We see see a great monument, a Spomenik. It looms. We see shots of different Spomeniks. One is foreboding, covered in snow, it’s form unintelligible, one is a large ball on a plinth, the other resembles a fasces, another one looks like an alien craft, and so forth.
CUT TO a family sitting at a table. There is the FATHER, he is tall, with a large paunch, sipping alvavit, in a greasy shirt. We can see out the window. We’re in a country in the Soviet Bloc, or are we? Some things are distinctly American. We see a sign outside the window that says “Forget Shortfalls, Life is Abundance.” At the table with the father is a mannish MOTHER, dressed like a babushka, looking down. BROTHER is sitting by FATHER, his eyes downcast. Three empty wicker chairs stare at the three of them.
FATHER
I’ve talked to the Bund, there’s nothing I can do (sips akvavit.) He was already sent to the assembly station (wipes greasy brow.)
MOTHER (looks down, also wipes brow while BROTHER fidget, stippling finger and shuffling with glass. His eyes are worn. He has been crying and his eyes are irritated from the grease.)
None of those rat-bastards, Johnson or whomever, could stop (chokes up, dabs eyes) stop him from heading off?
FATHER (sighs)
No, he’s going (looks out window.) Going to the front (looks at table, holding back tears.)