Gerard-City

Just imagine - Mikhail Boyarsky requested a French passport, and he was from Parisian newspapers and social networks: yes you foolishly, an old alcoholic, at least you understand where you are going, but you listen to what we will tell you about our power. Or there Svetlana Svetlichnaya gathered in Paris, and from there open letters write about the brutal environmental activities of the local president. It is impossible to imagine.

The main thing is upset by the lack of patriotism in the comments and comments of Russian residents. The deficit of hospitality with a clear excess of sarcasm. Western citizen, be he even a journalist, even a blogger, will hardly allow himself rude statements regarding a refugee artist from distant Russia. And in our country, the poor department was doused with ridicule from head to toe, as if he, wishing to become a Russian taxpayer, committed something miserable and shameful. How to explain this?

I think the only possible explanation will be nevertheless maximum patriotic.

The fact is that our citizens are aware of life in the West is much better than foreigners - about life in Russia, and probably it was always. The worldly responsive Russians knew how to explain in a woman’s explanation, knew a lot about overseas wines and soups directly from Paris, American jeans, German cars and Japanese tape recorders. And for foreigners, except for traveling agents of the State Department of the type of Marquis de Custine, Russia usually boiled down to ballet, bears, balalaikas and formidable kings, who were called Vasilyevichs for fierce.

That is why our person who applied for a residence permit to the Western Embassy or requested refuge right abroad, more or less imagines where he is going. That is why the poor thing Brigitte Bardot, gathered for permanent residence in the Russian Federation, dreams of some unprecedented Russia-the homeland of the saved elephants, and imagines the "human" Putin "to a friend of birds and the defender of mammals. That is why the unfortunate Gerard, looking at our flat taxation scale, sees everything else like in a fog. Great Russian democracy, beloved Putin, a generous Ramzan and that village near the State Film Fund, all the birch -up, where the artist dreams of living and working, emerge from the fog.

Foreigners are lazy and unfamiliar in relation to Russia, and for many years it is necessary to tell them about the exploits of Solzhenitsyn for many years, so that they guess what honor the writer had rendered to them, setting a recluse in the Vermont forest. On the contrary, our people are ready to look in all eyes at any stranger. And when he also sings, like Paul Robson or Dean Reed, or acts in a movie, like Marina Vladi, or just from dungeons, like Luis Corvalan, there is no limit to admiration.

And if our d'Artagnan moves on the banks of the Seine, this will not make any impression on the French. They are dark, ignorant people. The Jurar is another matter: his glorious name has been rattling throughout the Great Rus' for decades - from Kamchatka to Centor. Belmondo, Richard, Delon, Depardieu, Bardo are all close, dear people to us, we love them from childhood jealous, fierce love, and every meeting with them, in cinema or live, for us like a holiday. But still it’s better in the cinema.

For the awareness of our citizens about life in Russia is even deeper than slightly still mythologized ideas about the West. And then love connects with a serious anxiety about the reputation and the fate of the visiting migrant worker, who does not understand the devil in our birches. And behind rude comments in the chiti and in opposition press are hidden, pain, and amazement. Therefore, they beat that they love, as if saying: "Where are you driving something, cute, in some kind of Sochi? We ourselves are barely surviving, and you will die right away!"

Of course, this is a stretch, and the most advanced from commentators understand that they will not die, and Depardieu himself will not live here for a long time. But love is selfish, and if we loved Gerard for the fact that he is a Frenchman and partly Danton, then I want him to remain a Frenchman, and not hug with Putin, shaking the red -skinned passportina. I would like him to remain inaccessible to the collective Mordovian authorities, which we have hated with all our hearts in royal times. Actually, we loved and love the famous foreigners for the fact that they are unlike our political and other stars. For the fact that they have such a foreign passport. For the fact that they do not live with us, but tour. And when Gerard Ksavievich licks with Mikhal Ivanovich or praises Ramzan Akhmatovich from the Grozny scene, the soul of the Russian yearns.

Depardieu himself does not yet know about this, because from Russian words he learned only the simplest: “Tolstoy”, “Rasputin”, “Birch”, “Slavarsia”, “State Film Fund”. But it is already starting to sneak up. He besieged the Mordovian leader, who offered him the post of Minister of Culture at his court, clearly answering that in the rank of Minister of Culture it represents all of humanity. Golden words!

Probably, in this post, he will work until the end of his life, as he served before - in the "unlucky" and "sirano", in the "last metro" and "a residence permit." In essence, he still plays one of his brilliant roles, living on the stage the tragic fate of the emigrant. But the light will go out, the masses will scatter - and he will again be left alone with him. The old actor, unlucky citizen, hereditary, indigenous Frenchman. Fresh Xiva will be lost among the props.