“Are they made of titanium or something?” We publish pilot script of a Russian sitcom about Joe Biden’s quest to understand Russian resilience

White House. Oval Office

The CIA Director is standing in front of the table, next to him on the screen is an infographic: RUSSIA and underneath it a circle with 90 per cent highlighted in red. The characters are speaking in English with simultaneous translation into Russian.

CIA Director. A tremendous amount of work has been done during the sanctions. We have already imposed all possible sanctions: a ceiling on oil prices, disconnection from the SWIFT payment system, all accounts frozen...

The CIA Director notices that Joe is asleep in his chair.

CIA Director. Mr. President!

Joe isn’t responding. The CIA Director nods to the Chief of Staff, who pulls lollipops out of his pocket and throws them at Joe, who wakes up abruptly.

Joe. What? Oh! I’m listening.

Joe is looking at the Chief of Staff (a beautiful woman who obviously takes good care of herself).

Joe. You look beautiful Mr. Morgan. Your new gender suits you! (To the CIA Director) Carry on.

CIA Director. We froze all accounts and confiscated all real estate.

Joe. Great... great. This means they will take down their government soon.

The CIA Director nods to the Chief of Staff look at each other.

CIA Director. No, all Russians are happy. They’re saying: this is what the rich deserved!

Joe. Happy?!

Joe is angry and clutches the wooden pencil in his hands with force, it looks like it’s about to break... but Joe doesn’t have the strength, he freaks out and throws the pencil away.

Joe. Damn! Are they made of titanium or something? I’m forced to go to extreme measures!

Tension. Everyone is looking at each other.

Joe. We’re taking McDonald’s away from them!

Chief of Staff. Again? That’s the first thing we did.

Joe hits the table with all his might, but it comes out very weak.

Joe. In that case, we’re cutting them off American movies!

CIA Director. They have RuTube. All of the movies are there even before we get them.

With great effort, Joe gets up from his chair.

Joe. Do simething! Make all our businesses leave Russia!

CIA Director. They have already.

Points at the screen.

CIA Director. Ninety per cent sold their business and suffered huge losses.

Joe. And?

CIA Director. Russians are now making everything themselves, and their GDP has grown.

Joe collapses back into his chair.

Joe. How? We’ve been strangling their economy for thirty years! Where do they get their resources?

CIA Director. Russia is a very big country… even they themselves don’t even now what they have. But they’ve started exploring, thanks to us.

Joe sighs.

Chief of Staff. Mr. President. We have a new plan! We...

Joe (interrupts). You can sholve your plan in your white—and prior to that black—ass. I’m going to Russia myself, to find out, once and for all, how to harm Russians!

Chief of Staff. Mr. President, you can’t! You have an election campaign. How will we manage without you?

Joe. I’m only going for a couple of days. We must hurry.

Joe gets up from the table and walks very slowly in the direction away from the exit.

CIA Director. The door is that way.

Joe. I know... just looking at the wall.

Joe heads for the exit.

White House. Dressing room

The CIA Director is standing near a screen, Joe is behind it, we can’t see him..

CIA Director. Mr. President, please, consider this once again. It’s dangerous for you to go to Russia, they will recognise you!

Joe (from behind the screen). Do you think I’m a fool? I’ll use the camouflage method! And get lost among the Russians!

Joe comes out from behind the screen in a long Arctic fox coat and a fox fur hat (lord of the manor-style). The CIA Director’s reaction: facepalm.

CIA Director. I’m afraid Russians haven’t been looking like this for a long time.

Joe (looking in the mirror). Really? Well, they should. It looks beautiful... although it is hot.

Cut to next scene.

Joe is standing in a militia uniform, looking like the hero from the [1988] film Red Heat.

Joe. How about this?

CIA Director. They don’t have militsiya since 2011.

Joe. What? They beat crime?

CIA Director. The opposite, and that’s exactly the point! Mr. President, come to your senses! This is very dangerous! You don’t even know Russian.

Joe (in perfect Russian). *beep* you twice. You stitchy little *beep*, are you totally *beep*? *beep* Yank!

CIA Director. What a beautiful language! How do you know Russian?

Joe. Learned it during the Cold War... just in case.CIA Director.

You doubted America’s victory?

Joe hesitates, trying to change the subject.

Joe. All right! Let’s go online and see what the Russians are wearing now.

Cut to next scene.

The feed of Odnoklassniki is seen on the screen of a tablet: the first photo is a naked man (Maxim Bazaleev) in shorts and sunglasses drinking beer against the background of snow drifts. Caption: “Daddy’s tramp. Mommy’s pretty boy.” The first comment is from Lyudmila Bazaleyeva: “Happy release, son.”

CIA Director. Yech... I feel the cold through the screen. They don’t have anything to wear anymore. Our sanctions are working.

Joe flips through the feed, the next picture shows a man in three mink coats, then elderly people in ‘classic’ Russian settings: a woman with a bunch of canned vegetables, a man with a machine gun and a baby stroller in the background of a garage, a man drying his socks on a grill, a woman in a small bathroom with cracked tiles and a broken shower, but with rose petals in the bathtub, a man with a huge fish in his arms, a woman in a car repair shop holding on to a pole.

Joe. What’s that?

CIA Director. Classmates.

Joe. These are classmates? Apparently that’s why they’re so smart... because they learn until they’re old.

Joe stops the feed on the photo of Ivanych, a retiree (wearing a chequered white shirt, an sports coat, brown trousers, scuffed boots).

Joe. Oh! He and I even look a bit alike. What do you think?

CIA Director. Terrible.

Joe. Just what we need.

USA. Airport

Joe, who looks exactly like Ivanych, gets out of the limousine and goes to the airport, next to him is the CIA Director, handing over documents.

CIA Director. Here’s the money and Russian passport.

The CIA Director opens the passport in the name of Ivanov Ivan Ivanovich, looks at the ticket.

Joe. Istanbul? Why Istanbul? I need to go to Russia. (Thinking.) What? Istanbul is already part of Russia?

CIA Director. Not yet. Our sanctions have cancelled all direct flights.

Joe. Damn.

CIA Director. Keep your bag and documents with you at all times.

The CIA Director tucks all the documents into the bag and hangs it on Joe.

CIA Director. You sure you don’t want our men to accompany you?

Joe. Are you out of your mind? If we’re exposed, it’ll be an international scandal! Don’t worry! I can manage on my own.

Joe smashes into a glass door. The CIA Director opens the door, Joe enters the airport. The CIA Director gives him a look, and a jeep pulls up in front of him. Agent Smith and Agent Jones (in Hawaiian shirts) get out of it.

Agent Smith. What’s the emergency?

CIA Director. Agent Smith, Agent Jones. You have a serious mission to complete.

Agent Smith. To see which shows on Netflix need to add more black people?

CIA Director. No.

Agent Jones. Find a decent hairdresser for Trump?

CIA Director. Morons... You’re about to embark on a mission that will determine the future of America. You’re going to fly to Russia and keep an eye on the President!

Agent Smith. Putin?

CIA Director. Our president.

Agent Jones. Putin will be our president?

CIA Director. You idiot! Keep an eye on Biden! But he can’t spot you. Here are the necessary documents and instructions.

The CIA Director hands out passports in a black bag. The agents open it and we see the names on the passports: Petrovsky and Boshirkin.

The plane takes off.

Istanbul airport lounge

A very sleepy Joe buys water in the Duty Free shop, goes to the exit, alongside Fizruk (a typical Russian tourist, badly burned, wearing a cap with the word ‘Russia’, a T-shirt with the print ‘PIVOZAVR’, flip-flops with socks, shorts, a huge bag). The frames at the exit beep. The shop clerk (a Turk) runs up to them, grabs Fizruk.

Clerk (in English). Stop.

Fizruk. Get your hands off me.

Clerk (in English). Show me what’s in the bag.

Fizruk. What are you mumbling there... you’re in Turkey! Speak Russian!

Fizruk pulls out. The clerk points to the bag.

Fizruk. Frisk grandpa here, look how sly he is. I bet he stole something.

The clerk looks at Joe, who only holding a bottle of soda.

Clerk (in English). Show me the bag or I’m calling security.

Joe. He asks you to show him his bag—or he’s calling security.

Fizruk. Ooooh… distrust is building. Well, here, take a look.

Fizruk opens his bag, takes out a bathrobe and white slippers.

Fizruk. The robe is not yours. I... bought it at the hotel.

The clerk looks into the bag, there is nothing else there.

Clerk (with guilt). Excuse me.

Fizruk (mocking the clerk). Exkuzmi. Learn to apologise in Russian. I hate your English.

Joe and Fizruk leave the shop. At the airport on speakerphone sounds an announcement.

Airport announcer. Flight Istanbul-Moscow is delayed for 3 hours due to aircraft breakdown.

Fizruk. Fucking Biden.

Joe reacts as if his cover is blown. Looks fearfully at Fizruk.

Joe. What?

Fizruk. I’m sayin’, because of this jerk Joe and his sanctions we will sit here waiting for the parts from Kazakhstan to arrive.

Fizruk takes a parfume bottle out of Joe’s jacket pocket.

Fizruk. Thanks, grandpa. So lucky for me you were there. How do you know English?

Joe. I’m Russian. I lived in America for 30 years. I’m going back to my homeland.

Fizruk. Aaaah... Well, that’s right, everyone’s going back home now.

Fizruk reaches out his hand to Joe and squeezes it hard. Joe squirms.

Fizruk. Leha!

Joe. Ivan Ivanych.

Fizruk pours Coke from the bottle into plastic cups, notices two agents.

Fizruk. See these two...

Fizruk nods at the agents.

Fizruk. Must be rear-wheel drive. They’ve been staring at our asses for five minutes.

Fizruk hands one of the cups to Joe.

Fizruk. Here’s to getting to know each other.

Joe’s reaction: I don’t get it. Fizruk clinks his cup with Joe’s, they drink. Joe takes a big sip and spits it out.

Joe. What is this?

Fizruk. Theatre cocktail. Whisky-cola.

Fizruk gives Joe a couple of taps on the back. Joe caughs.

Fizruk. Okay, take it easy! I still need to get my fridge magnet from Turkey. (Looks around.) Now, where’s a shop without many clerks?

Fizruk heads out to a shop. Joe reacts. He gets out a voice recorder.

Joe (into the recorder). Tighten the entry to Turkey for Russians.

Moscow. Airport

The plane lands in Russia.

Joe and Fizruk are queuing for passport control, with Agents Smith and Jones standing behind them. Fizruk looks back at them.

Fizruk (to Joe). There’s those faggies staring at us again. (Smiling.) Now we’re gonna make them feel good.

Cut to next scene.

Fizruk gets his passport stamped.

Fizruk (to the border guard, whispering). I heard those two discussing they are carrying diamonds in their asses.

Fizruk nods at the agents. The border guard looks at them appraisingly.

Customs officers approach the agents, saying something. They escort the agents into the inspection room. Fizruk is laughing.

Moscow. Near the airport

Joe buys a SIM card at the airport entrance and is approached by a hustling cab driver.

Cab driver. Cab to the centre, five thousand. Shall we? Cheaper than the app.

Joe nods. Fizruk comes up, drives the cab driver away.

Fizruk. Get out of here, you hustler!

Fizruk picks up Joe’s suitcase. Joe reacts as if Fizruk wants to steal the suitcase.

Fizruk. Come on, they’ll hsutle you, you’ll lose your suitcase. Yank... don’t be offended... I’m just joking around... where do you need to go?

Joe. Metropol Hotel.

Fizruk. Oh, on my way... I’m going to Lobnya. I’ll keep you company.

Joe’s reaction.

On a road near the airport

Fizruk and Joe exit the airport territory.

Joe (warily). Where are we going?

Fizruk. We’re saving your money.

Fizruk approaches a cab.

Fizruk (to the cab driver). To Lobnya through the centre, two big ones.

Cab driver. Three.

Fizruk. Wait… (to Joe) You got three big ones?

Joe doesn’t understand.

Joe. Big ones?

Fizruk is trying to figure out how to explain.

Fizruk (showing with his fingers). Money-money?

Joe pulls out $100 from his wallet.

Joe. Is this enough?

Fizruk takes the cash.

Fizruk. Of course, not. But what am I gonna do with you? I can’t laeve you here... you’ll get lost. Okay, I’ll pay the rest.

Физрук и Джо садятся в такси. Такси отъезжает от аэропорта.

Moscow streets. Inside the cab

The cab is travelling through beautiful places in Moscow. Joe admires through the window.

Cab driver. Where did you come from?

Fizruk. I’m from Turkey, and this one’s from Pindosia. He’s back home. I guess there’s nothing to eat there.

Cab driver. To be honest, I wish Biden well from the bottom of my heart.

Joe. Thank you.

Cab driver. The longer that old fart’s in power, the sooner America will be ruined.

Fizruk and the cab driver laugh.

Fizruk. That’s for sure. But by the looks of it, Yeblaiden should not be sitting in an oval office... but lying down... in a rectangular one. (Laughing hysterically.) Grandpa, well, did you get the joke-humour?

Joe. Actually, it’s not so bad in America.

Fizruk. Grandpa, don’t you know anything about economics? Have you seen the U.S. foreign debt? A year, two years—and this bubble will burst.

Cab driver (confidently). That’s a fact.

The cab is passing Moscow City. Joe from the car window looks at the high-rise buildings.

Joe. Wow.

Fizruk. Do you like it?

Joe. I didn’t know Russia was so beautiful!

Fizruk. Moscow is not Russia. If you want to see the real Russia, come to Lobnya with me.

Joe hesitates for a moment.

Joe. May I?

Fizruk. Sure. Anything you want for your money.

The camera is moving away from the car. Aerial shot. We see the cab speeding up.

Navigator voice. The route has been changed.

Moscow. Ariport

The CIA agents are come out of the inspection room, slightly limping. A customs officer is following them, taking off his gloves.

Customs officer. We apologise.

The agents nod and step aside.

Agent Smith. Check up on the President.

Agent Jones opens his phone: there’s a map and Joe’s avatar.

Agent Jones. Where did he go?

Agent Smith. Lobnya something.

Lobnya. Outskirts of the city

Fizruk and Joe get out of the cab.

Fizruk. There you have it, grandpa, the real Russia! Go to the hotel and check in. I’ll give you a tour tomorrow.

Joe looks at an old two-storey building.

Joe. Are you sure this is a good hotel?

Fizruk. Are you kidding? It’s the best. Because it’s the only one. All right, come on, grandpa.

Fizruk takes the phone from Joe and enters his number.

Fizruk. All right, I got the numbers. Call me if you need anything. And cover your bald head, or you’ll get a heatstroke.

Fizruk takes off his ‘Russia’ cap and puts it on Joe.

Fizruk. Russified!

Joe reacts. Fizruk leaves.

Joe sees a playground with a rocket in front of him. He is talking into his recorder.

Joe (whispering). Dangerous Russians. They have kids play with rockets since they’re toddlers.

Lobnya. Hotel

Joe is standing near the reception desk, the receptionist Natashka is checking him in. Joe looks around and notices three hookers in the lobby. One of the girls notices Joe looking at her and winks. Joe waves hello to them.

Natashka hands him his ID and key.

Natashka. Anything else you want?

Joe. I’d really like to rest.

Natashka. Got it. Here’s your presidential suite.

Joe is tense.

Joe. Presidential?

Natashka. Yes. You asked for the best, and this is the only room with a toilet. Welcome to Lobnya.

Natashka gives him the ID and key.

Lobnya. Hotel room

Joe looks around. It’s an old room with a very old TV. Joe sighs and lies down on the bed, it creaks. There’s a knock on the door. Joe gets up, sсuffles down the corridor, opens the door. A prostitute enters.

Prostitute. Hi. I’m going to take a quick shower, I’m sweating, the air conditioning doesn’t work in the lobby.

Joe looks at her in surprise.

Joe. Who are you?

The hooker extends her hand.

Prostitute. Jessica.

Joe. American?

Prostitute. Nah, no kinky stuff. Just the classics. Lie down, I’ll be right back.

The hooker goes into the shower. Joe hesitatates and then lies down on the bed.

Joe (into his recorder). There’s a water problem in Russia. People go to each other’s houses to bathe. Think about how to use it.

The prostitute comes out of the shower.

Prostitute. Grandpa. The toilet isn’t work, call reception.

The prostitute sees that Joe is asleep.

Prostitute. That’s even better.

She takes a book titled ‘How to be a good mother’ from her purse, sits down in a chair.

Lobnya. Inside a rented car parked near the hotel

The agents are sitting in the car. Agent Jones is looking at his phone, with Joe’s avatar on the map.

Agent Jones. The tracker says he's here.

Agent Smith is looking around.

Agent Smith. What’s he doing in this hellhole?

Agent Jones. I don’t know. Maybe he got lost again, like that time on the stage?

Agent Smith. We need to find out if he’s okay.

Agent Smith opens the door to get out of the car. At that very moment a police UAZ truck pulls up to the hotel. Police officers get out of it and enter the hotel. The agents look at each other.

Agent Smith. Looks like his cover is blown. What do we do?

Agent Jones. We save the President.

Agent Jones pulls out a gun. Agent Smith reacts.

Agent Smith. Where did you get a gun? We were checked at the airport.

Agent Jones. I hid it really deep.

Agent Jones wants to get out of the car.

Agent Smith. Wait... maybe it’s all gonna work out and someone was simply killed in there.

The prostitutes and Joe are led out of the hotel. The agents look at each other.

Joe. What’s going on? I was just sleeping. What, is that illegal now?

Policeman. Grandpa, don’t talk... now we’ll draw up a report, you’ll give your statement and go to your grandma.

The policeman puts Joe into the truck, followed by Natashka and the prostitutes.

Policeman (to Joe). Duck your head down!

Prostitute. That’s what you usually tell me.

The policeman slams the door of the truck. The car drives off. The agents stare at it.

Police precinct

Joe and Natashka are sitting in the office. A policeman is writing up 2 reports.

Policeman (to Joe). Grandpa, what ‘sleeping’? Stop talking rubbish... write it as it was... I won’t tell your grandma anything.

Joe. We ain’t done nothing.

Policeman (to second policeman). What the fuck did you bring them in for? Look at him, he’s about a sex and a half away from death. If he sees a bare tit, he’ll have a heart attack.

Second policeman. What do you want from me? We got a plan to fulfil.

He’s leaning over to Joe.

Second policeman. Grandad, be a man. Tell me what happened.

Joe. I don’t understand what you want me to say.

Second policeman. Grandpa... How much? A big one enough?

Joe. Are you trying to bribe me?

Enters Fizruk, he greets the Policeman.

Fizruk. Hey there. I came to pick up Natashka. (To Natashka, very positive.) What ever have you done? Did you kill your student?

Policeman. Detained for prostitution.

Fizruk. What?

Fizruk notices the prostitutes.

Fizruk (looking at Natashka, doomed). What?

Fizruk sees Joe.

Fizruk. Are you with this one? I see. You fell for the green, didn’t you? And you, grandpa... you... I thought we were friends... I’ve nourished a viper... Solovyev is right—you can’t be trusted.

Fizruk sits down on a bench, covers his face with his hands.

Fizruk. Natashka, Natashka... how come? For two weeks in Turland, I was faithful. I was seduced by the Tsarina of Surgut, but I didn’t give in. And you...

Natashka. Calm down... we didn’t do nothing.

Second policeman. Let’s just say that you did. We do have our plan.

Fizruk. Don’t you have enough money?

Natashka. Oh just calm down! I’m just a part-time receptionist at the hotel in the evenings.

The policeman hands them papers.

Second policeman. All right! That’s enough... sign the reports and go, hash out your love and prostitution business in the street.

Lobnya. Near the police precinct

The rented car is parked near the police precinct.

CIA Director (by phone, in English). Can I trust you with anything? How could you let him go? If you don’t have the President back within the hour, I’m bringing in the National Guard.

Agent Jones draws his gun.

Agent Jones. We should storm the building, God knows what he’s already told them.

Agent Smith. Relax, what can he say? He doesn’t remember anything.

Agent Jones. He sure remembers we weren’t on the moon. You stay here, I’ll go.

Agent Jones opens the door, but Agent Smith grabs his arm. Agent Smith looks at Agent Jones.

Agent Smith. Careful. I’ll...

Before Agent Smith can finish the sentence, the doors of the precinct open. A third policeman leads out Ivanych (who looks very much like Joe, wearing the same clothes).

Third policeman. Ivanych, you better stop drinking, or you’ll check out soon.

Ivanych. Life to thieves—death to pigs!

Third policeman. Get out of here.

Agent Smith and Agent Jones look at each other.

The rented car slows down near Ivanych. The door opens. Agent Jones drags Ivanych into the car.

Agent Smith. Mr. President, are you all right?

Ivanych yanks the door handle of the car. Jones stops.

Agent Jones. We’re CIA agents. We’ve been sent to keep you safe. I’m begging you, let's go back to America.

Ivanych reacts.

Ivanych. Okay.

The rented car leaves. Fizruk, Natashka and Joe walk out of the precinct.

Lobnya. Near the police precinct

Fizruk and Natashka continue to argue. Joe is watching them.

Fizruk (yelling). Gramps, did you see that? It’s a disgrace! A Russian language teacher working in a brothel.

Natashka. Watch your mouth. How else am I supposed to make a living? You’re the gym teacher who rents out the sports hall for weddings. Why am I even justifying myself to you? Who are you to me? (shows her hand to Joe) See a ring?

Joe shakes his head.

Fizruk. And you won't, if you keep working in a brothel! Quit!

Natashka. I’ll make up my own mind! That’s it, cherchez la femme.

Fizruk. What?

Natashka. Uneducated bumpkin. Go to your Surgut girls... you’re free.

Natashka’s leaving.

Joe. Cherchez la femme means “look for the woman.”

Fizruk. I’m fed up with you and your English. I don’t fucking need it.

Fizruk punches the wall. We see blood coming from Fizruk’s fist.

Fizruk. I’m in the mood to either beat someone’s face in or get shitfaced.

Joe (frightened). Better to get drunk.

Fizruk. I’m not the one who suggested it... let’s go.

Joe. I need to get to the hotel.

Fizruk. Why do you need that hotel? To feed the bedbugs? I’ve got a free room, I’ll give you a discount. Come on, come on... don’t think. We’ll sit down, have a heart-to-heart... I bet you’ve missed the white stuff [vodka], huh?

Joe is puzzled.

Fizruk’s Hallway

Fizruk and Joe go up the stairs. Fizruk is holding a bag in his hand. It’s hard for Joe to walk.

Fizruk. Gramps, why are you dragging your feet? Move your legs faster.

A spry Pensioner lady with Nordic walking poles appears and passes them.

Pensioner. Out of the way, youngsters.

Fizruk. (addressing the Pensioner). Hiya, Tamara Vasilyevna, still runnning around? Have some pity for your grandson.

Pensioner. You mean?

Fizruk. He’s getting married soon, and looks like you’re not going to vacate the apartment at all. More alive than the living.

Pensioner. Oh you, big talker. Bet you brought another drinking buddy with you?

Fizruk. Why’d you assume that!

Fizruk shakes the bag, and the bottles cling.

Fizruk. We’re just going to sit down for a cultured programme. This man has arrived from America.

Fizruk nods at Joe, who is staring at the Pensioner without looking away.

Pensioner. With him? He’s a drunk wreck! You start yelling, and I’ll call the police.

Fizruk. No need for the police. He just came from there.

The Pensioner goes up the stairs. Fizruk opens the door to his apartment.

Fizruk’s Apartment

Joe and Fizruk are sitting at the table. Fizruk pours vodka into shot glasses, hands one to Joe.

Joe. No, thanks, I don’t drink.

Fizruk. I don’t drink either… just symbolically, for better health.

Joe. Better health?

Fizruk. Of course… it’s for both body and soul. What are you, not Russian or something?

Joe (warily). Russian.

Fizruk. Fizruk: What is vodka? It’s the national universal product. (pours, drinks) Medicine, firstly. While you were poisoning yourselves with coronavirus vaccines in America… we were disinfecting from the inside. (pours, drinks) Leisure, secondly. You always know what to do in your free time. It never gets boring with it. (pours, drinks) Mental health, thirdly. Drink some, and you have no problems. (pours, drinks) Currency, fourthly. For a bottle you can get a kid into kindergarten or get your car fixed. (pours, drinks) And finally, sex.

Джо. Sex? I get it, you can buy sex for vodka?

Fizruk (upset). You’re not hearing me at all. Who’s friends with vodka doesn’t need dick at all [Russian saying].

Fizruk laughs, drinks.

Joe. I get it now! All the Russians’ strength is in vodka.

Fizruk. You don’t get shit. The strength is in love. Take my Natashka, I hate her, but I love her. I promised her everything. Bags, restaurants, iPhones… everything, everything! And she… is a prostitute. I should dump her.

Joe. Yes, you should dump a prostitute.

Fizruk. Hey! Lost your mind? Only I can call her that!

They drink some more. Fizruk has tears in his eyes.

Fizruk. So what should I do with her? Kill her or make up?

Joe (frightened). Make up, of course.

Fizruk. Yeah? Well, let’s go.

Joe. Maybe tomorrow?

Fizruk. No way… I’m not making up sober.

Fizruk grabs a guitar.

Night. Street.

Fizruk and Joe exit the hallway.

Fizruk. Don’t be afraid… it’s nearby.

Fizruk raises his head.

Fizruk (yelling). Natashka! Natashka! (whistles)

Natashka leans out the window.

Natashka. Are you sick? Why are you yelling?

Fizruk. I’m in a free country, I can yell if I want to!

Natashka. Well then yell.

Natashka closes the window.

Fizruk. Wait, wait... don’t. (to Joe) Play.

Joe. I don’t know how!

Fizruk. The fuck are you holding the guitar for?

Joe shrugs.

Fizruk. Just strum the strings, so it’s romantic.

Joe runs his hand over the strings.

Fizruk (yelling). Natashka, I missed you. Did you miss me?

Natashka. Well, a little.

Fizruk (yelling to Natashka). Let’s make up.

Наташка. Are you stupid, everyone’s sleeping at my place..

Fizruk. Then let’s do it at my place.

Natashka hesitates.

Fizruk. I brought you perfume.

Natashka. Okay.

Natashka closes the window.

Fizruk (Джо). So, gramps, take a walk for about an hour. I’ll ping you.

Fizruk enters the entryway. Joe sits down on a bench, looks around, adjusts the bag with documents.

Joe. Spent one day in Russia. So far I can’t make sense of their malarkey. But there’s something about vodka. Need to give Congress the task of setting up vodka production in America.

Joe takes the guitar, plays something. A bucket of water is dumped on him from above.

Pensioner. Shut up already. I’m calling the cops now.

Near Fizruk’s House

Fizruk exits the hallway, sees Joe sleeping on the bench with the guitar under his head.

Fizruk. Rise and shine.

Joe wakes up, looks around.

Fizruk. Had a good sleep? I didn’t even lie down. (hands him the keys) Go to the apartment, wash up... just don’t use the bathtub, we broke it.

Natashka exits the building.

Fizruk. Natash...

Natashka. Get away from me.

Natashka leaves.

Джо. You didn’t make up?

Fizruk. We made up... but had another fight in the morning. Come on... see you in the evening.

Fizruk runs after Natashka.

Fizruk (yelling). Natash... wa..., wait...

Joe wants to put the keys in his bag but realizes it’s gone. Joe jumps up, looks around.

Джо. Fuck!

Embassy

Joe runs out of a taxi car.

Joe (to the taxi driver). I’ll bring the money now.

Joe runs up to the embassy, but security stops him at the entrance.

Guard. Halt.

Joe. I need the American ambassador.

Guard. He amb-ass-adored his way home. He was sent back to America a year ago. And there’s no one else.

Joe. I’m the US president, and I need to go home urgently.

The guard sniffs.

Guard. Gramps, first you need to sober up. (nods at the TV) And who’s that, in your opinion? Live broadcast, by the way.

On the TV, a report is showing a cheerful Ivanych exiting a plane, descending the ramp, conducting, taking a trumpet from someone in the orchestra, playing it.

Announcer. The plane with the US president, as part of his election campaign, has just arrived in Boston. The president is unrecognizable, he’s in a very good mood and is showing with his whole appearance that he’s ready for a second term.

Joe stares, mouth agape.

Joe. But that’s not me.

Guard. Of course it’s not you! That’s the US president. You should get out of here before I call the nuthouse.

The guard closes the door.

Joe. Holy mackerel!

The camera pans away from Joe, showing Moscow from a bird’s eye view.

END OF FIRST EPISODE