Photo by Anna Matveeva, Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics
Rated: R
Starring: Aleksey Serebryakov and Roman Madyanov
Directed by Andrey Zvyagintsev
The landscape inspires awe with an ocean crashing against the geometrical slabs of shoreline and a sky spreading across the vastness like the tarp of infinity. A speck of land on that shore is at the heart of Leviathan, a film by Russian director Andrey Zvyagintsev set in the remote reaches of Siberia. The bones of great whales are beached nearby, a visual reference to the Leviathan of the title, a biblical metaphor of mysterious and implacable destiny.
Many minutes pass before human voices are heard. Leviathan is quiet and observant, and at two hours and 20 minutes is as large as a Russian novel or the Siberian landscape. The protagonist, the mechanic Kolya (Aleksey Serebryakov), is hot headed and determined to fight for his rights. He is about to lose the house he built on the beach to an eminent domain scheme hatched by the corrupt mayor, Vadim (Roman Madyanov). Kolya brings in his army buddy, Dmitriy (Vladimir Vdovichenkov), now a successful Moscow lawyer. Dmitriy knows they will lose in court, but has an ace in his vest pocket, a dossier on Vadim’s crimes and machinations. The lawyer intends to blackmail the politician.
Like a Russian novel, Leviathan includes a fully developed set of primary and secondary characters, subplots and themes reflecting on social conditions and philosophical concerns. Tough but affectionate, Kolya is a decent man who doesn’t know when he’s beaten. His adolescent son Roma (Sergey Pokhodaev) is sullen and defiant with his stepmom, the long-suffering Lilya (Elena Lyadova). Dmitriy is slick and confident in confronting Vadim, who resembles a sweating pig and turns bully when guarded by his thugs. Dmitriy betrays Kolya by having an affair with Lilya. All the men have a couple too many shots of vodka under their belts as they stagger and sway into conflict.
The gradually gripping story is a personal tragedy many times over, but much can be made of its commentary on contemporary Russian life. The juxtaposed statue of Lenin looming over the courthouse plaza and the Romanoff eagle mounted behind the judge’s bench speak to Russia’s symbolic dissonance. Vadim’s particular misdeeds are left unstated, yet his brutal personality is evident. With bribery and philanthropy, he has purchased the services or the silence of the police chief, the judge and the bishop. Vadim represents the corrupt powermongers that emerged after the end of the Soviet Union and his local tyranny can be interpreted as indicting the present Russian regime. And yet, Russia’s ministry of culture funded Leviathan, a sign that Putin’s authoritarian administration is willing to facilitate a measure of social criticism.
