Wizard of the Kremlin (now on VOD platforms like Prime Video) is the latest political drama in which Paul Dano plays a behind-the-scenes power player to Jude Law’s Vladimir Putin. Sound interesting? It should, given the credibility of director Olivier Assayas (see: Irma Vep, Personal shopper) and the flexibility and interest of its two leads. But in execution, this labyrinthine story is wide and shallow: In Soviet Russia, The Weezard in the Kremlin It’s a long time, borink movie.
WIZARD OF THE KREMLIN: SPREAD OR SKIP?
Idea: Vadim Baronov (Dano) shows off his “vertushka”, a wireless phone that provided a direct line to the Kremlin: the symbol of the real seat of power in Russia. Note the past tense. It’s just a reminder now, in 2019, without a cord to connect it to anything. Rowland (Jeffrey Wright), an American journalist, sits down at Baronov’s house he built in the beautiful Russian snowy landscape, to hear his story firsthand: how Baronov went from directing a conventional theater to directing a Russian political theater. Namely, the important role he played in putting Vladimir Putin on the throne, under the umbrella of the ideology of “ruling democracy,” a term as absurdly chaotic as “other truths.”
But chaos was the means to the end Baronov wanted. We begin with Wright’s voiceover as he travels to Russia. and transitioning to Dano’s overwrought exposé as he describes his ascension. This means that we quickly tire of the overwrought expression. Still, we persist. I have to keep truckin’, as Baronov enters the experimental theater in the period of post-communist over-reform capitalism in the 1990s, and then we switch to the production of reality TV shows, which tells us that reality TV can be a key factor in the collapse of democracy. We watch as an ailing, alcoholic Boris Yeltsin (George Sogis) is literally posed in front of a camera to address the world, a fitting symbol of what many saw as the softening of a proud and powerful Russia, a place that “needs its own heroes.”
This incident finds Baronov, now scoffing at the small influence of art and entertainment on people, looking for an opportunity to follow a new idea: “If you don’t get power, power will catch you.” As he begins a relationship with an equally opportunistic and naive actress, Ksenia (Alicia Vikander), he enters the silent tunnels of Russian power. He “befriends” rich a-holes like Boris Berezovsky (Will Keen) and Dmitri Sidorov (Tom Sturridge) to be raised or railroaded as needed later. Meanwhile, Ksenia abandons him to move up the social ladder, but don’t worry, she’ll be back when her pastures are greener. Finally, Baronov and Berezovsky formed their own political party and developed the former KGB a lieutenant colonel in the office of the President. You know who that is. Yessir: Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin (The Law), the cold terror who still sits in that chair to this day, is probably offended by films like this, at least behind closed doors. Which is a different kind of angst that we feel, waiting for this slow-burning movie to show signs of an amazing heartbeat.
What Movies Will They Remind You Of? Wizard of the Kremlin it stands in the void amid the tumultuous sarcasm of Death of Stalin and the romantic drama You-Know-Who biopic Student.
Performances to Watch: Playing the fictitious real-life Putin aide Vladislav Surkov, the doughy-faced Dano clearly Makes Choices in the role, with a breathy, breathy voice with an indeterminate pitch, projecting a hushed tone of influence to balance Putin’s finest touches. I’m not sure it works; to be very affected. That leaves us in awe of Law’s ability to portray Putin’s most terrifying qualities — masking masculine insecurities, of course — with a glossy sheen over a frog’s face.
Sex and Skin: In the background Dano is naked.
Ours: Assayas plays a surprising evil prevention card with an understatement, Wizard of the Kremlin he never lived. Like Dano’s performance, that’s Choice as well, a maddeningly stubborn refusal to give us anything resembling high drama. And while that tonal approach works in theory — a slow seeping of poison into the cracks and crevices of everyday life — in practice it provides a 137-minute plod from one long, ad-libbed, delayed conversation to the next. Many scenes find Dano/Baronov sitting on the floor drinking tea, my bladder started to feel full by proxy; seen a bunch of mugs later, through strategy discussions/flat ideas, I found it to be of the Sleepytime variety.
Perhaps Assayas was challenged by the idea of envisioning things like assembling Russian-bot social media armies and oligarchs amassing billions, so he leaned on his own talent, hoping that Dano and Law would kindly suggest such talking points. As before, they are easy to watch, but the screenplay – by Assayas and Emmanuel Carrere, based on the novel by Guiliana da Empoli Wizard of the Kremlin as their basis – it is a direct, sequential navigation through several decades of political conflict, showing little narrative. The merciless shift from place to place and up the timeline is documented in a never-ending, ever-continuing narrative. The arc of Baronov’s life, a rollercoaster from grungy punk clubs to the office of one of the world’s greatest political powers to luxurious exile, is oddly low-key. Love with Tsenia does not start. (Vikander is asked to do very little with a character who should be a strong type.) The interaction between Dano and Wright is sadly nondescript.
Only time A witch it shows some life between the scenes where Baronov plays politics with a group of Bolshevik biker gangs, and when Putin laments that he’s “not as famous” as Stalin, the moment Law taps into the kind of bad humor the film needs, and generally refuses to indulge. Assayas also shows an eye for decorating the interior of a real powerhouse, with a production design that is beautifully detailed. But those rooms are full of talking characters, sometimes saying interesting things – “Wolves are not just predators, they are also guardians of the forest,” Baronov tells the cyclists – in a vague way. And then the movie ends, with a moment memorable for its inevitability, but also for encouraging shrugs.
Our Phone: This Wizard shows very little magic. SKIP IT.
John Serba is a freelance film critic from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Werner Herzog lied once.
