Russian Film Week ’11: The Target

In near future Russia, red signifies good and blue designates evil.  Sound familiar? The powerful natural resources minister is preoccupied with a device that reveals the good-to-evil ratio of everyone and everything viewed through it. He would like to put this information into practice and he ought to have the time to do so, considering he will more or less live forever. Of course, nothing is so simple in Alexander Zeldovich’s science fiction fable The Target (trailer here), which screens during the eleventh annual Russian Film Week in New York.

Somewhere in Nowherestan, there is a colossal abandoned Soviet astrophysics research facility. Built into the ground, it looks like a giant target from the surrounding mountains. The bull’s eye collects not just radiation, but also chi force. Those who spend the night in the focal point will apparently live forever. For a man of privilege like Minister Viktor Chelshchev and his increasingly discontented wife Zoya, it is a trip worth the expense and inconvenience.

With Zoya’s brother Dmitri and his friend Nikolai, a thrill-seeking border enforcement officer, they make the long journey east. They also share their passage with another postmodern pilgrim, who turns out to be the woman of Dmitri’s dreams. Together they spend a fateful night in the Target, which turns out to be everything it was promised to be and then some.

Initially, everyone feels energized, buzzed even. However, it quickly becomes clear the target acts as a karmic steroid shot. Their emotions become rawer and their passions more intense, overriding their empathic affinities. As Zoya and Nikolai launch into an affair, taking the film on a futuristic Anna Karenina detour, Chelshchev boldly announces his intention to screen mines and worksites to avoid evil deposits (for real). How do you think that goes over?

A strange but not implausibly exotic environment, Target initially brings to mind the austere, almost antiseptic near future vibe of classic 1970’s science fiction films, like 2001, World on a Wire, and, dare we say it, Solaris. However, things get rather messy in a hurry. Indeed, Target is a tricky film to get a handle on, because it veers into some trippy territory that still has very real narrative consequences. Yet, despite the nature of its themes and motifs, there is nothing New Agey about the film. It is never proscriptive. Rather, it returns to one of the central cautionary principles of speculative fiction: those who would become like gods . . .

As Zoya/Anna, South African born English actress Justine Waddell (who had a smaller supporting role in Bernard Rose’s Anna Karenina) is a brittle, haunting presence, bringing to mind Anouk Aimée and Anna Karina in the films of Fellini and Godard. Likewise, Maxim Sukhanov finds unexpected depths of humanity in Chelshchev, somewhat resembling a Russian Mastroianni. Indeed, Target is perhaps better thought of in Nouvelle Vague and surrealist traditions than as genre cinema per se.

Ambitious in scope, cinematographer Alexandre Ilkhovski’s wide vistas of the Target and surrounding mountains are visually arresting. This is definitely big picture filmmaking. Still, in several respects Target is an alarmingly current film, positing a Russia ever more dominated by a resource hungry China. It also depicts the violent cruelty of mobs in no uncertain terms. Even if they are poor, they can still be evil.

In just about every way, Target is an uncompromising film for the top one percent rather than the simpleminded rabble. For those who enjoy science fiction at its most challenging, Target is strongly recommended. It screens again tomorrow night (11/1) during Russian Film Week in New York.

Russian Film Week ’11: Siberia, Monamour

The remote reaches of Siberia remain relatively untouched by Communism, National Socialism, and gangsterism. Instead, man must struggle against the forces of nature to survive, including his own human nature. In this rough environment, man often reverts to his worst instincts, but the possibility of nobility remains in writer-director Slava Ross’s Siberia, Monamour (trailer here), the opening night selection of the eleventh annual Russian Film Week in New York.

Lyochka’s father was a war hero, but his grandfather cannot bring himself to tell the boy his father will not be coming back, having died a less than edifying death in the village. Isolated from the outside world, Lyochka’s only playmate is Fang, one of the wild dogs prowling about their cabin. However, his sternly devout grandfather harbors a primal dislike of the canines, shooting on-sight at every opportunity. Yet, as nature films constantly warn us, man represents a greater danger in Taiga Forest, especially a pair of looters looking for icons and an erratic Army captain dispatched by his superiors to retrieve a prostitute for their enjoyment.

Undeniably slow out of the blocks, Monamour starts out as a quiet, deliberate art film, but flips a switch halfway through, downshifting into a Jack London survival story. Given the film’s rather bleak naturalistic view of humanity, it partly shares an ideological affinity with the Oakland writer’s work as well. Ross though is not an ideologue, portraying the grandfather’s abiding faith in terms that become explicitly heroic. In fact, the third act lends itself to sweeping allegorical interpretations, as the old man sets off ostensibly on a desperate trek for help, but perhaps as an act of sacrifice.

Monamour is high-end cinema that will tax those with short attention spans, but it will fascinate viewers who stick with it. The ensemble cast all look like they spent a lifetime on the outskirts of the tundra, particularly the weathered Petr Zaichenko as the grandfather. Likewise, as Lyochka, Misha Protsko’s refreshing lack of cuteness serves the film well. Yet, it is the riveting Nikolay Kozak who drives the film home, vividly conveying the captain’s stirrings of conscience.

While essentially nonpolitical, Monamour does not paint a flattering portrait of the Russian Army, portraying an officer class prone to abuse their power, while the enlisted men labor with decrepit facilities and barely functional vehicles. Still, nature remains the greatest menace, which every character must engage with to some extent throughout the film. It might be deadly dangerous, but cinematographer Yury Rayskiy captures some absolutely breathtaking natural vistas through his lens, deliberately dwarfing the human figures in the process.

In many respects, Monamour is a deeply humanistic film. Indeed, despite the mean and arbitrary character of their lives, the people of the Taiga willingly endure pain and hardship for their fellow human beings. Demanding but ultimately quite rewarding, it is a film of unexpected surprises. Recommended for discriminating audiences, Monamour screens again this afternoon (10/29) and Tuesday (11/1) during this year’s Russian Film Week in New York.