Establishing shot of the a small village on the banks of a marsh. Low huts and primitive buildings make the settlement difficult to date. It is probably early in the 20th Century, but the remote location and poverty of the inhabitants make it seem like a much earlier time. These are peasants, in the mold of those found on the pages of Tolstoy and Gogol. A distinct whiff of the Cyrillic swirls thru the dress and habits of the residents, but no more than a whiffâthey are a flinty, mistrustful, irritable populace who knows hardship well, but who have found in their community a bulwark against the very worst life has to offer. Â
The main work of the village is fishing: clumsy barks line the banks of the water, and nets are piled on the dirt between the reeds. Â
NARRATOR
[voice-over throughout]
There once was a village in the old country that sat on the edge of a lake...
We see a fisherman pushing his boat from the shore.
The fisherman begins fishing.
NARRATOR:
And the villagers were a fishing people...they earned their living from the fish they caught on the lakeâŠ
(Off-screen quacking growing on soundtrack)
Closer on the man fishing.
NARRATOR
...and this living was meagre, but it sustained the small village and everyone would have been content with their lot except...
Duck flies into frame and lands on fishermanâs head.
NARRATOR
...Except for the ducks.
Man shoos duck awayâŠlifts his fishing spear, happy to see a small fish it, moves to remove itâand a duck swoops thru frame and steals it.
Cut to woman preparing bread in her home.
NARRATOR
The ducks had always been a nuisance.... but recently their boldness and ubiquity had increased to the point that the daily routine of every villager felt their feathered intrusion....
Duck flies in through womanâs window and steps on her breadâwoman shoos duck away, angry. Shot of duck prints in her bread. Cut to: a different woman eating bread, stops her chewing, spits out a black duck feather. Cut to: feather woman and baker woman arguing.
NARRATOR
âŠas a continual plagueâŠ
Kids playing marbles in the dirtâducks fly into scene, land, and eat one kidâs marbleâhe is non-plussed, then steals marble from smaller kidâsmaller kid starts to cry.
NARRATOR
âŠand a source of rancor for allâŠ
Man and woman in bed, beginning the physical act of love, camera widens out to reveal duck sitting on manâs backside. Man gets defeated look and rolls off of woman, onto his back. She shrugs and rolls opposite way, closes eyes for sleep.
NARRATOR
It was all too much for the villagers. (imitating voice of a village man) âWe must be rid of these ducks!â
They all agreedââbut the question was how? They had tried beforeâand failed. They were but simple fisherfolk, and these ducks were crafty and skilled at evasion.
Montage of villagers trying to snare or slay ducks, with no success. The villagers reconvene in center of village.
NARRATOR
One of the villagers spoke upââhe was a man who made a point of keeping up with events in the wider countryside and who thought of himself as very clever. (imitating voice of another villagers) âI know how we can be rid of these foul creatures once and for allââthere is a thing the authorities do now, it is called a POGROM.â
What is this POGROM the other villagers wanted to know.
(NARRATOR imitating voice of villager) âA POGROM is the removal of an unwanted.â
And at this he nodded, and the rest of the villagers nodded with him.
So it was decided. They would have a POGROM.
NARRATOR
But, as none of them had a rifle or knew how to hunt, it was agreed they should ask the HUNTERâŠ.
Cut to HUNTER and DOG striding along a country road, entering the village.
NARRATOR
So they asked the HUNTER to make their POGROM and rid them of their ducks forever. For this they offered him one hundred copeks and wine and promised him that he could take the body of any duck he killed, and sell it at market, or leave it to sink to the bottom of the lakeâthey didnât care. They just wanted every duck GONE.
âWhy is this?â The HUNTER asked.
âBecause it is a POGROM.â The villagers answered.
The HUNTER did not need to hear anything more.
HUNTER shooting ducks in montage until last duck is destroyed.
Piles of dead duck bodies.
NARRATOR
When finally every duck had been killed, there were too many bodies for the HUNTER and his dog to carry, so they piled them at the edge of the lake, and tossed dried reeds onto the pile, and lit it all on fire. A great smoke rose up, and at first the villagers were alarmedâŠthey paddled in their boats to see what was burning.
The HUNTER greeted them. âYour ducks are no more,â the HUNTER said. âNow you will be free to live in peace.â And he took from the village his hundred copeks and some wine and told them that if ever their ducks reappeared to call on him, and he would come back. âI will show them that this is a village that will not tolerate even one single duck!â
And with that he disappeared.
NARRATOR
The villagers rejoiced: âFinally we are rid of those annoying creatures! Now our lives will be happy again!â
And for a time, they were happy....
...but soon, other annoyances crept into their routines. Perhaps a line that broke while fishing, or a hole in the net that allowed oneâs catch to escape, or the new kitten that gets into the dough....
...and so, in very little time, the villagers were as irritable and annoyed with lifeââand with each otherââas ever they were with the ducks.
Villagers repeating same arguments with each other as in opening.
NARRATOR
A mood of dark dissatisfaction seeped into every aspect of life. Whatever fleeting sense of peace the villagers felt dancing before the bonfire of the ducks, it had all dissolved into the same petty squabbles and mistrust. âMaybe,â one villager shouted at his neighbor, âwhat we need is another POGROMâto remove YOU!!â
And so it wentâŠ.at the end of each day, climbing into their beds they would mutter against each other, and scheme their petty retributions to counter the petty insults theyâd felt the day beforeâŠ.
Day by day, the village dreamed darker and blacker dreamsâŠ.
Villagers tossing and turning in their beds...a dark cloud seeps thru the village lanes...the distant sound of spectral quackingâŠa shadow settles over the sleeping folk...
The sun rises, the streets of the village are silent. We hear a manâs voice humming an awkward tune in the distanceâŠit is coming closerâŠ
Cut to heavy boots clomping lazily through the underbrushââa dog appears, jogging alongside. It is the HUNTER.
Long shot of the HUNTER entering the village. The streets are empty. The boats are safely pulled ashore. No one is on the lake, fishing.
NARRATOR
The HUNTER called out to the villagers, âHello there village! What of life after your POGROM?â
No one emerges from their huts. A faint soundâunclear what it isâŠthe HUNTER strains to hear itâŠit is quacking! Every hut in the village is soon alive with quacking. The DOG begins barking, running from one doorway to another.
A DUCK emergesââa duck that looks suspiciously like the head fisherman. Then another duckâthis time resembling the lady baker, and her children, and her neighborsâŠ
The HUNTER scrambles for his gun. The quacking is now a roar. He loads his rifle and pops off a shot, then another and another. The camera goes wide, and slowly rises away from the sorry scene until the screen is filled with sky. Only the sounds of the carnage tell us what is going on.
NARRATOR
And the HUNTER did not stop until every last duck was dead.
Today there is little that remains of the simple fishing village. . . .
But it is said by those who have visited the place, one can see the most fantastic breeds of duck there, frolicking in the water and flying overhead.
Because you see, Nature may tolerate a POGROM or two, but it abhors a vacuum.
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