The Great (2020) s01e10 Episode Script

1
- You okay?
- I had a dream.
Happy birthday.
- I know what I want for my present.
- What's that?
Russia. Today.
I got you something smaller,
but we can do that, as well.
One other thing.
I'm pregnant.
- Well, that wakes one up a bit.
- We have a child.
I was angry at first.
But now I see it as a sign. "Act."
- His child.
- Our child.
He will be dead by the end of the day.
Can I volunteer for the task?
I think that task is mine.
You don't know how to kill someone.
Well, I must learn quickly, then.
- Have you got her a gift?
- Aah.
My gift is a stroke of genius,
of which I have many,
but I'm sure she will burst into tears,
break free of her clothes
in a rush to bed me, and love me.
I said "I love you" to her
the other night.
Before the end of today,
she will say it back to me.
- Raspberry and fig is good.
- Mm. Delicious lemon hazelnut.
- Mm?
- Mm.
Mm.
The creaminess of the nuts
against the tartness of the lemons
is a tongue boggler of the finest nature.
But does she like tartness?
Oh. I usually know everything,
but about her,
there is much perhaps I don't know.
Maybe the raspberry is better?
It's the gesture that is appreciated.
A misplaced gesture that says,
"Here's a cake made from raspberries,
which you loathe and
are possibly allergic to,"
is the same as slapping a woman
in the face with the knowledge
that you have no fucking idea who she is.
- Shit.
- I suppose you're right.
This should not be so fucking complicated.
We need some insight into her.
- Well, how do we get that?
- It is a trick men are slow to learn.
You ask.
I had a better idea.
- Morning.
- Ah! Voronsky.
- I need to cut your head open
- Oh, that's bad news.
And spill your brains on the table
with your knowledge of the empress.
I see. 'Tis a metaphor.
Possibly. We'll see how it goes.
- Raspberry cake.
- She likes?
It gives her welts.
- Ooh.
- Fucking close call.
Huzzah, Grigor. This will work.
I have had a spy this whole time.
- What gift have you got her, Voronsky?
- Oh. Um
She likes peaches.
A piece of fruit?
Oh, Voronsky, you are like a dumb puppy.
You apparently cannot eat pussy,
and think women prefer fruit
over diamonds and such.
- Fuck me.
- It is sweet.
Idiotic, but sweet.
Do you at least know
what flavor cake she would like?
She's partial to lemons.
Good morning.
Oh, God.
It smells like a deer with gout
has died in here.
- Empress.
- Do not rush out with shame.
- You fucked happily?
- Yeah.
Then comport yourself so.
Bye, sweet Valeria. Oh, my fucking head.
Oh. I've had hangovers before, but
- I feel this may be an embolism.
- Today is the day.
What? Clear a space!
- Apologies.
- We may need to open a window.
Today
We, we're not ready.
He thinks Rostov was the trouble
and the trouble is dead, and we
We have time.
I've decided today is it.
You must have the military ready
once he is killed.
- And who's doing that?
- Me.
- That sobered you up.
- Not quite.
Completely replacing my blood
is the only option for that.
But I am not versed in how.
And that is how you will
spend your morning.
What? Teaching you how to kill a man?
Indeed.
- You're quiet.
- I just realized something.
That you are jealous
of his love for her?
No.
That when we are together,
the three of us,
I am the smartest person in the room.
Right.
You seem restored.
More like your old self, my darling.
Ever since we killed Rostov,
I've felt a lot better.
- I'm glad. I love you with all my heart.
- Mm.
And I love fucking him.
It hurts you and I wish it didn't.
All marriages must live with complication.
- I suppose so.
- What I see in his love for her is
- an opportunity.
- What is it?
I'm not a hundred percent sure,
but I sense it.
We commend this treasonous man, Rostov,
to the Earth, and to God's judgment.
- Which we expect to be harsh.
- Mm. Fucker.
I don't know why we had to come.
- See who else came.
- Which was no one.
On a day when I am busy
with the birthday party.
Remember that jigsaw of a beaver
you had as a child?
The one with the missing piece
we could never find?
The beaver's nose. Yes.
It could not look like a beaver
without a beaver nose.
A fond memory, Aunt.
This is how I feel about Rostov.
There is a piece missing.
Did he act alone, you mean.
Indeed.
We must put the nose on the beaver.
Mm. Well, at some point,
they will show themselves,
and I will cut the fucking
beaver's head off.
I've drawn an X on the parts of the body
that are instant kill spots.
I will not have time to do that.
Funny.
Try.
Oh. Shit.
You cannot be startled. You stab once,
then you keep stabbing.
He's fast. He's strong.
- If you do not kill him with one blow
- Okay, okay.
Where did you get this body, anyway?
- You can rent them off Chekhov.
- Oh, right. Of course you can.
He will be moving.
And talking, too.
- Right.
- Unless you fuck him to sleep,
and then slit his throat. My advice.
I wish him to know it is me.
Seems only fair.
- That makes no sense.
- What if I freeze?
Choke?
In war, you fight best
when driven by a reason.
I have that. The good of Russia.
No. It's too intellectual. Something
Something visceral.
I have it.
All right.
I still suggest doing it in his sleep.
I must do things my way.
I'm gathering that.
So, menu is done. Orchestra.
Should we have a choir? You weren't sure.
And they've caught 19 ducks,
but they're struggling to find one more.
There's something nice
about an odd number.
Ah. Look.
Oh, fuck me. Watch this.
Oh, Empress. Here is a peach.
Yes, I have really thought this through.
Oh, my darling Leo.
I'm completely
cock-nitized by your sonnets
and fruit and love of trees.
Hum me an opera.
Hum me an opera immediately.
A peach! Of course.
- I think I recall how to eat it.
- This one's different.
You break this one in half.
Okay, so maybe she likes peaches.
Or is kindly amused by his idiocy.
Oh, I think it's got a ring in it.
Oh, that's cute.
Tricky fucker, Leo.
It is inscribed.
"To Catherine the Great.
Ruler of Russia."
Sorry the writing's so tiny.
Was a lot to get on it.
They spelled Russia wrong,
which is annoying.
- I am touched.
- You're extraordinary.
- As are you.
- No, I'm not.
It's okay.
'Cause I get to watch you
and come along for the ride.
- Oh!
- Fuck.
Annoying. All right,
we have to do something about that.
Marial. There you are.
I have news.
I'm going to kill Peter today.
Oh. What?
Also, I'm pregnant.
Shit. That is a lot.
I thought so, too.
Sorry to be late. Uh, happy birthday.
Velementov says you are to kill him.
I just feel it in my gut.
Rational. But it is It is better
we secure the palace,
arrest him, get him to sign an abdication,
send him to house arrest,
and burn the house down a month later.
His supporters will be less likely
to rise up in anger.
I like Orlo's plan.
As it makes me safe. Of course you do.
But no one else is safe.
This is Russia.
A leader must show the people
they have ice in their veins.
And fire in their heart.
Velementov will organize the military
so they are ready to take his guards,
or anyone else who wishes to fight.
Leo, be amongst the court.
Sow the seed.
And when the time comes,
you will bring them all to the Great Hall,
and I will address them.
- And Archie?
- Orlo, you go to him.
Keep him distracted.
Detained until it's done.
Might I suggest a long confession?
Uh, not me? Makes more sense I would go.
I need you with me.
And you will collect my dress,
and dress me.
This is it, my friends.
- Happy birthday, Empress.
- Our best wishes.
So young. So beautiful.
But what you said the other night,
after the torture,
were the words of a person
of old wisdom, and charity.
You have had our respect, of course.
But you have our love now.
And I would honestly love to know
how you fucked that horse.
I didn't fuck a horse.
I made it up, Tatyana. You were there.
Really?
I have a busy day improving Russia.
I hope this to be a memorable day
for all of us.
Orlo, you need to kill Archie.
I know.
- You were going to do it, anyway.
- I was.
Despite my orders?
I wish to win.
And now they're your orders, so
good for us.
We'll win.
It is fate.
Indeed.
Happy birthday.
Look. They're spelling out "Catherine."
Well, sort of. Although, that's a "P."
Oh, they had it before, I promise.
It's marvelous. Thank you.
Let's piss on some wheat.
- I just went.
- I'll get you water.
It could be an auspicious day.
I got pregnant on my birthday,
and I thought, perhaps today
will be the same for you.
Hmm.
I
- No luck.
- Another glass.
Right.
Can we speak of something
we have never talked on?
I'd like to think we can
tell each other anything.
I do, too.
Ivan. Was it hard to kill him?
Oh.
- Well, he wriggled a lot, so
- I mean inside you.
In your heart.
I lost a child.
My darling Igor.
So I just kept telling myself
"You're sending Ivan to Igor.
And now they will each have a friend."
Anything?
I'm worried about Rostov.
There is more to it.
- I'm sure it is fine.
- Why?
- What?
- Why are you sure?
You were sure before Rostov
that nothing was happening,
and now you're sure again.
I am too much an optimist, perhaps.
Still nothing.
I must get ready for my party lunch.
Ah, well. Later.
Try and let me know.
I have my fingers crossed.
Come!
I will always care for you.
You should know that.
Oh. How sweet.
Why did you ask me that?
- About Ivan.
- I just never had.
Are you lying to me?
No.
Oh, my God.
You're the beaver's nose.
- What?
- You're coming for Peter.
I what?
No! What?
You are a card.
Your heart and brain I never doubted,
but your stomach for the fight, I did.
Clearly, I was wrong.
- I am not doing anything.
- You are lying to me.
- I am not.
- Gosh.
But if I was, what would you do?
For a moment,
merely step back and revel in the sight
of a wild young woman,
going, "What the fuck?
I have a better idea,"
and reaching for it.
Really?
Most women die with an unsaid
better idea in their hearts.
I would be better than him for Russia.
and you know it.
Huh.
Okay, what are you thinking,
because I'm really struggling to read you.
I know you love him.
But he is ruining Russia.
He is the line I swore to protect.
This is the line, also.
Will you support me?
Don't kill him.
I won't.
Fuck.
Everything okay?
- She knows.
- She is onside.
Are you fucking kidding?
She's Peter's aunt.
We must stop. We must run, we Fuck!
Or kill her.
We are not killing her. She is nice.
- She killed a 10-year-old.
- So, she may be handy for us later.
Now dress me,
give me a knife. I'm going to lunch.
Catherine
She's read Machiavelli. I'm sure of it.
I trust she will not tell.
And if she does, all I have lost
is the element of surprise.
- Which is a big part of winning.
- Just dress me.
I know what I'm doing.
Thanks for the impromptu
invitation to hunting.
Quick hour before lunch. Always good.
'Tis a glorious day.
Memorable.
I can feel it in the blood, somehow.
Exactly.
Like everything will be different
by the end of the day.
Indeed. I've gone through life thinking
the world will never change,
and lived with it.
Something tells me
the world we are in today
may not be the world we are in tomorrow.
'Tis prescient of you, Voronsky.
Arkady, rabbit.
Fucking hell, Arkady.
- Fucker!
- Shut up. Grigor, finish him.
Fuck!
Fuck.
Well, if we kill him now,
he will be shot three times.
How do I explain that
as an unfortunate hunting accident?
- She was never gonna buy that.
- But we have shot him,
so that doesn't look good to her, either.
- Idiots.
- Indeed, you all are.
Why not just kill him?
If it was an accident,
she would grieve him,
and I would provide solace to her,
but three shots in him,
and she will probably think I did it,
and be mad at me.
Tatyana would love it
if I killed someone for her.
I think they do and they don't.
I've heard.
Throw him in the carriage.
When you think on it,
I am clearly the better man,
and have not applied myself
to it until now,
but he is annoying.
So we will stash him somewhere
until she loves me.
Pretty.
Hmm. Pretty.
So Orlo's going to Archie?
Yes.
And we will cut a deal
when this is done.
Exactly.
- Let me focus.
- Right.
So.
Here we go.
Fuck.
They said I would find you
in the music room.
Do not be here to
lecture me more, Aunt. I am busy.
I will play her an improvised tune
when I present her cake.
Of course.
I just want you to know
I love and support you always.
You're a son to me.
Well, I'm not dead, like yours,
but I appreciate the sentiment.
I am going to the country for a week.
I love to sit in nature and just watch it.
It is beautiful, and sometimes harsh.
But you realize, it is always right.
That is what I know.
Hmm. Sounds dull, but,
um, enjoy the trees.
I will do this. And fast.
Then you take a message to the others.
Just breathe.
As I have tried to.
Huzzah! Happy birthday!
Thank you, husband.
I have something for you.
And I you.
Well, me first. Come on.
It is Voltaire. Voltaire!
Bonjour, madame.
- Oh, my God.
- Your beauty is not exaggerated.
I ordered him from France.
Fucker drove a hard bargain.
But I know you love him,
and I love you, so
I give you this heartfelt gesture.
Monsieur Voltaire,
an honor.
Thank you.
Or, merci. Right, Volti?
- Ah. Your accent is formidable.
- Touché.
A moment, gentlemen.
- Come, Volti.
- Yes.
I can't kill him in front of Voltaire!
He is light, and reason, and humanity.
It's Voltaire!
- How would that look?
- Jesus.
He's just some bookish French cunt.
I will talk to him for a moment,
and then do it when we are alone.
Today, we kill the emperor.
So when the word comes,
we lock down the palace.
We take the guards down.
And until then?
We wait.
We drink.
To the future of Russia.
Huzzah!
Hmm.
Archie. I, I must confess my sins.
All of this time,
you have said I was wrong,
and last night, I awoke stricken,
but perhaps it was true.
I must confess.
I have done sick things, Archie.
Sick, depraved things.
I see.
How fascinating.
There is a serf in the kitchen,
and the depravity
we have been a party to
God has blessed you, Orlo.
Calm down. I'll dress.
Fucker!
What's going on?
Marial, do, do not do this. We must
Marial!
Fuck!
I'm interested in your ideas on reason,
and leaving behind
the religious superstition
that has distorted the way
we live and rule.
Ah, yes, well, in the absence of reason,
men cling to superstition.
We must claw people's fingers
and minds from it.
Uh, Catherine bit our patriarch's finger
near clean off.
Separation of church's fingers
from state.
- Bravo.
- Indeed. Huzzah.
Is it dull to be a writer?
To have a pen is to be at war.
Of course. You can take
people's eyes out with a quill.
Love it.
Describe your latest book, Candide.
I have heard much.
Well, it's a
a, a mockery of people who believe,
and have an optimism
in life turning out well.
I do not believe that.
I believe life turns out well.
A child. A beautiful child, you are.
I have something to say.
Catherine
I look at you on your twentieth birthday,
a woman of substance.
A woman par exemple.
Of wise thought and deed,
dedicated to the pursuit
of a better Russia.
A better world.
Your lips, that speak so wisely,
your eyes that see the world
in a way no one else does.
Your head fizzing with original ideas.
Your heart filled with
a powerful love for life.
And hopefully for me.
H-happy birthday, my darling wife.
- You wrote that?
- Volti helped me a little.
But mostly me.
Thank you.
It was actually very touching.
Huzzah.
Huzzah.
- Au revoir.
- Aah.
Wonderful fellow.
Can fucking talk, though.
Couldn't follow most of it.
But you liked it?
- I loved it.
- Mm.
It was thrilling. My mind was on fire.
Mm. He has a lot of answers.
Sometimes I think I could be smarter,
running a country.
Might be helpful.
That is the thing about you.
You are un-womanly smart.
It is intriguing to me.
You are the oddest of creatures.
Cruel, and thoughtless.
Tender.
Entertaining.
And bizarre.
I'm fond of you.
In some ways, you break my heart.
- Are you about to say "I love you"?
- No.
It sounded like a declaration of sorts.
You were close to a point, I feel.
No. I'm pretty sure not.
Oh, I actually have a letter for you.
You're too generous.
Leo entrusted it to me before he left.
- What?
- "Hello, Catherine.
"It has been fun,
and I have liked you a small portion,
"and enjoyed fucking you,
despite being unable to eat pussy well.
"Apologies. I return to my estate,
or Venice.
"I have not decided,
but it makes it pointless seeking me,
"so probably Venice.
We are done. Move on.
"The noble emperor's love is pure.
"He is a noble soul,
"who can eat pussy, as you well know.
From, Leo." Humph.
"P.S. I was sticking it
in Marial's ass most days."
Hmm.
- What have you done with him?
- Me?
Nothing. He's gone to Venice.
I said he should face you,
but he could not. Coward.
- Have you killed him?
- No.
I promise you, he is alive and well.
He does not love you. That is all.
We just need some clear air together,
and you will love me and forget him.
Probably in a week?
Let us talk when you calm down.
You will one day look at this
as a funny story to tell our children.
He does not love you, and it hurts,
but you do not love him. You love me.
Never.
- Huh?
- You're a fucking madman!
My father used to say
when a woman wants to kill you,
you're in business.
Huh.
Woo.
Aah. How did the love fest go?
Bit angry about Leo,
but the cake was a hit.
Voltaire was boring,
but she seemed excited,
so on balance, a victory.
Let me out, you fucker!
- Um
- She will calm.
I'm going to fucking kill you!
She is a firecracker.
I have never loved her more.
Fucking bitch.
It's me!
- I'm locked in.
- He is not dead.
- You didn't do it.
- I tried.
- You sent Orlo to kill Archie?
- I had to.
We will all suffer for our victory.
We're going to lose.
Marial, we're not!
Marial!
Tell Velementov not to go!
What's going on?
- Just, uh
- Taking your chance?
Men!
Secure the halls.
Kill the emperor's guards!
Fuck!
Marial! Marial!
Fuckers!
You need to get back
to your quarters, Emperor.
Oh, fuck that.
Come for me, whoever it is,
I fucking come for them.
Hear that? It means Peter's dead.
- It's Catherine, isn't it?
- Indeed.
She is no friend to you, dear Archie.
Oh, dear.
Such a glittering career is now in ashes.
Always thought she made an error
in judgment backing you as Patriarch.
I'm sure we can think of
a deal we can make.
No deals.
Tea?
Why are you being calm?
My mind buzzes with opportunity, Orlo.
You wanted him gone, he's gone. Huzzah.
What about Elizabeth?
They are close. She will be spared.
I mean as a leader.
She's a progressive, but not insanely so.
She understands Russia,
and its need for stability,
and she will listen to us.
You're mad.
She's the third way.
Catherine is special.
Well, we are all God's creatures.
- Might I read a verse to you?
- I don't care.
The word of the Lord
will have the final say.
I don't know what to do.
Shit. Orlo.
Is Peter dead?
She couldn't do it. He is roaming.
She will lose. He loves a bloody fight.
- I know.
- Does he know it's her?
I don't know.
Whoever tells him will be seen
as a patriot and a hero.
That should be you, Lady Marial.
I can't.
You need to decouple from her.
Or you need to tell me
where you'd like to be buried,
and what psalm to read over your grave.
Do it.
I have something to do.
Fuck him up, Arkady!
Emperor.
What do you fucking want, hmm?
I want to be a Lady again.
She's also pregnant.
Get out.
This is gonna sound really bad,
but hold your judgment.
I told Peter it was you.
I know it sounds bad,
but I can explain,
and you will see that it is clever.
No. No, it is a jest.
- A terrible jest.
- You couldn't kill Peter.
Velementov is a drunk fool.
You lied to me about not killing Archie.
Peter is too strong.
This is Russia. We were finished.
We are finished.
So many reasons I am right.
- I thought you were my friend.
- I've saved your life.
Our lives.
He loves you and you have his baby.
An heir inside you.
- You're safe.
- You told him that I'm pregnant?
Fuck you, Marial.
In time, you will see I am right.
He will be coming for me now.
He won't.
I thought we would call him Paul.
I will cut your fucking throat.
Aim for the belly.
You once told me that works a treat.
You think a child will stop me?
Your child. A fucking son.
The preservation of your line. Your blood.
Peter the Great's grandson.
- And no doubt, a cutie.
- You fucking bitch. I loved you.
And you feel this has affected
that love detrimentally?
The fact you're trying to kill me,
indeed. It has cast a pall.
Un-fucking believable.
I'm about to cut your throat,
and you're making jokes.
Perhaps that is why you love me.
Say hello.
No.
He's really there?
Under your hand.
Fuck. Right there.
I made a fucking person.
Just under the skin.
Your son.
No, you don't know it's a boy.
He feels dumb,
- so I suspect it strongly.
- I have a knife.
You love me, and you love Paul.
You won't kill us.
And why don't you fucking love me,
by the way?
I do, in a way.
But I love Russia more.
- You're not even Russian!
- In my heart, I am.
When I cut your heart out,
I will have a look in
and see if it was true.
Any cunt can give me a baby.
So kill us, then.
Just
Wait. I need a
Hello, Paul.
It's me. Daddy.
No, I can't. Fuck.
Give it up.
I do not want any more bloodshed in this.
Abdicate.
Abdicate?
You are sweet.
And fascinating in a mad kind of way
that is making me incredibly hard.
But the question that pops into my head
is why the fuck would I do that?
The heady recognition
you are terrible at it.
I am the emperor.
I was born to this. You're a woman.
I will be better.
Am better.
I ended the war.
I knew the torture was a misstep for you.
I have gathered the military,
regions, and the court.
I have a vision for Russia.
Let me have it,
and you will have fulfilled
your father's wishes.
Sacrifice for the good of Russia.
And that is all you really want.
You know, I hate the job, actually.
It's mostly annoying, and I do sense
I'm fucking bad at it sometimes.
You are!
That came out more forcefully
than intended.
It made the point. Thank you.
You will have secured Russia's future.
Not ruined it, as your mother predicted,
but protected it.
Your son will then have it.
- Your line retained.
- Right.
- And what would I do?
- Drink. Fuck. Eat.
Jape about, and be with your child.
All the things you love.
And you could love this man?
I think perhaps I could.
For he would be the man who saved Russia.
Saved it from myself.
A complicated idea I'm struggling with.
- You are playing a game on me.
- I love that you see that.
- Huh. You witch.
- It is a game where we both win.
So we have a deal.
I see a new option appear.
Leo.
You stop your people,
or I send word,
and they cut Voronsky's head off.
Huh. Your cake. We never had any, did we?
Sharp lemons.
And the nuttiness. Delightful.
Mm. Guard?
Send word to cut Leo Voronsky's head
from his body
and bring it to us on a tray.
- No!
- Then send the message.
Guard, wait.
Take it to Velementov.
Fat fuck. Never knew he had it in him.
Now send word to let him go.
No.
- We had a deal.
- I let him go, you start up again.
He will have guards,
and if there is any yelling in the halls,
gunfire, generals gathering,
any sign of a fucking move,
they will descend like wolves
and fucking tear him apart.
Anyway, see you.
You've played a game on me.
I love that you see that.
Elizabeth.
Archie.
Bonjour, Empress.
I'm apparently here at an exciting time,
at the dinner I did not understand
the importance of.
Not quite exciting, alas.
It is still within reach, apparently?
I just lose the man I love.
What is a man?
Some legs. A cock.
A few words that float away to nothing
as they are said?
He is my heart.
For now.
Tomorrow he is run over by a carriage.
Fucks another, or
catches syphilis in his
his throat and French kisses it
into your mouth,
and you go mad and die worthlessly.
You are an unexpectedly dark character.
I would not seek enlightenment
if I did not think we all
flailed in the dark.
He is my great love.
And I must fucking have him.
So, you know what you want. Love is all.
- You're playing me.
- Au contraire. Fuck Russia.
It is a depraved shithole. Always will be.
You are German, anyway.
- I am Russian in my heart.
- Mm.
And Russia will be the greatest nation
on Earth, you French fuck.
This Russian heart.
Same heart as the one with the boy in it?
Yes.
- Hence my
- Confusion.
I thought it was my destiny.
If it was, then it would have been.
Isn't that the point of destiny?
Why did you go?
- I never sent word.
- Events moved on.
Why didn't you kill him?
Events moved on. I couldn't.
We can win this. We had the upper hand.
I will not let Leo die, Velementov.
This is the moment.
You back down now,
no one will come with you again.
And Leo will be dead.
It's over.
- Look in their eyes.
- I am.
There's fucking hope.
Who would have thought it?
I await your signal.
I'll shoot a round,
and it will be on again.
Kiss me.
Oh, right.
I
I was hoping that wasn't the way
this was going to go.
I'm in two minds about it, to be honest.
I love you with all my fucking heart.
- But
- Think
about what you're going to say next.
And that if you just do not say it,
we could perhaps just
happily stand here forever.
I can change the world.
I know it.
I know you can.
My fate was always you.
Yours, always Russia.
I will haunt you.
Promise it.