On with the rehearsal. Whose turn is it?

MAN: I yield to the lady.

DIRECTOR: The lady it is, then. Begin.

WOMAN: (glancing at her piece of paper) Dear friend! What a fearsome word!

DIRECTOR: Stop. Why is “friend” a fearsome word?

WOMAN: Sorry, I skipped a line. (starts over) Dear friend! How many times have we told each other goodbye, but today we have to bid you farewell. “Farewell” – what a fearsome word!

DIRECTOR: Less pathos, more sincerity. You’re really in disbelief: how can it suddenly be “farewell”?

WOMAN: (stirringly) “Farewell”… What a fearsome word! I don’t believe it, and I never will. It’s impossible! In my mind, I’ll never part with you. (with a change of tone) And after this speech, isn’t his wife going to scratch my eyes out? She’ll think I was his mistress, and I’ve never spoken a word to him in my life.

DIRECTOR: Why do you care what the wife thinks? You’re not talking to her but to the millions. All the state TV stations will be put on notice that this is a show they have to broadcast. And the independents too, needless to say.

WOMAN: Awesome! I must make time to see my hair stylist.

DIRECTOR: Don’t do anything on your own account. Our makeup artists will get you ready. Start again.

WOMAN: Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: Wait. You’re not feeling anything, and that’s why you can’t find the right tone.

WOMAN: And what am I supposed to feel?

DIRECTOR: You don’t know? Very well, I’ll try to help you. Both of you need to be clear on the circumstances in which you’ll be delivering your speeches. Then you’ll understand the solemnity of this gala occasion, and your words will find the intonation they need, all on their own. It’s going to be very beautiful, believe me – a feast for the eyes. No one has ever staged a ceremony like this, on such a scale. My competitors’ll just die of envy. (gradually growing more animated) Guests in formal attire, military bands in glittering uniforms, delegations and wreaths from civic organizations, funeral marches, Chopin, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, silken flags at half-staff, fluttering in the wind… Banners angled downward, a coat of arms, the coffin, a thunderous farewell salute… A squadron of fighter planes flying over the square, his medals on velvet pillows…

MAN: I don’t think he has any medals.

DIRECTOR: It doesn’t matter. We’ll make some for him.

MAN: And where will the service be held?

DIRECTOR: There isn’t going to be any service. First, it’s not in the budget – too pricey. Second, I was told that he’s an atheist and, unlike you, never pretended to be religious.

WOMAN: Where are we going to be standing?

DIRECTOR: In the center of the square and the center of attention, right by the coffin. And the coffin, covered in flowers, will be on a gun-carriage drawn by six black horses… (sighs) Can it be that he’s not going to die, and this beautiful sight will forever reside only in my imagination?

MAN: Keep your chin up. It’ll all work out somehow.

DIRECTOR: We can hope. (glancing at CONSULTANT) But let’s go on. So, the two of you are standing beside the coffin, not only as a prime minister and a member of the government, but also as a man and a woman, a symbol of mutual compassion, the embodiment of humanity, of warmth and hope. But remember: no matter how beautiful a visual may be, it is, first and foremost, an act of propaganda. It’s aimed not at glorifying the deceased, but at reinforcing the power that you represent. So you have to look dignified and imposing the whole time. Both of you are grieving, but in different ways. The woman can allow herself to feel more deeply and sincerely. The man needs to be more aware of how serious this moment is and how much responsibility he bears to the country. Now imagine everything that I’ve just described, and your words will come out right.