(how's that for an alliterative title!). The new Russian TV adaptation of Bulgakov's classic has proven to be an enormous success. I for one cannot wait to get my hands on the DVDs...
Lukeski, Bortko, who's made this version, also made a televised version of Dosters's Idiot, which I've watched, and which was excellent, so I'm sure his Bulgakov should be fab too. Some of the scenes must be a brilliant spectacle. And who's playing Herr Woland, I wonder...
And the (pirate) DVDs of the entire series have now magically appeared in London, thank to dear Lenochka. I just need to take a day off to watch all 8 hours in one go...
...and I've now seen it all. The trouble, for me, with M&M is that each time I read it (or see it), I realise I don't understand what it is it means at all. Or what it's trying to mean. Please explain in a ludicrously long and convoluted post. What I do, at least, understand, is that I love it, and it makes me marvel at the brilliance of the human mind (in some people only, of course). And, I say with gritted teeth and secure in the knowledge that Dima will never read this, it makes me miss and love and respect Russia and Russians. (OK, I know Bulgakov was sort of Ukrainian, or maybe totally Ukrainian, but I'm willing to be unpernickety for the sake of this comment.) Could an Englander have written such a thing?
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Lukeski, Bortko, who's made this version, also made a televised version of Dosters's Idiot, which I've watched, and which was excellent, so I'm sure his Bulgakov should be fab too. Some of the scenes must be a brilliant spectacle. And who's playing Herr Woland, I wonder...
And the (pirate) DVDs of the entire series have now magically appeared in London, thank to dear Lenochka. I just need to take a day off to watch all 8 hours in one go...
I've watched four parts of ten. So far so good...
...and I've now seen it all. The trouble, for me, with M&M is that each time I read it (or see it), I realise I don't understand what it is it means at all. Or what it's trying to mean. Please explain in a ludicrously long and convoluted post. What I do, at least, understand, is that I love it, and it makes me marvel at the brilliance of the human mind (in some people only, of course). And, I say with gritted teeth and secure in the knowledge that Dima will never read this, it makes me miss and love and respect Russia and Russians. (OK, I know Bulgakov was sort of Ukrainian, or maybe totally Ukrainian, but I'm willing to be unpernickety for the sake of this comment.) Could an Englander have written such a thing?
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