The Twelve Chairs (1970)

Dom DeLuise: Father Fyodor

Photos 

Quotes 

• Ippolit Vorobyaninov : You're not worth spitting on!

  Father Fyodor : Oh yeah? Well, you are!

  [spits] 

• Ippolit Vorobyaninov : Why are you after my chair?

  Father Fyodor : It's not yours.

  Ippolit Vorobyaninov : Then whose is it?

  Father Fyodor : It's nationalized property. It belongs to the workers!

  Ippolit Vorobyaninov : Did you said the workers?

  Father Fyodor : Yes, the workers.

  Ippolit Vorobyaninov : Maybe the holy father is a member of the communist party.

  Father Fyodor : Maybe.

  Ippolit Vorobyaninov : But the party is for atheists. How can a priest join the party?

  Father Fyodor : The church must keep up with the times.

• Father Fyodor : I want to grovel at your feet! I must grovel at your feet!

  Madam Bruns : No groveling! There will be no groveling in this house! This is a Soviet household! We don't allow groveling!

• Ostap Bender : Now listen, old man. Pride is a luxury that neither you nor I can afford at this time in our lives. We need 30 rubles to make our dreams come true. It's sink or swim. I choose swim. Now, to beg or not to beg, that is the question. I will give you five... to decide yes or no. On the count of five it is farewell. One...

  Father Fyodor : Yes... yes, yes, yes...

• Ippolit Vorobyaninov : [They've torn one of chairs to pieces when Vorobyaninov realizes]  How did you find out about the jewels?

  Father Fyodor : [pause, then]  People talk.

  Ippolit Vorobyaninov : Why, you disgusting creature! You used the sacred sacrement of confession to further your own ends!

  Father Fyodor : Not really.

  Ippolit Vorobyaninov : Well, you are just about the most contemptible creature it has even been my misfortune to meet! You're not worth spitting on!

  Father Fyodor : Well, you are!

  [He spits on Vorobyaninov] 

• Father Fyodor : [Bender is masquerading as a government official as Father Fyodor walks into the office to get information about the chairs]  I am Vorobyaninov's son.

  [Ostap stares at him] 

  Father Fyodor : His first-born. He was like a father to me.

  Ostap Bender : So... you are Vorobyaninov's son.

  Father Fyodor : Yes, I am.

  Ostap Bender : [quickly]  How old are you?

  Father Fyodor : 46... 44.

  Ostap Bender : Which is it?

  Father Fyodor : 42... 42.

  Ostap Bender : According to our records, Vorobyaninov is 53. That means that when you were born, your father was... 11.

  [Father Fyodor gives an impressed whistle] 

• Ippolit Vorobyaninov : [Father Fyodor is on the top of a mountain, ripping a chair apart]  It's very quiet... what do you supposed he's doing? Do you think he found the jewels?

  Ostap Bender : In a moment, the jury will bring in a verdict.

  [They wait] 

  Father Fyodor : Oh Lord, you're so strict!

• Father Fyodor : Oh Lord... oh Lord, if this is your pun... ish... ment...

  [he realizes that he's trapped on top of a mountain with no way down] 

  Father Fyodor : How did I get here? There's no way down... there's absolutely no way down! I'm gonna need a great deal of help to get down!

  [he sees Ostap and Vorobyaninov leaving] 

  Father Fyodor : Boys! Oh, boys! Yoo-hoo, Vorobyaninov! I have always liked you, you know that? We come from the same village. For twenty-five years, I have been your priest... oh, for Christ's sake, get me down!

  [they walk away] 

  Father Fyodor : Get... me... down!

• Father Fyodor : Oh, God! You're so strict!

• Father Fyodor : [to Engineer and Mrs. Bruns in Siberia, as he attempts to steal a chair and they attempt to throw him out]  A memento of my visit to your lovely home!

• Father Fyodor : What detail. What fine workmanship. What a gorgeous chairrrrr!

• Father Fyodor : [to Madam Bruns]  My dear lady... don't you understand?

  [he goes totally manic] 

  Father Fyodor : I need those chairs!

• Ostap Bender : [Father Fyodor has just handed supposed government official Ostap a pocket watch]  Are you trying to bribe a Soviet official?

  Father Fyodor : Oh, no, no, no, no, no... I was hoping for the best.

• Father Fyodor : [desperately trying to think of a motive to get the chairs from the Bruns]  C'mon, brain!