The Assassin of the Tsar, on OVID.tv

It is highly unlikely Timofeyev, a mild-mannered Soviet mental patient, could have assassinated both Tsar Alexander II in 1881 and the final Tsar, Nicholas II along with his family in 1918, but the Soviet government heavily censored discussion of such events. As a result, most Russians knew very little about their respective deaths, even as late as 1991. Russian filmmaker Karen Shakhnazarov really had to scrounge for background information while preparing this film. However, he had a big international star in Malcolm McDowell. Maybe he was not as hot as he was in the early 1970s, but the Caligula thesp still carried a good deal of cachet during the era of Glasnost. Regardless, McDowell convincingly makes Timofeyev’s delusions contagious in Shakhnazarov’s The Assassin of the Tsar, which premieres today on OVID.tv.

Assassin of the Tsar was produced at a time when Shakhnazarov was still an artist. Today, he is a propagandist, whom Putin regularly trots out to endorse his war crimes in Ukraine. Apparently, he forgot writing and directing this film, because its critiques of violent extremism could apply just as well to Putin’s regime.

The exact time period is hard to pin down, but references suggest Stalin is still in power. Perhaps that is one reason Timofeyev politely declined his previous doctor’s offers of increased freedom. As long as he remains an inmate of the asylum, he is safe from the outside world and provided sufficient food. Dr. Aleksandr Yegorovich has stepped back into a quasi-emeritus role, conceding day-to-day responsibilities to his younger colleague, Dr. Smirnov, who was specially recruited from the big city.

Smirnov is struck by Timofeyev, particularly the way his body exhibits signs of psychosomatic injuries on dates related to the assassinations. Of course, he assumes Timofeyev could not possibly have committed either murder, so he decides to cure his patient through confrontational role play therapy. However, instead of snapping Timofeyev back to reality, the patient pulls his doctor into his delusional visions of the past. Shakhnazarov realizes these scenes so subtly, they first seem like historical flashbacks for context. Yet, the treatment steadily takes a physical and emotional toll on Smirnov.

As the film progresses, it grows steadily clearer how the abject horror of the Romanov regicide hangs over the characters and Soviet society, like an evil curse. It is sort of like the regime’s original sin and Timofeyev is the holy fool, pointing out Banquo’s ghost at the banquet.

Two versions of Assassin were produced, one featuring an undubbed McDowell performing with the Russian actors phonetically delivering their lines in English and a Russian version, in which the Yorkshire-born thesp is overdubbed. This review is based on the subtitled Russian option, but OVID.tv offers both. Regardless, McDowell is perfectly weird as Timofeyev. He can be suitably twitchy, but somehow his moments of serene calm are more disconcerting.

Russian Film Week ‘18: Anna Karenina. Vronsky’s Story

Few literary characters are as universally despised as Count Vronsky in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Generally, he is pegged somewhere between a cad and a heel. Nevertheless, he deserves the chance to tell his side of the classic story, especially since he has an interested listener in Karen Shakhnazarov’s Anna Karenina. Vronsky’s Story (trailer here), which screens as part of Russian Film Week in New York.

There might be subtle differences in interpretation, but the events that happened in St. Petersburg are still quite faithful to Tolstoy’s novel. The wrap-around segments are based on the fictionalized but still very autobiographical writings of Vikenty Veresaev. Anna Karenina’s son Sergei takes Veresaev’s place as a doctor during the 1904 Russian-Japanese War. Clearly, the fighting in Manchuria has gone poorly for the Czar’s army, when even a staff officer like Col. Vronsky has been wounded. Of course, Vronsky and Karenin know exactly who they are. They also have unresolved feelings for Anna. As he recuperates, Vronsky explains the tragic events, most of which were kept secret from Karenin by his controlling father.

What happened was the story of Anna Karenina, which you really ought to be familiar with. It is rather fascinating how closely Shakhnazarov and co-screenwriter Yuriy Poteenko hew to the original Tolstoy, yet they still manage to recast Vronsky as an unexpectedly sympathetic character. On the other hand, the senior Karenin comes across like a bitter, moralizing misanthrope, while Karenina is portrayed as a problematically unstable and self-centered drama queen.

That is all quite an interesting take on Tolstoy, but the biggest surprise is the success of the Veresaev-inspired scenes in Manchuria, which are quite compelling. Max Matveev necessarily digs deeper as the older, more remorseful Vronsky. He also forges a rather poignant rapport with Sofia Sun’s Chunsheng, a Chinese orphan girl Vronsky takes under his wing.

The feature cut of Vronsky’s Story is culled from Shakhnazarov’s eight-part miniseries, but it really does not feel like it is missing anything. The way it marries together Tolstoy and Veresaev is really very clever, but Tass still manages to overstate matters. It erroneously claims Vronsky’s Story would be nominated for an Academy Award and Shakhnazarov, the Putin supporting director general of Mosfilm has already been nominated for Oscars three times before. The truth is Russia previously submitted three of his films in the foreign language category, but the Academy chose not to nominate them. This time around, Russia declined to submit Vronsky’s Story, in favor of Sobibor. Despite the disinformation disseminated on Shakhnazarov’s behalf, Anna Karenina. Vronsky’s Story is a classy and engaging film, definitely recommended when it screens Sunday (12/9), as part of this year’s Russian Film Week in New York.

Submitted By Russia: White Tiger

Ivan Naidyonov could be called the tank whisperer.  He seems to have the mystical power to commune with armored vehicles, but his environment is pure blood and guts.  War is still war, except more so on the Eastern Front in Karen Shakhnazarov’s White Tiger (trailer here), which Russia has chosen as their official submission for this year’s foreign language Academy Award.

Hoping to put the debacle of last year’s submission (Friend of Putin Nikita Mikhalkov’s universally panned Burnt By the Sun 2: Citadel) behind them, Russia has opted for another well-connected standard bearer in Mosfilm head Shakhnazarov.  However, in this case the quality of the film and the director’s critical reputation represent a considerable step up.

Picking through the remains of a routed Russian tank division, soldiers find a charred driver who is somehow still breathing.  Despite suffering severe burns to ninety percent of his body, the tank mechanic makes a full recovery, except for his acute amnesia.  Rechristened Ivan Naidoyonov (“found Ivan,” roughly), he is sent back to the tank corps.  He is a whiz at fixing and operating tanks, but he is a little spooky.  Naidyonov claims tanks speak to him and even starts preying to the “God of tanks” enthroned in the big garage in the sky.  Yet, he is just the man to track down and destroy the white German super tank that seemingly materializes out of nowhere to wreak destruction on blindsided armored columns.

For Naidyonov it is personal.  The spirits of the destroyed tanks have spoken to him about the White Tiger.  So perfect are its maneuvers, he is convinced its crew is “dead.”  He can sense it before it appears and it seems to be hunting specifically for him.

White Tiger might sound like Life of Pi in a tank, but at every battlefield juncture, Shakhnazarov chooses grit over woo-woo.  Everyone thinks Naidyonov is nuts, but they secretly suspect there might be something to him, particularly Major Fedotov, the counter-intelligence officer in charge of the hunt for the White Tiger. The resulting vibe is like The Big Red One as re-written by Melville.

With his studio’s resources at his disposal, Shakhnazarov stages some fantastic tank battles, vividly conveying their force and limitations.  During the first two acts, White Tiger is a completely original, totally engrossing war film.  Strangely though, the final third is largely dominated by completely unrelated scenes of the German surrender and Hitler’s ruminations in the face of defeat.  It is like White Tiger won the war, but lost the peace.  Still, since it is a war movie, the former is more important.

When Naidyonov and his obsession are center stage, White Tiger is genuinely riveting, with a good measure of credit due to its primary leads.  Aleksey Vertkov is perfect as Naidyonov.  Refraining from distractingly ticky or showy behavior, he is compellingly “off” in a way that could believably be recycled back into the Soviet war machine.  Even though in reality his character would have probably been purged halfway through the film, Vitaliy Kishchenko’s work as the square-jawed Fedotov is similarly smart, understated, and intense.

It is hard to understand why Shakhnazarov would establish such a powerfully focused mood, only to break it up down the stretch.  Still, White Tiger boasts two excellent performances and some impressive warfighting sequences, which is more than many of its fellow contenders can offer.  Academy voters certainly love them some WWII, so it is probably worth keeping an eye on.  Shakhnazarov has also had American distribution for past films like Vanished Empire, so White Tiger should have international legs.  Regardless of its flaws, White Tiger is a film of considerable merit that ought to find an audience.

Shakhnazarov’s Vanished Empire

For the chronically unambitious Sergey Narbekov, the late Brezhnev years were the glory days. With academia preoccupied with propaganda and jobs tightly regulated, he did not have to worry very much about studying or working. Instead, he is largely free to pursue girls and black market blue jeans in Karen Shakhnazarov’s oddly nostalgic The Vanished Empire, which opens tomorrow in New York.

“The history of the Communist Party is no laughing matter,” young Narbekov is told during a dressing down from his professor. That’s for sure. However, as the grandson of a respected archeologist, Narbekov is a child of moderate privilege, who gets away with quite a bit. In his first year at the Moscow Pedagogical Institute, Narbekov has been majoring in girls, even hooking-up mid-lecture. Yet to his dismay, his charm only takes him so far with Lyuda Beletskaya, a pretty transfer student.

Everyday life in Empire does not look like much fun. There is constant queuing for scarce household items, including vodka. Somehow though, as seen through Narbekov’s eyes, it seems like a carefree time of little or no responsibility. Of course, nothing lasts forever. He starts to learn a few life lessons from the virtuous Beletskaya, and eventually faces a harsh dose of reality within his immediate family. Still, he seems to become even more aimless and apathetic, traveling extensively in the Republics despite his lack of resources.

Given its wistful tone and drably realistic recreation of the period, Empire’s verdict on the Communist Era seems quite ambiguous. Sure, people could not get enough alcohol or buy rock & roll albums. Frankly, the level of medical care does look so great either. Still, people did not have to work so hard—at least Narbekov and his cronies did not have to.

As the brooding collegiate player, Alexander Lyadin’s performance often seems to miss the mark. While Narbekov trades on his rakish charisma, Lyadin conveys a self-indulgent smugness that is far from endearing. However, as his on-again-off-again girlfriend, Lidia Milyuzina brings a refreshing vitality to the film.

Production designer Lyudmila Kusakova renders early 1980’s Moscow with time-capsule exactness, filling the streets with crummy Trabants and the flats with snowy televisions that only seem to pick-up speeches by the comrade General Secretary. Unfortunately, later scenes in the Uzbekistan have a surreal quality that clashes with the prior gritty tone of the film.

If you were somewhat connected and largely oblivious to the crimes of the Soviet regime, like Narbekov, you probably could look back at your coming-of-age years with some fondness. Shakhnazarov skillfully immerses viewers in the milieu of the evil empire at its height, but its story of angst-ridden young love is fairly standard stuff. While it is an interesting viewing experience, Empire will probably leave non-Russophile viewers a bit cold. It opens tomorrow (7/10) in New York at the Quad.