Mikhalkov’s Sunstroke

Ivan Bunin was the first Russian to win the Nobel Prize for literature, but that did not exactly thrill the Soviets, since he was living in Paris at the time as a “White émigré.” Among the White or Menshevik-affiliated exiles, Bunin was a rock star, but it was a small group. Nikita Mikhalkov reminds us why so few dissidents escaped the 1920s Red Terror in his fusion of Bunin’s nonfiction Cursed Days and the titular short story. Mikhalkov remains a problematic figure, but there is no question Sunstroke is one of his best films in years, which finally releases today on DVD.

It is 1920. A large contingent of surrendered White officers are being processed for their promised return to Russian society. In exchange for relinquishing their arms and accepting the Soviet state they have even been promised the opportunity to immigrate. It is all very depressing for an honorable officer like the unnamed lieutenant, but his heart was already broken a lifetime ago in 1907. As he endures the boredom and petty indignities of the makeshift POW camp, his mind drifts back to his brief, intoxicating affair with a mystery woman while they were both traveling on a Volga steamship.

Sadly, it would only last one mad night, but the memory still lingers. Even the day after, largely spent in the company of Egoriy, a plucky street urchin takes becomes bittersweet in retrospect. Indeed, the 1907 narrative is classic Bunin, somewhat reminiscent of Chekhov’s “The Lady with the Dog.” In contrast, the 1920 storyline is all Soviet, through and through. It also happens to be the more powerful strand. Although Mikhalkov eventually brings the twains together in a way that genuinely pays off, the 1907 narrative really could have been handled as one or two long flashbacks. In contrast, it is quite haunting to watch the loved-and-lost romantic lieutenant facing the utter end of his era, with dignity and sad resignation. (At least his comrade still has his loyal hunting dog Syabr).

Everyone should generally know how 1920 ended for Russia, but Mikhalkov still manages to surprise us. He is a talented filmmaker, but there is no question he is tainted by his friendship with Putin and his own unprecedented consolidation of power within the Russian film industry. We give him credit for calling for the release of Oleg Sentsov, which he really didn’t have to do, but by defending Russian aggression and imperialism in Ukraine, he has become what he condemns in the third act of Sunstroke and throughout the Burnt By the Sun trilogy.

Regardless, Mikhalkov’s stitching together of Bunin is truly epic in a tragically lyrical way that totally falls within his cinematic wheelhouse. He can balance the dark romanticism of his Dark Eyes with a historical indictment in the tradition of Wajda’s Katyn. Frankly, this film deserves more attention, but it is Mikhalkov’s own darned fault it has not enjoyed the festival love bestowed on his earlier films.

In addition to his bravura filmmaking techniques, Mikhalkov gets the benefit of some fine ensemble work. Milos Bikovic is terrific as Syabr’s owner, the aristocratic naval officer, Baron Nikolay Alexandrovich Gulbe-Levitsky, Vitaliy Kishchenko is wildly but believable unhinged as the defiant cavalry captain, and Kiril Boltaev is wryly sardonic as the Cossack Captain. However, nobody can withstand the furious power of Miriam Sekhorn as Rozaliia Zemliachka, a Communist revolutionary figure and architect of Soviet mass murder. She is just a chilling, show-stopping tour de force. Ironically, Martinsh Kalita and the Ukrainian-born Viktoriya Solovyova aren’t nearly as engaging as the star-crossed lovers.

Mikhalkov is still going big, which pays dividends in this case. This is a mixed bag film (that appears to have been judiciously trimmed for its US home release, with no obvious ill effects), but when it connects, it lands a haymaker. It takes a little work (and requires overlooking Mikhalkov’s politics), but it is worth it. Recommended for fans of Russian cinema and literature, Sunstroke releases today on DVD, from Distrib Films US/Icarus.

Russian Film Week ’10: Burnt By the Sun 2: Imminence

Col. Sergei Petrovich Kotov ought to be dead. We were told he was about to be executed as part of Stalin’s purge at the end of Mikhalkov’s Burnt by the Sun. The Communist dictator assumed as much himself, which is why he is so out of sorts to discover Kotov yet lives in Mikhalkov’s Burnt by the Sun 2: Imminence (trailer here), the second film of his projected trilogy, which screened during the 2010 Russian Film Week in New York.

One typically miserable day in the gulag, Kotov is dismayed to discover his Article 58 political conviction has been reclassified to a pedestrian criminal charge. Moments later, the political inmates are summarily executed and the remaining prisoners are evacuated. The Germans have attacked, offering Kotov an opportunity for salvation. Before you can say “Great Patriotic War” he has enlisted in a special penal company, tenaciously fighting on the frontline as a lowly private.

Of course, that cuts no ice with Stalin. When he purges someone, it is meant to be permanent. With a war raging, he summons NKVD Colonel Mitya Arsentyev to track him down and finish the job, setting in motion the Communist version of Saving Private Ryan. It is an assignment that hits close to home for Arsentyev, given his long history with Kotov. Estranged comrades, Arsentyev married Kotov’s wife and adopted his daughter after arresting the war hero on Stalin’s orders. However, Kotov is the only father Nadya Kotova will ever acknowledge. In true Zhivagan fashion, they will both brave the horrors of war in hopes of reuniting.

It is hard to know where to start with Imminence, perhaps because there is so much of it: nearly three hours plus a teaser of the next installment to come. It certainly captures the spirit of the age, boldly portraying Stalin not just as an autocrat, but a legitimate psychopath. Yet, Mikhalkov’s well known status as Russia’s more-or-less film czar and notorious FOP (friend of Putin) adds a layer of irony to his blistering critique of Stalinism. After all, who would he consider the film’s closest analog to Russia’s current thug-in-chief (and former KGB officer).

Burnt 2 is at its best when depicting the chaos and degradation of war, unnecessarily aggravated by Stalin’s policies. Ironically, Mikhalkov’s carte blanche did not always serve the best interests of the film. Case in point, the over-orchestrated score veers close to parody. Still, there are times when Mikhalkov goes for broke and pulls it off, as when a dying priest baptizes Kotova while they cling to an exploded mine bobbing in open water.

In truth, Mikhalkov’s lead performance as the disillusioned Kotov is quite good, but casting himself as a Russian paragon of fatherhood and fatherland gives his critics something else to key-in on. However, his supporting cast is a more mixed bag. Subtle and thoughtful, Oleg Menshikov is fantastic as the former White partisan turned Red enforcer. Sergey Garmash also shines (far too briefly) as the compassionate priest, Aleksandr. However, many of the assorted prisoners and military characters are portrayed with a distracting theatricality.

Regardless of Mikhalkov’s vociferous critics and his rather unsettling Slavic nationalism, Burnt 2 is a big film by nearly any measure, well worth seeing. It is hard not to get caught up in this sort of sweeping historical epic, with its liberal helpings of melodrama. His critique of the Stalinist era is also quite trenchant, which why it is so frustrating he is unable to apply the same rigorous standards to the Putin regime. Indeed, it was definitely the most talked about selection of Russian Film Week, which concludes tonight (12/9) in New York.

12 (Angry Russian Men)

In 2006, Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya was assassinated in her apartment building in what was widely considered retribution for her investigative reporting on the human rights abuses committed by the Russian military and the Putin-backed authorities in Chechnya. Her killers have yet to be brought to justice. Such background is helpful to fully appreciate Nikita Mikhalkov’s Russian adaptation of Reginald Rose’s 12 Angry Men, in which a Chechen teenager is on trial for the murder of his step-father, a Russian military officer. One of last year’s Oscar nominees for best foreign language film, Mikhalkov’s 12 (trailer here), opens Wednesday in New York.

The trial has gone poorly for the accused Chechen and his fate now rests in the hands of twelve men, eleven of whom are anxious to simply be done with the matter. There is of course one holdout. The lone dissenting juror—the Henry Fonda character in Sidney Lumet’s classic 1957 film—is now a wealthy Russian engineer who initially claims to just be troubled by his fellow jurors’ undue haste to convict. However, as he begins sway fellow jurors, it becomes clear he harbors very specific doubts regarding the prosecution’s supposedly open-and-shut case.

The engineer’s main nemesis is a xenophobic and anti-Semitic cab driver who responds to the engineer’s reasonable objections with bullying tactics. This works with weaker jurors, but not with a Caucasusian surgeon, who schools the cabbie in the art of knife-wielding during a particularly riveting scene. Most jurors duly take the spotlight in turn for their moment of dramatic revelation. Some offer non-sequiturs that seem to only have meaning for their characters, while others are dramatically on-point, yet with considerable economy, Mikhalkov and his fellow screen-writers Alexander Novototsky-Vlasov and Vladimir Moisseenko fully flesh out at least ten of the twelve angry Russian men.

In addition to vaguely resembling Fonda, Sergey Makovetsky brings credible nuance to the role of the initial holdout juror. Sergei Garmash nicely captures both the rage and humanity of the antagonistic cabbie, while Sergei Gazarov delivers the film a jolt of energy as the surgeon. However, the real standout on the jury is Mikhalkov himself as the surprisingly shrewd foreman and the audience’s guide through the Russian legal system (which in reality is much worse for the accused than depicted in 12).

Though the audience probably has a general idea where the verdict is headed, Mikhalkov cannily maintains the tension through the nearly gothic environment of the decrepit school gymnasium the jury is forced to deliberate in and frequent straw votes to measure the shifts within their ranks. It is also clear that their verdict, whatever it might be, will have serious implications in the frankly sinister real world of Putin’s Russia. In fact, Mikhalkov, in truly Russian fashion, tosses the audience a third act curve-ball, which complicates their previous moral assumptions about the characters and the case. As a result, Mikhalkov makes it impossible to classify 12 with comforting terms like a “plea for tolerance” or a “paean to civic duty.” Contemporary Russia is simply too messy for such easy labels.

While Mikhalkov occasionally overdoes the symbolic flourishes, there is a gritty core to 12 that is very compelling. Well acted and briskly paced, it seems far shorter than its 159 minutes. A smart film that asks whether justice can be found in an unjust system, 12 opens Wednesday in New York at the Film Forum.