Earlier, I wrote that I had decided to reread the duology about Ostap Bender, which I had previously read only as a teenager. After finishing the “most complete” version of The Twelve Chairs, I picked up a similar edition of the second novel, The Golden Calf. This one is also presented as “The complete version of the novel without omissions or cuts.”
According to legend, the authors hadn’t planned to write a second novel—the first was self-contained, and Ostap Bender dies at the end. The authors even claimed they flipped a coin to decide whether he would live or die. But after the wild success of the first book, it would have been odd if they hadn’t gone ahead with a sequel. Although there is an opinion that the continuation had been planned much earlier, and the rest is just a neat and officially supported legend.
In the first novel, there were two main characters—Kisa Vorobyaninov and Ostap Bender himself. But it was clear who was playing the first violin, who was the thinker and driving force in the duo. Without Ostap, Kisa likely wouldn’t have recovered a single chair. That’s why the second book has no connection to the “leader of the Russian nobility” and instead puts the resurrected Ostap fully in the spotlight, now accompanied by new helpers who are significantly more useful (though still no match for him). As for his death, Ostap mentions it only in passing: someone did try to kill him, but brave Soviet medicine managed to save his life. The only reminder is a clearly visible scar from a razor cut on his neck.
A brief summary of the plot: this time, Ostap decides to solve his money problems once and for all. Now he’s after a full million, and some conveniently discovered information about an underground millionaire gives rise to a mad—but entirely feasible—plan to get the money handed to him “on a silver platter with a blue rim.” Helping him in this scheme are a few chance companions: “Lieutenant Schmidt’s children” Shura Balaganov and Samuil Yakovlevich Panikovsky, along with Adam Kozlevich, a former convict turned failed taxi entrepreneur and now a passionate amateur driver.
The whole story centers around a carefully crafted blackmail operation aimed at extracting money from the underground millionaire Koreiko. And just like in the first novel, we follow not only Ostap and his companions’ adventures, but also a satirical portrayal of the era’s reality. The NEP (New Economic Policy) had come to an end, but through Koreiko’s backstory, the authors show the chaos of the preceding years—how cunning and unscrupulous individuals managed to amass huge fortunes through famine and the ineptitude of local officials.
This is no longer just a treasure hunt for chairs, but a well-planned operation involving the gathering of compromising materials and the squeezing of cash. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t enjoy this book as a child—you can only really appreciate the “elegance” of Ostap’s work after gaining some life experience. And that’s precisely why, after all these years, my impressions of the two novels in the duology have completely reversed. The Twelve Chairs now feels less engaging to me, while The Golden Calf has become a true masterpiece with a long, lingering aftertaste.
And even knowing how it all ends, you still keep rooting for Ostap, hoping he’ll succeed and make it safely to his longed-for Rio de Janeiro with the million in his pocket. But in reality, Ostap does achieve his dream—only the wealth doesn’t bring him happiness. But I’ll talk more about that a bit later.
So what about the “complete version”? Compared to the first book, the differences aren’t as noticeable. There are no removed chapters here—rather, some alternative ones. One tells a slightly different story of how Ostap arrives in the town of Arbatov at the beginning of the novel. There are also a few early chapters that made it into the final book with only minor edits, and I couldn’t quite figure out why they were included here again. The most notable difference is that the book’s city of Chernomorsk was originally meant to be the real city of Odessa, and only later did the authors replace it with the “fictional” Chernomorsk—though it still clearly resembles Odessa. And most significantly—the ending is different. In this version, Ostap ends up parting with his million, marrying a woman named Zosya (in the final published version, Zosya has already married someone else about a month before Ostap’s return), and doesn’t try to flee abroad with the money.
Now that ending really changes things. I wouldn’t say I liked that version of the ending (I don’t like the final one either), but it clearly didn’t sit well with the authorities. A scoundrel and dishonorable man like Ostap couldn’t just reform, after all. It had to be shown that scheming never leads to anything good.
Even the supplementary materials here aren’t as detailed or engaging as those in the first “complete” book (where they made up half the volume). Still, they’re interesting to read—they shed light on what was happening around the authors while the book was being written, why some things were hushed up while others became the official version. The ideas of NEP and the fight against Trotskyists (which formed the basis of the first novel) were no longer relevant, but new “political” trends had emerged, which the new novel both complied with and promoted. It’s just that we, not being contemporaries of the authors, no longer catch these nuances.
But the final part of the book, where Ostap finally acquires wealth and tries to make use of it, becomes a sad conclusion to his story. Having a lot of money simply isn’t enough. In the Soviet Union, you could hardly use it at all. Everything was designed for the needs of the collective, not for the needs of individual citizens (unless you were part of the country’s leadership). Moreover, the very concept of being a millionaire was shameful—you weren’t working like every decent person, so even casual acquaintances would turn away from you. And heaven forbid the authorities take an interest!
Koreiko understands this, which is why he hides his millionaire status at all costs, lives like a very poor man, yet continues running his schemes, stuffing money into a suitcase kept in a train station locker. Money he will never be able to spend in this country—but he can’t stop. Ostap, on the other hand, tries to live it up, throw money around, only to realize after some time that it brings no happiness. In his quest to find it, he finally decides to flee abroad—but is shamelessly robbed by Romanian border guards. And he’s left in his homeland with what he started: no money, but a brilliant mind. Though with his faith in life shaken—and so we never got to read of any new adventures from the authors of the duology.
Adaptation
As with the first novel, I’d like to speak separately about the film adaptation—because in the case of The Golden Calf, the adaptation may have done just as much, if not more, for the book’s popularity than it did for The Twelve Chairs. With The Twelve Chairs, there are two most well-known film versions, and fans still argue about which Ostap was better. But with The Little Golden Calf, the situation is different.
I won’t talk about foreign versions. In the USSR, for a long time, there was only one adaptation, and by the end of the century, a couple more were made. One of them was only loosely based on the book and was even titled Dreams of an Idiot (Mechty idiota), with Ostap played by a then-popular singer (not an actor!) Sergey Krylov, who didn’t resemble Ostap at all—even physically, he was the complete opposite. Despite the presence of many talented actors in the film—Yevgeny Dvorzhetsky as Shura, Stanislav Lyubshin as Panikovsky, Vladimir Tolokonnikov as Kozlevich, and others—the film was panned by critics and viewers alike. It was clearly a cash grab, trying to capitalize on a famous character by transplanting the novel’s events into a modern setting.
The second adaptation stayed much closer to the original: Ostap was played by Oleg Menshikov, and the rest of the cast was also well matched. However, this film, too, failed to win the audience’s love. Even the cover of the film presents Ostap as a dreamy idealist, while in truth, he is a determined and calculating schemer—not just someone dreaming of a carefree life. Later, the film was re-released as an extended TV series.
But in my view, one of the key reasons this second film (we’re not even talking about the first) received such low ratings is because back in 1968, Mikhail Shveytser had already created an adaptation—and it was genius. No matter what anyone tries to do afterward, their work will always be compared to Shveytser’s version.
Many people argue with me about this, but I’m convinced that the best Ostap Bender ever portrayed is the one from this Little Golden Calf adaptation. Sergey Yursky, who played him, managed to embody a clever, world-weary, yet still fiery schemer. It’s a perfect fit for this stage in Ostap’s life—when he’s already experienced prison, the bitterness of defeat, and even survived an attempted murder. The best Ostap of all time, hands down—and you won’t change my mind.
A very young Leonid Kuravlyov was also a perfect fit for the role of Shura Balaganov—a petty conman who isn’t particularly bright, but is full of admiration for Ostap.
Yevgeny Yevstigneyev did a fantastic job portraying the underground millionaire Koreiko. On the surface, he looks like an ordinary Soviet office worker, but in reality, he’s a brilliant and cold-blooded swindler.
And then there’s Zinovy Gerdt!!! After his portrayal of Panikovsky, I simply can’t imagine anyone else in that role. Not only did he masterfully bring out nearly every nuance of the character from the book, he also added so much more that wasn’t in the original. That one restaurant scene alone, where he quarrels with Shura over his plan (“Hold me back, there’s about to be a brawl!”), followed by the legendary “Go to Kyiv and ask!” episode—that’s worth a lot. In the novel, these moments take just a few lines, but Gerdt used them to give his character far greater depth. Even the tiny episodes—“Who even are you?” and the iconic “Saw, Shura, saw!” scene with the kettlebells—became some of the most memorable and beloved moments in the film thanks to Gerdt’s performance.
At the same time, the two-part film lost quite a bit from the book. For example, most of the episodes from the third part of the novel—where Koreiko flees from Chernomorsk and is pursued—never made it into the film. Nor did the scenes set in Voronya Slobodka, where the whole gang of schemers lived. Interestingly, those Slobodka scenes were originally filmed, and the suffering Vasisyaly Lokhankin was played by Anatoly Papanov—who would later brilliantly portray Kisa Vorobyaninov in Mark Zakharov’s adaptation of The Twelve Chairs.
In fact, that deleted scene has been preserved, and it can now be watched:
All in all, when I was rereading the book, the images in my head were from that very film adaptation. Moreover, even though I know the plot by heart, I’m still ready to rewatch the movie again and again.
Endings
So what about the endings? As I mentioned, I always wanted Ostap to win this game and find happiness. And the authors themselves couldn’t decide what kind of ending to give their beloved character.
In the end, they chose the version where Ostap, after finally achieving his goal, loses all his fortune to the malicious minions of the bourgeoisie and is left with nothing. This served to illustrate that fraud and schemes don’t lead to good outcomes. The random student passengers on the train turn away from him the moment he proudly reveals he’s a millionaire. And even Zosya, whom he unexpectedly fell in love with, isn’t chasing money—she marries a poor student instead.
However, in the alternative ending, the authors decided to show that, having realized the futility of wealth, Ostap voluntarily gives it up (as he attempts to do in the final version too). And only thanks to Adam Kozlevich does he find happiness with Zosya, who waited for him.
Frankly, I don’t like either ending. But letting Ostap leave for the longed-for Rio de Janeiro was something the authors simply couldn’t allow.
My rating of the book: 4.5/5
