FADE IN:
EXT. SKYLINE. DAY. The Leningrad skyline emerges through the fog as we hear the SOUND of a speeding train.
INT. TRAIN. DAY. A fairly modern European express train. An American HUSBAND and WIFE eagerly alternate between consulting a map and trying to identify the landmarks flashing past them outside.
Their style of dress indicates the mid-1980s, her modified Farrah flip and shoulder-padded jacket the most identifiable.
| WIFE | HUSBAND |
| Look, look——— is that the | No, I think that’s further |
| Hermitage– Oh! Oh, whaddaya— | south——— I think everything’s |
| call it, isn’t that where | further south. . . Where ? |
| Baryshnikov went to dancing | Wait a minute——— I think |
| school? God, this is so | that’s the palace of Czar |
| exciting! | Peter——— uh, Paul ———
|
Across the aisle from them, a RUSSIAN FAMILY completely ignore the scenery as they chatter away and happily paw through their souvenirs. The KID, in a Mets cap and shiny blue satin baseball jacket, pesters his parents about something. The FATHER proudly wiggles his feet in their bright new Reebocks, and the MOTHER surveys her new cosmetics bag, price tag still hanging off it, as they only half— heartedly deny the boy. Mama finally gives in, and digs into her Macy’s shopping bag for a bag of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies. She gives one to the kid, and she and the husband split the last one.
JERRY LARKIN, an agreeably good—looking American, grins as he eyes one group, then the other. He slides a notebook from his pocket and jots something down in it, pockets it again, then leans back and watches the scenery pass——— the canals, bridges, the exquisite European-style architecture, the gigantic political message billboards.
INT. FINLAND STATION. DAY.
Jerry and the others stand in the slow—moving Customs line. A youngish CUSTOMS OFFICER rifles through an American’s suitcase, and pulls out a Playboy magazine. He calls over one fellow OFFICER, then ANOTHER. The three of them try to keep their eyeballs in their sockets as they scan the pictures. They consult briefly in Russian, then the first Official announces to the American:
OFFICIAL
Decadent. We must confiscate.
Jerry stifles a smile as the two others have a quiet tug— of—war over the magazine. Then he notices a very beautiful but slightly stern—looking WOMAN standing at the Intourist desk, looking very disapprovingly at the officials.
INT. SAME. A BIT LATER.
The Customs official checks the last of Jerry’s books against a long list, then lets him go. As Jerry heads for the door, the woman he’d been admiring approaches him and speaks in Russian—accented English.
MARINA
Professor Larkin?
JERRY
That’s right.
MARINA
(Extends her hand officiously)
Marina Volkova, Ministry of Information. Welcome to Leningrad. I am to be your translator and guide.
JERRY
A reception committee. This is awfully nice of you. Makes me feel like I was just freed by terrorists——— or won the Super Bowl or something.
MARINA
(Reassures him with a slightly glazed smile)
We have no terrorists in Soviet Union. Come ——— I drive you to your building.
JERRY
Really, you don’t have to bother.
I can just get a cab or———
MARINA
No no. Come. You are my
(searches for the right word)
charge.
He follows along, kind of like a third grader after the hall monitor.
INT. CAR. DAY.
As Marina drives, she hands a stack of stapled—together papers to Jerry in the back seat.
MARINA
Your itinerary.
JERRY
Thank you.
He peruses the detailed schedule.
MARINA
If there is anything else you need,
I will try to arrange———
JERRY
No, no——— this is perfect. Thank you. I think the Japanese restructured their entire economy on slightly less information than this.
MARINA
Propaganda about Soviet inefficiency is greatly exaggerated, Professor.
JERRY
Jerry.
MARINA
Marina.
EXT. STREET. DAY.
Marina checks the building numbers as she walks Jerry to an apartment building.
JERRY
(Trying to be friendly)
I once knew a woman named Marina.
MARINA
Oh?
JERRY
She was in the entertainment business. Her last name was Del Rey.
She squints at him. He waves his hand and shakes his head.
JERRY
Sorry. Bad joke. Forget it.
She eyes him quizzically.
INT. APARTMENT BUILDING. DAY.
LIZ O’HARA, a chicly dressed businesswoman, pretends to be fumbling at her mailbox as Marina bids Jerry goodbye in the hallway.
MARINA
Three o’clock. Tuesday.
JERRY
Great. Thanks again——— for everything. I couldn’t ask for more if I actually——— were somebody.
MARINA
Our pleasure. Goodbye.
JERRY
Goodbye.
She exits. He looks after her. Liz grins at Jerry.
LIZ
Nice, huh? Having your own personal bureaucrat?
She approaches him and extends her hand.
LIZ
Liz O’Hara. You must be the new American.
JERRY
Jerry Larkin.
(Shakes his head)
They certainly take their translating seriously in this country.
They size each other up, very favorably.
JERRY
Comforting to see a friendly face.
LIZ
Put you stuff down. I’ll take you for a walk.
EXT. PARK. DUSK.
Jerry and Liz stroll through Lenin Park, a very pleasant and popular recreational spot and walkway. Around them we see young lovers talking quietly, their arms linked; teen—agers, some modestly punked—out; and lots of cops and babushkas, the old grandmothers in their scarves, sweaters and skirts.
JERRY
This is it——— my office for the next two months.
LIZ
What are you, a professional vagrant or something?
JERRY
(Laughs)
Close. Social anthropologist. I’m doing a comparative study of public parks. Lenin Park here, Tivoli in Copenhagen, Champ de Mars in Paris———
(Notices her gaping)
Nice work, huh? Hang around a couple parks, take a couple notes, and boom! ——— you’ve conned people into believing you’ve actually conducted academic research.
LIZ
I’ll lay odds it’s more serious than that.
JERRY
It is. While I’m here I’ve also got the go—ahead to write a couple of articles for my local paper’s Sunday magazine——— day—to—day life in the Soviet Union.
LIZ
Part of the “new openness.”
JERRY
Something like that.
LIZ
Supervised by your girlfriend——— day—to—day bullshit is what you’re gonna get.
JERRY
Oh, I’ve dealt with p.r. people before.
(Grins)
Besides, I’m a trained observer. Ph.D. in bullshit detection.
LIZ
You’ve never been in the Evil Empire before, have you?
JERRY
Nope. This is my maiden voyage.
LIZ
You been briefed?
JERRY
Briefed?
LIZ
Well— you know your apartment is bugged.
JERRY
(Lying)
I suspected.
LIZ
And your phone is tapped. No tipping is allowed here. You can’t take pictures of bridges, railroad stations or policemen. Carry your passport at all times, and hang on to it——— there’s a big black market in stolen passports here. Don’t wear jeans in public unless you want hordes of happy comrades shoving their life savings in your face for them. Never introduce one Russian to another, they’re all paranoid you’re handing them over to the K.G.B. Don’t sell anybody anything– especially within a hundred yards of a cop, which makes it completely impossible anyway since this entire goddam country is crawling with them.
Jerry raises his hand like a student.
JERRY
Pardon me——— am I allowed to sneeze here?
LIZ
Only if you’re facing East. Oh, and be especially careful around your minder.
JERRY
My what?
LIZ
The Commissar in the high heels, your “translator.” These people all report to the K.G.B. I’ve got a private guy, completely illegal– real hustler if you ever need anything. They probably haul him in for questioning every now and then, but the official ones are trained to spy on you. And to discredit you.
JERRY
Really?
LIZ
(Nods)
Possibly by provoking you to say nasty things about the Motherland. Possibly by seducing you.
JERRY
(Eyebrows go up)
Really?
LIZ
You’re better off in bed with Darth Vader. You married?
JERRY
Divorced.
LIZ
Good man.
She takes his arm.
JERRY
Not too fond of our Soviet brothers, are you?
LIZ
I am not. They ‘re devious bastards, every one of them. Devious, self—serving, paranoid, hypocritical ——— (Points)
Look——— see that window——— one, two, three, four, five flights up, third from the corner? You know who lives there? Mikhail Ivanov.
JERRY
No kidding.
LIZ
No kidding. They never let him outta there. Can you believe that? One of the greatest writers alive——— there’s rumors around he’s working on a new novel ——— they never even let his feet touch the sidewalk. Bastards.
JERRY
You——— uh, being held here against your will?
LIZ
Not by a longshot. I’m the operations manager for Neva Cola.
He doesn’t understand.
LIZ
Fastest—selling diet soft drink in the entire Soviet Union. You’re looking at diet soda heaven here. Two hundred seventy—five million overweight people, who all want to be hip and svelte——— and who’ve just had most of their liquor supply cut off. Thirsty bunch, these comrades. I may not be too fond of them, but that’s certainly no excuse not to take their money.
INT. HALLWAY. NIGHT.
Jerry walks Liz to her door.
JERRY
Thanks for all the pointers. God forbid, I could have sneezed the wrong way and gotten myself tossed in the pokey.
LIZ
This is a real tricky environment, Jerry.
She touches his arm fondly.
LIZ
And if you don’t mind my saying so, you seem a little inexperienced.
JERRY
I once sneezed in Czechoslovakia and lived to talk about it.
LIZ
Look out for yourself, huh? And don’t worry——— I’ll help.
She enters her apartment. Jerry heads down the hallway to his, a profoundly interested man.