home › Prayers › Begin3 Sleep well, dear comrade! Sleep well, dear comrade A shot from the film "Lords of Dreams".

Begin3 Sleep well, dear comrade! Sleep well, dear comrade A shot from the film "Lords of Dreams".

- Come on. Alexander turned the switch and held the door open, letting in a man staggering after him. - Have a seat.

He himself settled down opposite the patient's father, on a spread out sofa.

- Well?! The doctor broke the silence. - Tell me.

“You see, doctor, this is the situation here,” the man began haltingly. - We didn't tell you the whole truth... We couldn't, doctor! He gave Temnov a pleading look.

- Calm down, calm down! I understand. You had good reasons. - Alexander already began to guess about the true diagnosis. Only the motivation for lying remained unclear.

- Yes, yes, doctor! The reasons are very important… Tell me, will she die?! His upper lip trembled, and his involuntarily moving hands seemed like extra appendages.

- It's hard to say ... - (Damn habit of streamlined phrases!) - The probability is very high, - the doctor breathed.

- I knew it! - The father doomedly leaned back in his chair and, clasping his whitened fingers into a tight castle, took several deep breaths, as if assimilating the information received. - And nothing can be done? - The question on duty in such cases has now finally knocked the weary resuscitator out of the rut.

- I'm not God! And not a prophet! You asked about the forecast, I answered ... Options are always possible, - he relented. “But the chances are slim. – Temnov put his hand on his knee, putting an end to the tedious fruitless exchange of phrases. “I didn't invite you for this.

The father, again plunged into a protective stupor, did not seem to hear the last phrase.

Leaning over, Temnov gently pushed his interlocutor's knee covered in demi-season trousers.

– Are you listening to me? – Catching the desperate look of brown eyes, the doctor repeated the original question: – What did she poison herself with?

- Yes, of course ... You already understood everything ... Really, doctor?

- For me, only the fact of poisoning is clear. Presumably pills. - Alexander decided not to follow the tedious procedure and laid out everything frankly. “But the nature of the poison is unknown to me. I can only guess. If you tell me the name of the drug and the approximate dose, then I may, - he paused, emphasizing the last word: - Perhaps I can adjust the treatment by choosing a more optimal regimen.

- Oh my God! Why are we doing this?! He wrung his hands theatrically, raising his moist eyes to the ceiling. The dry lips moved silently.

- You still have time to pray! - interrupted inappropriate, in his opinion, the ritual of the Dark. - You're holding me back.

- Sorry! I’m just…” Father’s trembling hand took a light yellow vial from his jacket pocket and handed it to the doctor: “Here…

But it's a prescription drug! How did you get it at home? - the resuscitator frowned in surprise, reading the name of a potent tranquilizer.

- They are wives. She sometimes accepts. Nerves, you know...

Is she registered with a psychiatrist?

“Y-yes… Just please don’t talk to her about it…” he hastily warned. “I will answer all your questions myself.

“Well, at least one loved one will remain in his life,” the doctor noted bitterly to himself.

How many pills did the girl take?

- My wife just brought a new bottle the other day ...

- So your daughter drank all these pills?

- Y-yes. T-th-m-m-m-m-m-th?

- Thank you. While all. Temnov got up and unlocked the door. - Go to your wife. Both will be easier for you.

Realizing that the conversation was over, the man staggered out into the corridor. The mother, who had recovered from a swoon, again propped up the wall at the entrance to the intensive care unit.

- Sveta, show your parents to the hall before cardiology ... Will you make it? the doctor turned to the woman.

“I will stay here…” she said in a quiet but unyielding tone.

“No one is driving you out of the hospital,” Temnov clumsily reassured her. “But it’s forbidden to be under the doors of intensive care… That’s the order,” he spread his hands.

- Please, doctor! Father entered. - We quietly ... Just stand. And that's it. We won't bother you...

- You will! - Sleepy Alexander angrily flashed his eyes at the unfortunate parents. He was tired of the conversation in the office, and he was not going to continue the exchange of views. – By your mere presence, you are already exerting a certain psychological pressure on us. Isn't it clear?! And this does not at all contribute to a more attentive performance of professional duties ... - Tough, but honest. - Sveta, take a seated wheelchair.

After a pause, the father nodded in agreement with his balding crown. Mother, unsteadily separated from the wall, settled herself in the chair given by the nurse. After seeing the trinity leaving along the corridor, Alexander entered the intensive care unit.

“The pressure is jumping,” Tatiana said. - And for no apparent reason. Eighty by forty kept on soda, but when they put r * n, it dropped to sixty by thirty. It's strange somehow...

Already knowing what he would see, Temnov assessed the patient's neurological status and looked into her eyes. "Your mother! .. They are floating." Dark blue circles have increased significantly in size, now occupying almost half the diameter of the retina.

After reviewing the list of appointments, the resuscitator thought for a few seconds:

“Increase the brain feed,” he told the nurse. - This and this - he put additional pluses in the columns opposite the corresponding medicines - in a double dose. If your blood pressure drops, call immediately.

The corridor was empty. Without turning off the light, Temnov, dressed, lay down on top of the blanket and, contemplating the ceiling yellowed from nicotine resins, tried to soberly analyze the situation. “The prognosis for the girl’s life is bad. The swelling of the brain is not subsiding... Call a neurologist or something...' The doctor's gaze rested on the black hands of the wall clock. 3:20 am. "What's the point? Will he take her off the ventilator? I prescribed the treatment in full even without it... Toxicologist? In addition, the drug is already known. Approximate dose - too ... - At the thought of a huge dose of tranquilizers taken by the suicide, Alexander shuddered. “Oh, now I would print the protocol of the initial examination! .. You still can’t fall asleep…”

- Alexander Evgenievich! The whisper muffled by the door did not bode well.

Tatiana silently nodded in the direction of resuscitation. Temnov nodded in response, and they hurried to the patient.

“The pressure dropped almost to zero a minute ago,” Lyudmila aggravated his suspicions. “The pulse oximeter, like a wounded one, squealed… Now it seems to have increased…” she concluded uncertainly, pointing to the flickering scale.

A weakened but still rhythmic pulse was clearly defined on the pale wrists. Breathing sounds of a conscientiously working apparatus were heard over the entire surface of the lungs. But the width of the pupils reached the maximum possible limit, occupying the entire retina. Eye reflexes were not determined.

Alexander carefully turned the patient's head from side to side, frowningly following the circles of pupils obedient to the route of movement.

Do you have chilled saline?

- Where? Only at room temperature,” Tatyana shrugged her broad shoulders. Why does he need us...

- Fine. “However, now such nuances did not matter. - Sveta, flush the water and dial it colder. Glass, no more.

Taking a ten-cc syringe, he took a cool liquid from a mug brought by a nurse and, putting a short plastic catheter on the tip of the syringe, slowly injected water into the girl's left ear. Repeating the procedure three times, he slowly did the same manipulation with the right.

“I see,” Temnov straightened up, exhaling. Get your adrenaline ready. For every fireman. Ventilation in the same mode.

The inconsolable father of the suicide bomber was again waiting for him at the exit from the department.

- Doctor!

- I asked you not to hang around the door ... - Alexander broke off.

This is very important, doctor! Listen to me! I beg you! They have already reached the door of the office. This time the doctor entered first.

“I didn’t dare to tell you this, doctor… You see…” He remained standing in the middle of the small room, towering over Temnov sitting on the couch. “We, that is, our family, are believers. Christians…” He stammered, half in excitement, half in anticipation of the listener's reaction.

Abstract

The stories from the life of doctors and patients, written by a practicing anesthesiologist and resuscitator, are based on real events. Seven non-standard situations in which the heroes of this book found themselves. What should the doctor do when he finds out exactly how the little boy got poisoned by alcohol?.. What should the team of surgeons do when they want to kill their patient right on the operating table? .. Whether to take on the role of a judge and arbiter of destinies - or to do only your immediate work.

Alexander Chernov

Eternal serpent

Master Class

Evening watch

Major tone of the minor scale

Good with fists

Gypsy passions

Alexander Chernov

Sleep well, dear friend. Anesthesiologist's notes

All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet and corporate networks, for private and public use, without the written permission of the copyright owner.

To my colleagues and patients.

First you made me hate my chosen profession, and then you convinced me that it was my calling.

Eternal serpent

The fact that our people drink often and a lot, Alexander knew from childhood and, like many of his peers, whose adolescence fell on the “dashing 90s” and who, after the collapse of the “great power”, had the opportunity to contemplate more serious social vices than simple alcoholism, considered “collar laying” as a relatively harmless way of relaxing. In any case, at the dawn of his medical career, he already foresaw that by the nature of his activity and, in particular, due to the chosen specialty of a resuscitator, he would regularly have to deal with the facts of alcohol abuse. While still a trainee, he looked with curiosity at the statistical data on the structure of intensive care patients, and the figure of 8% in the column "acute alcohol intoxication" seemed to him very acceptable, objectively indicating the number of "overdoing it" in the zeal to expand their broad Slavic soul. Lethality, that is, the number of those who died in another world, among the victims of the "green serpent" was surprisingly low - less than 10% of the total number of hospitalized alcoholics, which further convinced Alexander of the relative safety of "cultural drinking" and the truth of the well-known saying "destroys people not vodka...

However, already during the first months of independent medical practice, he had the opportunity to be convinced of the very doubtful reliability of the memorized indicators. A relatively small percentage of the "nazyukavshis" in the total mass of resuscitation patients, as it turned out, indicated only patients in whom poisoning with alcohol-containing drinks was the main diagnosis. In practice, in fact, every third of the patients entering the intensive care unit was with a high content of alcohol in the biological fluids of the body. Poisoning, on the other hand, was made a concomitant diagnosis or, often, not mentioned at all, due to the presence of other, more serious, pathologies in the patient. There were also some pitfalls in the calculation of lethality among those who had gone over. The fact is that when an individual was admitted in a state of severe alcohol or drug intoxication and in the absence of obvious signs of life-threatening illnesses, the on-duty resuscitators did everything possible to quickly “dig out” this patient within the walls of the receiver and, without raising him to resuscitation compartment, to quickly get rid of the biological mass that has barely begun to boil by fusing it to other, usually therapeutic, departments at the place of residence. Among those who, due to the presence of severe disorders, nevertheless “lucky enough” to be registered in intensive care, the real mortality rate was at least 20–25%. In most cases, patients of this category left for another world in the very first hours after hospitalization, without being fully examined. Therefore, in order to avoid a discrepancy between the clinical, that is, medical, and pathoanatomical, that is, made at the autopsy, diagnoses for the untimely deceased poor fellow, the brand was printed in the column “final clinical”: “Coma of unclear etiology”. And the dead are not offended, and the living are not annoyed.

Everyone drank. The largest percentage of those who have gone overboard has traditionally been the “stronger sex” aged 25-45, who are mostly unemployed or engaged in unskilled physical labor of the electorate. Subjects more mature in terms of age were less common.

Isaac Danilovich liked to recall, as an example of medical casuistry, a ten-year-old case when he was called to the reception room of an ancient old woman late in the evening. According to relatives, in honor of her 90 (!) - anniversary, she drank a liter of vodka almost without a snack. The patient confirmed the fact of taking alcohol, but she did not have any signs of severe alcohol intoxication. The grandmother retained full orientation in time and space, remembered by heart her passport data, which, according to her elderly granddaughter, she could not remember even when she was sober. Moreover, she clearly assessed what was happening and meekly obeyed all the requirements of the medical staff. She lay quietly, allowed herself to have an intravenous catheter installed, and to take blood for alcohol content. Only when the question arose about the obligatory gastric lavage in such cases, the “dandelion of God” showed discontent. Feeling a thick rubber probe in her toothless mouth, she pushed the nurse away, pulled out the foreign object and showered those present with such a rich set of savory curses that many pimps who did not use swearing higher than two stories high would have their cheekbones cramped with envy.

- I never took my husband in my mouth, and you want to shove this snake into my old age. Don't come near me or I'll bite you,” she warned the nurse honestly.

Calmly seated on a gurney, the same age as the revolution spat savoryly. Stretching, the granny was about to jump to the floor, but, estimating the half-meter height between the feet of her short legs and the concrete pavement, looked around for support:

- Well, what are you standing? Help the lady! - she shamed Endyashev, the only man in the receiver. - Intelgent, it's called!

Isaak Danilovich had nothing to object to such weighty arguments. And although the promised bite, due to the complete absence of teeth in an elderly predator, could hardly cause serious damage to the victim, he, given the stable condition of the patient, decided not to risk it. Having forced the grandmother to swallow a solid portion of adsorbents and introducing her to the lion's doses of glucose and vitamins, Endyashev sent the hero of the day to the therapeutic department. He was convinced that the amount of alcohol consumed by the old woman was greatly exaggerated by eyewitnesses. And only the next morning, when the final result of the blood test of the old minx was received from the laboratory, he, having seen the figure 3 ppm in the “alcohol” column, which actually corresponded to a double lethal dose, was once again convinced of the truth of the statement: “Medicine is an inexact science.” Rushing to call therapy, he found out that the heroine of the evening flatly refused to go to the hospital, citing the fact that there were “biting bugs” in hospitals, and, having signed the refusal form, she was taken away by her relatives in an unknown direction. Most likely, to continue the buffet table arranged in her honor.

However, it was not news to any of the practicing doctors that the "old school" often turned out to be much tenacious of its descendants. 50-, 60- and even 70-year-old poisoned drinkers, other things being equal, survived almost more often and were discharged from the hospital much faster than their frail 30- and 40-year-old successors.

An interesting discussion ensued about personal addresses in Russian and other languages. It turned out a lot of interesting things.

To facilitate the construction of the overall picture, I decided to sketch something like "The System of Addresses in the Russian-Soviet Language". In theory, this should be a table, but I have no time to draw and format it now. So - - -

RUSSIAN-SOVIET SYSTEM OF APPEAL
Official address
"Comrade". The word was emphasized as sexless: both a man and a woman were considered “comrade”. "Comrade Petrova will make a report." The old word "tovarka" was decisively deleted from everyday life.
Neutral address to a stranger
"Man Woman". Perhaps it was a reaction to the asexual "comrade": "we at least have a floor." But in fact - a little more decent "man" and "woman", into which "man" and "woman" easily turned if the addressee ceased to be polite. "Man! Man-ah! Man, I'm talking to you!
"Young man" / "Girl". Arose, as far as I remember, later "men" / "women". It is interesting that it has nothing to do with the actual age: an old man can also be called a “young man”. Still, an obvious old woman will not be called a “girl”, but an aunt at an age is quite.
More commonly used by women. That is, a woman would rather call you a “young man”, and a man would prefer an ordinary “man”. Whether women call each other “girls” more often, I don’t know, but I get the impression that yes.
"Sorry". It is precisely a neutral personal appeal. Marks readiness for a polite appeal to "you". "Excuse me, could you…"
APPENDIX. If a stranger starts a conversation not with “sorry”, but with “sorry”, this is perceived as an attempt at dangerous familiarity and / or some petty extortion: “Sorry, friend, you won’t have three rubles, otherwise, you see, what’s the matter, I leaned back yesterday with kitchi ... "
Respectful address to an unfamiliar elder (by age or social status)
"Dear"."Dear" is found in live speech, but much less frequently.
Apparently, it is a structural borrowing from the Caucasian-Asian speech practices. That is, this is a kind of translation into Russian of all respectful “-aga”, “-ata”, etc.
Respectful address to an acquaintance - or at least known by name - older (by age or social status)
The patronymic is added to the name, and is pronounced with a special intonation. “Alexander Anatolyevich said yesterday ...”, “Innokenty Mikhailovich, I have a question for you literally for a minute ...”, etc. In such cases, the patronymic must be pronounced in full, spelled out - “A-na-tol-e-vich”.
If the relationship is closer, and there is no need to specifically emphasize reverence, then the patronymic begins to crumple: “Alexan-Natolich, they came to you!”
A special case is when the "personal" component of communication (an old acquaintance, friendship, and so on) prevails over the official one. In this case, one of two things happens - either the middle name or the name falls off. That is, an old acquaintance named Mikhail Petrovich can become either "Misha" or "Petrovich". Which option will be chosen depends on many factors, and last but not least, on the attitude to the naming of the naming object itself (roughly speaking, someone begins to respond to “Misha”, and someone to “Petrovich”, and this is remembered ). Euphony also matters: Mikhail Petrovich has a great chance of becoming "Petrovich", but Lev Anatolyevich has less chances to become "Anatoliich", because "Anatoliich" is unpronounceable.
Appeal of a person endowed with power to a representative of a subject population
"Citizen". We used this proud word as a substitute for “comrade”, when it was inappropriate to call a person “comrade” (“there are comrades here who are not comrades to us at all”). A classic case is the appeal of a policeman to the detainee: "Let's go, citizen."
"Citizen" is used, but quite often strays into a frankly contemptuous "citizen". There is no contemptuous analogue for "citizen" - if the boss needs to emphasize the low status of "citizen", the boss slurs this word through his teeth, demonstrating his attitude with intonation.
In the communication of people of equal status, the word "citizen" implies a readiness for conflict. “You, citizen, what do you need here?” If we are talking about a third person, then calling him a “citizen” marks the contemptuous and wary attitude of the speaker towards him. “There is some citizen at the entrance rubbing.” In fact, here "citizen" is a relatively decent substitute for "type" (meaning "suspicious type").
Appeal of the subject to the representative of authority
Here, or "comrade", or "Comrade Chief" Acceptable "respected comrade", but simply "respected" was perceived as unacceptable familiarity on the part of the serf.
APPENDIX. “Dear Citizen Chief” is an extremely curious appeal, something like a popular claim to officiality. Most often, it marks the familiarity of the addressee with places not so distant.
Appeal to society (for example, to the company at the table, to those gathered for a meeting, etc.)
“Comrades!” / “Dear comrades!”
APPENDIX. Interestingly, this was the only situation where the word "dear" was perceived exactly as official and sounded "normal". "Dear comrade" tried to implement repeatedly, but it always caused some kind of grin. "Dear comrade Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev." Perhaps the only situation where the "dear comrade" did not cause a smile was a funeral. "Sleep well, dear comrade such and such" - it was quite official.
Separately, the word "dear" was used only in informal communication and suggested either closeness (related, family, etc.) or an ironic parody of the theme of closeness. “Dear mother, fat came out,” but “Fedunya, dear, have you been in the snout for a long time?” In the latter case, irony is often marked with the word “my”: if someone (or someone) is said to be “my dear”, then this is clearly not a kindness, but a mockery or a threat. An exception is erotic discourse, moreover, typical for the elderly: “my dear, dear,” an elderly aunt can say to her husband / man.
Special treatment
In any society, special treatment is adopted for people with a special status - such as "judge such and such", "doctor such and such", etc.
In Soviet culture, military ranks higher than colonel and scientific ones higher than professorial were used in this sense. The scientific ones were more significant than the military ones, because it was possible to demote from the generals with one click, and it was quite difficult to expel someone from the academicians. Sakharov was publicly referred to as "Academician Sakharov" even when the Soviet people were informed of his exile in Gorky.
The word "sir"
It sounded only and exclusively on TV, had the only meaning - "important official foreigner" (for example, the ambassador of a Foreign Power). However, in the USSR, almost any foreigner was perceived as "important", and not without reason: ordinary foreign citizens appeared extremely rarely in the USSR. However, there were sometimes foreign tourists, but they were called "foreign tourists".
Another word "master" sounded in the cinema - again about foreigners or pre-tsar times (which were perceived as "foreign" times).
APPENDIX. The only phrase when the word "gentlemen" was perceived without fear and tension and was recognized as "one's own" is the expression "gentlemen officers", reminiscent of the former Russian army. Of course, Soviet officers did not call themselves that and would not have taken such an appeal to themselves seriously, but as a “joke of humor” it was almost acceptable, and not only in a military environment. "Gentlemen hussars, what about beer?" - the hard worker could say to other hard workers. However, he could also say "gentlemen", with the same playful intonation.

Of course, this is a sketch, I did not take into account a lot (especially regional features). So corrections, comments and additions are welcome.

It would also be interesting to draw up a similar scheme for the Ukrainian language (especially Western Ukrainian, where, apparently, "pan" has been preserved), for the Baltic languages and for the Asian/Caucasian languages.

Epitaph on the tombstone:
“Sleep well, dear comrade.
The facts have not been confirmed."

They offered me a job - to trade at a timber store in one of
regional centers of the region. Far away, but in Soviet times to get a job like this
the place was possible only for a very large pull. When I first saw
warehouse, where I had to earn something, I was amazed
a huge black mountain in the middle of the courtyard. On all slopes of the mountain was thin
shoots of ambrosia, chicory and burdock. Apparently the soil was not the best
suitable for an arboretum. Indeed, the earth was too acidic, for
it was not land at all, but a three-hundred-ton heap of coal, which was collected
for years and was not in demand by the population. Coal has always been on a special account
our state, and everyone followed its implementation. The store was given
list of all residents of the area. Strictly two
tons of strategic fuel. When selling, it was strictly necessary
issue an invoice, which indicated the name of the buyer, his home
address, dispensed quantity, price and amount. But the sale was limited
only coarse coal, grades AK (large anthracite) and AO (anthracite walnut).
Very fine coal was commercialized in much larger quantities.
brand AS (anthracite seed). Too fine coal tightly clogged the furnace
firebox and did not burn. So this mountain of seeds has accumulated.
For this reason, there were no restrictions on the sale of this coal.
In short, the rulers did not feel sorry for the shit for their native people. Everyone could
buy as much as he wants, however, when selling this very shit,
it was necessary to issue an invoice.
In general, this coal can be used in boiler rooms, where traction is achieved
pressurized, but it was strictly forbidden to sell to organizations.
At first I got used to it, got acquainted with the situation and people. Plan
carried out calmly, certain thoughts, about the coal mountain, I
have already been born. It's not that I really wanted to go to jail. This
the huge, untidy mountain became my personal enemy. With their
its foothills and spurs occupied almost half of the territory. There was nowhere
store lumber. Trucks, turning around, more and more
dragged this coal powder around the yard. In dry windy weather
a sour, nasty taste was felt in the mouth; in the rain, buyers threw
this black mess of boards and stomped on them. The boards turned black and
nobody wanted to buy.
One day the boss came from the office and said that through the fault of two
raipo stores are not following through on the plan. I asked you to try hard
more revenue, to cover the underfulfillment of the plan.
My plan has matured for a long time and I decided to take a chance. I went to one of the collective farms,
whose chairman I was on good terms and offered to buy
for their boiler house, a well-known mountain of coal for cash. He
expressed confidence that both of us would be sent to jail. I swore that I would never
at which interrogation I will not name the address where the coal has gone.
The next day, an excavator and two Kamaz trucks hired from outside began
vigorously deal with the nasty bunch.
There was a proceeds to save the plan, but to hand it over to the cashier it was necessary
to write a mountain of invoices indicating that coal was
sold to the public. Didn't have to sleep at night. At first it was easy to remember
surnames of familiar villagers, their addresses and "released" them two or three tons.
Then I had to invent the names and addresses of the villages and farms of the nearest
regions of the region. Invented, wrote, recalculated the amounts and materials of those
idiots who came up with this utter nonsense. Well, why at
selling a million assortment of other goods is not necessary
ask buyers for their last names and home addresses? It's not the one
coal, which was distributed in the executive committees by special lists, which
approved by the district committees. These stupid papers will be sewn into thick
accounting books and sent to the archive. Never, no one under any
weather, will not even think of reading this nonsense, or even just
browse. The only thing they will do is check the amounts in the consolidated
registries.
By two o'clock in the morning, the remnants of fantasy had already completely dried up, and from
anger already wanted to howl. And suddenly a simple idea came up, how to
finish this hard labor "monkey labor". I began to write names, all
well-known then celebrities and greatly expanded the geography of its
sales. The first such “buyer” of illiquid coal was a citizen
Pugacheva A. B. She took her three tons straight to Moscow, somewhere on
Shabolovka. Nona Gaprindashvili drove a Kamaz with coal to Tbilisi for
Tsereteli Avenue. Anatoly Karpov pleased his parents, who
lived in distant Zlatoust. I don't know if there were any complications
Sheremetyevo with Viktor Korchnoi, but the vice world chess champion has his own
I ventured to take three tons of coal to Switzerland, to Zurich.
Well, the former Soviet chess player turned out to be the only foreign
buyer. There were enough Soviet artists, athletes, prominent
political and public figures. When it started to get light, I already knocked out
sums, wrote a consolidated register, and with a sense of deeply fulfilled duty
went to the accounting department with the proceeds and documents to them. As usual
reconciled the amount in the register with the proceeds, and suffered the good news that
completed quarterly implementation plan and that the population unexpectedly
bought up the whole bunch of "seeds".
This lightning-fast sale of a three-hundred-ton heap of illiquid
shit is highly suspicious. Showered with questions that I answered,
that all visitors said that according to rumors, this year for the reason
frequent accidents in the Donbass, there will be no coal receipts at all. People,
allegedly out of fright, snatched up the shit that was. Everything in our country
accustomed to the fact that such rumors are always one hundred percent
are confirmed.
The store is clean and spacious. All boards were stacked
stacks. Work became more pleasant and it became easier to keep records.
Two years later, when I had long ago quit my job and left the village, I
suddenly urgently summoned to the accounting department of the general store. When I showed up there,
all the women looked at me as if I were terminally ill. Turns out CRU
was doing a routine check and someone, quite by accident, opened a link with
overhead two years ago and caught my eye "document",
confirming the sale of coal to a citizen of Gaprindashvili, who lives in
the capital of Georgia. Became interesting. We read the rest of the papers and, joyfully
rubbing their hands stained with numerous bribes, affectionately asked
explanations. The new, by that time, chairman of the general store had no
nothing to call me for an explanation. The question was specifically
- where do I put the coal? I replied that if accidentally preserved in
accounting old invoices, you can, by looking at them, set to whom and
how much was sold. To the sarcastic question, where did it come from in the village
so many celebrities in need of a fucking coal had to be explained
that in person I know few people, and I wrote names and addresses on invoices
buyers' words. Even if I myself then had doubts about
truthfulness of the data, I had no right to demand a passport. So if
there was a need to verify the facts of the sale to these persons,
apparently, you need to call all suspicious buyers to this office and
ask them for clarification. For me personally, there is no difference
who buys bread and matches, clothes, shoes, coal. In order not to arise
similar questions, it is necessary to prepare and give lists to all stores in the country
all citizens who are allowed to purchase illiquid goods.
The Selpovites opened their mouths in surprise. Apparently they rarely had to
listen to the impudent basics of legal educational program, the first commandment of which
is the rule - confession mitigates guilt, and non-recognition frees from
responsibility.

Near future. An energetic young man named Alexei has just finished his studies, but has not yet found a job he likes. An odd job on a pleasure boat brings the young man together with the director of the Corporation of Dreams, a company that offers customers a variety of dreams specially invented by the best creators. Since the director turned out to be indebted to Alexei, the young man got a job in the corporation, but in the most unpromising experimental department, where it is customary to send especially quick or, conversely, negligent workers. It is here that Alexey meets the brilliant inventor Grisha and the charming assistant Lisa - together the guys offer a new word in the dream industry, but the director is not ready to take revolutionary steps. He does not even suspect how entertaining the machine Lesha and the company came up with ...

Since ancient times, fairy tales and storytellers have been valued for being able to speak with listeners in a special language. It seems that you are listening to the legend of an evil king, a noble knight and a beautiful princess, but you understand that we are talking about your own ruler, a daredevil who turned out to be able to resist injustice, and his just reward. Such “descendants of Aesop” were always persecuted by dissatisfied objects of criticism, but the demand for their works was constant - the people needed an outlet, an opportunity to look at their lives with different eyes. If you think that today, in the age of information and postmodernity, there is no need for fairy tales that reveal reality, you are mistaken. They continue to be retold, they are printed by book publishers, they are transformed into films. Including ours.

Shot from the film "Lords of Dreams"

"Lords of Dreams" is just such a fairy tale. Its authors, hiding behind the frivolous genre label "fantasy", in fact do not even try to please children and adolescents, the main consumers of "magical" content. No, the film is addressed to young people, those who are at the start of a long journey, whose personality has been formed, but their creative potential has not yet been fully revealed. They have a difficult path ahead, on which victories and disappointments await, evil rulers and valiant knights, wonderful helpers and cheerful friends. Let the sword replace a mobile phone, the horse - a car, and the castle turned into an office - a real fairy tale remains inside.

Shot from the film "Lords of Dreams"

For Alexander Baluev, "Lords of Dreams" became the first appeal to the comedy genre after a five-year break. The last time the audience could laugh at his hero was in the film "The Best 3-D Movie"

However, you can’t call it some kind of standard story of the “Lords”. No, everything is simple with the villain, the hero of Alexander Baluev is a completely standard fairy-tale "bad boy", while perfectly fitting into the new time. This tyrant director easily fires and hires, promises mountains of gold, and then “throws”, his mood depends on how his favorite cabbage feels, whether he drank too much yesterday and whether he had a good dream. But with the "heroes" it's not so simple. The thing is that Lesha, played by Dmitry Endaltsev, is not at all the brave guy that fans of fairy tales are used to. Alexey loves a well-fed, comfortable life, strives for money, and at some point even uses Grisha's invention for his own personal purposes. Another thing is that Alexei quickly understands "what is good and what is bad", and remains on the bright side, like his friends - and this is the most important idea of the film.

Shot from the film "Lords of Dreams"

However, not everything in "Overlords" is as glorious as it seems on first impressions. And first of all, the script weakness should be attributed to the minuses. There is a clear impression that the script of the film was drastically reduced, we even dare to assume that the one and a half hour film was shot according to the script, compressed from the serial application - there were too many unfinished lines left. The line of Alexei's close acquaintance with the deputy director went nowhere, questions between Grisha and Lisa remained unresolved, the scene with the colorfully dressed Baluev, going to the "negotiations", was clearly asking for continuation.

Shot from the film "Lords of Dreams"

But most of all, the ending disappointed - the picture seemed to break off in mid-sentence. Of course, the conclusions are quite obvious, and yet the story was “curtailed” somehow urgently, as if the authors were in a hurry to release the scenery and dismiss the actors whose contracts were ending. This somewhat blurred the impression, as well as the not always well-realized graphics - sometimes the film turned into a cheap production with terrible makeup and ridiculous costumes.

And yet "Overlords" leave a positive impression. This is a light movie, quite simple, but charming, played with pleasure and shot with a sense of taste. Well, mistakes are revealed in order to be corrected, and debutante Irina Bagrova has everything to make her next fairy tale better.

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