Post No. 1
A couple of years ago, he made a documentary about the war and filmed for three days in the Kremlin a company of honorary guards.
How she lives, how she trains and protects the number one post.
Every hour they wrote a shift of guard at the Eternal Fire: first large legs, after an hour - a general plan, after another hour - large faces, after another hour - a different perspective, after another hour... and so on, because they cannot be stopped and asked to go for a second dude.
In a word, ordinary filming vanity.
The deputy of the company Oleg – a good man, in the next shift of the guard, looked at the clock and suddenly says:
“You’re not shooting the soldiers now, but the audience who will watch them.
You will not regret filming.
I was surprised, but listened and did not regret – it turned out to be a wise advice.
We and the operator climbed through the fence, walked through the Eternal Fire and began to shoot the audience through the flame in the foreground.
A new shift was marching, suddenly people opened their mouths, as if they saw not soldiers, but aliens.
I looked up, and indeed the guards and the guards did not go synchronously, but just like robots... and they were all somewhat unlikely the same.
Surprised viewers even forgot to photograph them. It was only then that I realized that the breeder and the two guards were three twins.
Inside, behind the Kremlin fence, all these “cyborgs” turned into ordinary joyful boys, it wasn’t even believed that they were the same supermen who stood there, at the Eternal Fire...
My four-year-old son was turning around, he measured the fours and grabbed everyone for the carabines, trying to plug the stick.
We took small interviews from the soldiers: "Was it hard to stand without movement for an hour?", "What do you feel at the eternal fire?", "What funny or not very funny cases happened at the post?" and so on.
Everyone was very honest about themselves. One day, a drunkard came to the fire, not paying attention to the screams. as a result
"Murlo" got from the clock - a hole in the buttock area, and the clock got a vacation to the homeland, so if anyone is not aware: these guys are far from mannequins in military uniform...
I asked the boys:
Isn’t it hard to hold back when the audience is trying to make you laugh?
You cannot laugh...
They began to tell what Jesuit ways the spectators do, only to "split" the clock: and the rows cringe, and different sounds make, often mess up anecdotes, but you stand, you don't see, but in the guard everything crashes afterwards as undermined. And in the post there is no, this can not be... As if the switch turns off the ability to laugh.
One guy told me how he once stood in the post and then he was accidentally seen by a classmate from the crowd, she was in Moscow by car.
He cried out, “Wanna! by Vanya! It is you or not you!“?”
The clock did not lead the beard.
It is good that the classmate guessed to wait until the end of the hour and go after the guards to the door in the wall.
The guy asked, went out and talked with the girl at the door for twenty minutes.
I liked this story and asked to tell it back to the camera.
The soldier agreed.
The camera turned on, but the guy fell into a stupor (this happens).
The only thing he could make out of himself:
My name is Ivan Ivanovich.

Everyone around just fell in laughter, I think his comrades have since called him Ivan Ivanovich.
The filming ended, we said goodbye to the guys and went for a walk with our son in the Alexandrovsky garden: we ate ice cream, admired the fountains.
Finally, the son wanted to look at the shift of the guard and then go home.
I placed a cotton on my neck and stumbled through the audience closer to the fence itself. Seven minutes and there will be a change.
We wait.
Suddenly the Son, sitting on my stitch, points to the clock with his hand and says loudly:
and Dad! and Dad! See also! This is Ivan Ivanovich!! to
After a second, the clock synchronously (and they all do synchronously...) reddened and began to slowly drop their heads on the chest, hiding their faces under the feathers, then trembled slightly...
Apparently they experienced something intermediate between an orgasm and a micro-stroke.
I quickly took my incentive away.
They are good guys, with humor. Each of them is selected one out of two thousand.