only the best to fly.
Also, realize, this is a visual metaphor of that idea.
Everyone, a joke, because it is also fun, this Enlightenment.
A bear walks into a tavern and says, "I'd like a... vodka."
The barman says, "Why the big pause?"
"Born with them."
Adorable and unexpected.
What does my ex-wife think about when she's fucking her new lover?
Hopefully, how much I miss her and what a special thing we had.
What's blue, cold and good in bed?
A dead peasant!
Polo!
- Marco! - Polo!
Is she all right?
Peter is at war. Fear manifests in strange ways.
Marco!
- This sudden friendship seems startling. - Indeed.
Why are you wearing four seasons of clothing?
I'm very cold,
and all day I've grown colder.
- Have you seen Vinodel? - It feels deeper than that.
And not just fear.
I don't know what though.
The body, what a thing.
We do not have control over our own carriage,
and it would run us into a ditch at a moment's notice.
You're right.
The body has answers before the mind knows the questions.
It's the body's questions I hate, to be honest.
- Marco! - Polo!
I am so sorry. Reflex.
I guess I'm it.
You do it? In the eye, like I said?
- Couldn't. - What?
I listened to what he said, and a lot of it... I fucking agree with.
I'm here about to murder someone who's done nothing to me,
because I need the empress to like me or I'm fucked?
Let's focus on the last half of that sentence.
The "you're fucked" bit, add me in. Make it "we're fucked."
- Maxim, I'm not doing it. - Marial, we had a plan.
New plan: Archie's plan plays out.
Archie will manage the whole thing, and we will slide out of it.
- He is an expert at this. - How very disappointing.
Let's go home.
- I have to pee. - Why didn't you while I was in there?
'Cause you said stay in the carriage, and I am obviously, unlike you,
the person in the partnership whose word can be trusted.
Archie, we must put our heads together.
I will begin negotiations
and counsel against the military's bloodthirsty madness.
- But what will make them not hate me? - Show of strength.
Are you lurking?
I just have an instinct for when I should be somewhere. Always have.
I once walked, not knowing why, across two fields and a stream,
stopped under a tree, heard a rustling noise,
looked up as a young girl fell, caught her in my arms.
- Fascinating. What was her name? - Olga.
- What sort of tree? - Oak.
Can we agree to just negotiate a peaceful settlement?
It's not just him though. It's the army of hate that he's whipped up.
Which dies with his disappearance and presumed death.
- The opposite happened with Jesus. - Good point.
- People love a martyr. - Joan of Arc.
My sisters and I dressed up like her and set fire to ourselves.
- Real fire? - Can we stop?
Are you yelling because you're deaf?
I am not deaf.
- And I have the solution at hand. - As do I.
So Petrov creates a perimeter from which he cannot escape,
Archie negotiates.
And if it goes wrong, Petrov unleashes war upon them.
And if it goes right,
Petrov's men hand out rubles with my name on them to everyone.
- Good plan. - Good plan.
When you're out there, and the crowd looks up at you,
this fucking energy force.
Now, I've been in battle,
and you feel the energy like palpable fucking waves of hate and fear.
But this is fucking love, and it tingles the fucking skin.
And then, you know, words and ideas come out of me
I've never thought before, and they're right and true, and...
Fuck me.
Jesus, that is good!
You are marvelous.
I love you, Emperor Peter.
Fucking love you too. Silky fucking mouth, well played.
Pugachev, I presume.
No, I don't fuck little boys. Rule of mine.
Farewell, sir. May your trip to hell be fast and fiery.
Driver! Go!
- What the fuck, Maxim? - I shot him dead. It was Maxim-esque!
You're fucking joking!
Sometimes the man must take control. You, my dear, are welcome.
Driver, go!
These fucking people.
Empress.
- Katya has written a play. - Huzzah! I love a play!
I'm not sure about this.
It will be fun!
We don't know what it is. It's about you, that's all I know.
Me? Huzzah. It will make them love me.
Shall we have a play?
Once, we could not have imagined ourselves writing plays.
Our gratitude to our empress.
Peasant, I need a seat.
I have a story to tell. I'm the narrator.
On arriving in Russia.
Russia!
It burns in my heart.
I see its golden promise.
My new wife.
- I bring the Enlightenment. - And a silky mouth.
Well done. Faster!
Voltaire!
Diderot!
Montesquieu!
I just blew Montesquieu!
Shall I stop it? It would look bad, but...
I must take this land and its poor, trodden-on people.
I will free the peasants, and they will be grateful and love me.
Who are you?
Hello, I'm Leo.
Have a peach and some light foreplay.
I'm Orlo. Let's go change this land.
Let's do both.
Rid this land and create a new one.
I love you, Leo.
Well?
- Can I take that? - Of course. I love you.
Put the crown on my head and your tongue in my pussy.
I crown me Catherine of Much Unrealized Promise.
We have much to do.
We shall need complete focus and no resiling from our--
Fuck yeah! Eat that pussy!
Free those serfs!
I am Catherine of Much Unrealized Promise,
and I have come to save you.
So firstly, be better!
Huzzah.
Read books, agree with me and wake up to the fact you're shit,
but noble at heart and ready to rise!
I think we must have more concrete plans.
- Who are you again? - Orlo!
Where did he go?
To Russia.
We ride to the future together!
Don't say "neigh," say "yay"!
Everyone, dance!
Until you throw up!
Brilliant!
No one may leave the dance floor until they have.
God, so...
I feel a bit...
She said dance, you fuckers! Dance!
- Let me go! - I'm very, very annoyed at you!
- All good? - Quiet.
Unlock it.
And you, go downstairs and start telling the servants about Peter.
I'm telling now? I thought I wasn't telling.
Life evolves.
- I might need something. - How 'bout I don't beat you?
How 'bout you do, and I'm naked when you do it?
Fine. Just go.
You're okay. You're okay. You're okay.
- It's okay. - Fuck off!
- Tatyana, try and-- - I understand.
Best friends with the empress!
Always sucking up to the top, that's fucking you.
Rode Peter, and now you'll ride Catherine.
I wanted to ask you if you'd heard the rumor, but fuck off yourselves.
- What rumor? George. - No.
Tell me. Ignore her.
Something weird's going on, isn't it?
There's a rumor Peter died on the way to Sweden.
- What? - Died.
Drowned or something. And she knows, and she won't tell us.
She is acting weird.
Yeah. I don't know. I just wondered if you'd heard it?
- No. - Right.
Well, don't tell anyone, because it could be bullshit.
And she's not acting weird.
The more you know her, you realize she's mad.
I'm actually a bit scared of what she's capable of.
Why wouldn't she tell us?
Because maybe he didn't drown, Arkady. Maybe she killed him.
He can't be fucking dead.
Anyway, keep it between us. I hate gossip!
What's wrong with you two? I'm finding it quite fun.
Have you heard what they're saying?
- Everything's spinning. - I know.
Fuck that Katya. You need to kill her.
- What? - There are lines people can't cross.
I won't allow it. Cut her fucking head off before dessert.
I...
Remember the heads, when I first came?
Catherine, she just attacked your rule in a way you must react to.
You can't allow people to degrade you. That's what Pugachev is doing.
Not in your own court. You must smash back.
I said they could tell the truth.
The progressives would hate me, feel I betrayed them.
Yes, I suppose they would.
I hadn't seen that.
You're so clever.
Why you're the empress, I guess.
Why are you here?
I'm here because I'm your friend.
- You weren't. - I am now.
You see that, don't you?
Yes.
Other small problem is that the rumor of Peter's death is sweeping court.
What?
That he and his horse fell through the ice on a lake,
and he fucking drowned,
and you watched it and have not told anyone.
So...
You need to stand up and tell them that's a lie.
Because it is, isn't it?
No, it's not true. It's not true, it's not true.
Hello. Bad time?
Let's just sign off on this.
I beseech you, which is a very big word for "end this."
Agree to the one church,
and he will abandon his flock, leave the country.
They have no one to follow, wander back to us.
Okay. Okay. Thank you, Archie.
Lesson learned: Control is everything in Russia,
and only the church and the empress have it.
Do you believe in visions?
It's part of the job.
Something is rushing up at me,
and it will kill me if it gets here.
Evening.
I wouldn't just burst in normally like this,
as I believe manners are the fabric that furnishes our society.
However, when the biggest enemy of the state, one Pugachev,
has been gunned down by the most stylish man in the kingdom,
one Maxim Illyich Vaskovy,
I believe a little leeway can be given.
- You-- - Shot Pugachev.
He begged for his life,
but I just smiled wryly and put one through his eye.
So this fake Peter is dead.
Fucking hell.
- Fake Peter is dead. - Very fucking dead.
I lay this gift of loyalty at your feet.
I think you will also enjoy the view of my shoes
when you bend down to pick it up.
Pugachev is dead.
That Peter is dead.
Yes. Yes, now I understand.
Maxim.
God has blessed me, Archie. I think we all see that now.
No.
- Shit. You all right? - I tried to open the door with my head.
Right. What the fuck is going on? Why are you locked in?
- Where have you been? - I don't know. Marriage stuff.
Right.
What's happened?
Peter was on a horse on the ice, and he just fucking fell through.
What?
Because Hugo's a cunt, and Peter the Great won't leave him alone,
and I was disloyal but not really, but he's dead, so I was something.
It's not good, because it didn't work, what I did.
What the fuck are you talking about?
He was staring at me, and I reached out, and his horse dragged him down,
and he looked sort of bewildered and kind of fucked off, as well.
Peter's... What are you saying?
That he's dead.
My friend is dead.
- Fuck. - Yeah.
Fuck.
- And Catherine saw it? - Yes, but she's mad.
And she won't let me tell anyone and says it didn't happen.
- It did though? - It did.
I prefer it when I'm unconscious.
Yeah, just rest, my darling.
Just rest.
Katya, stand on the plinth.
What a lolly of a play.
How scathing of me and my failings.
And how humorous to watch oneself be fucked in the arse by a horse.
And how you all loved it.
So I had an idea.
- The regions should see it. - They should?
I've arranged for you to go to Siberia for an extended writers' residency.
- Siberia? - Take a coat and hat. Huzzah!
Huzzah!
Also, there is a ridiculous rumor sweeping the halls.
- That Peter is dead. - And you are lying to us about it.
He is not dead.
Pugachev is dead.
And since he was pretending to be Peter, and Maxim killed him,
then obviously, people have become confused.
And so it's Pugachev who is dead, not Peter.
Pugachev, not Peter.
So, desserts?
- Peter's not dead? - No.
Desserts!
Empress, I have a special delight tonight.
Emperor Peter and I have been working on salty dessert.
I would like to unveil the first.
A salted caramel mousse with a nut praline, also thyme salted.
He was very excited.
It is a shame he is not here to see this.
Salty...
Did I tell you I'm going to try my salt on desserts?
I have ordered Jean-Pierre to experiment.
Madness, but brilliant.
I'll send word when we're done.
I love you. My whole fucking heart and all my body
and whatever ineffable spirit animates me.
Everything.
You must do the honor.
I...
Formidable, no?
He's dead!
He's fucking dead!
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