Andrey Zvyagintsev’s masterful movie, Leviathan, an allegory on the dismal state of contemporary Russia, leaves a viewer pessimistic about its future direction.
Since the rise of Vladimir Putin, Russia has lurched ominously toward authoritarianism. Putin, having exhibited little tolerance for dissenters who question his policies or threaten his grip on power, has imprisoned political opponents and stripped dissenting oligarchs of their assets.
In short, Putinism threatens to extinguish the shoots of democracy that have taken root in Russian soil since the demise of communist totalitarianism. In the face of these developments, observers have wondered whether democratic concepts such as the rule of law or due process can survive in Russian society. Leviathan, which starts its run in Toronto and Montreal on Jan. 23, unfolds against this unsettling backdrop.
The winner of this year’s Golden Globe award for best foreign film, Leviathan takes place in a drab, desolate fishing port in northern Russia. The atmosphere that the director creates is unrelentingly grim. The sky is leaden. The churning ocean pounds the shoreline, which is littered with the wrecks of fishing boats and the carcasses of whales.
Is this a metaphor for post-communist Russia?
Amid this depressing tableau, Kolya (Alexey Serebryakov), an auto mechanic in his 50s, drives to the train station to pick up a visitor from Moscow. Dima (Vladimir Vdovitchenkov), a lawyer and an old friend, has arrived to represent Kolya in a legal matter. The town has appropriated Kolya’s beach-side property, upon which sits his cottage and garage, and he’s fighting the ruling ferociously. In an aside, and with rising indignation, Kolya complains that he’s being forced to fix the jalopy of a venal policeman for free.
At the court hearing, the case goes against Kolya. He’ll be compensated for his losses, but at a grossly unfair market rate. Being familiar with the Russian justice system, Dima is not surprised by the outcome. At this juncture, the coarse, barrel-chested mayor of the town, Vadim (Roman Madayanov), shows up at Kolya’s doorstep to taunt him mercilessly. Dima advises Kolya to sue Vadim for trespassing. They lodge a complaint at the police station, but to no avail. Kolya is arrested and thrown into a cell. Such is the nature of justice in Russia.
Dima confronts Vadim, who sits under a framed portrait of Putin. Dima threatens to unmask him if he doesn’t release Kolya and pay him a fair price for his property. Vadim, a classic apparatchik who’s corrupt to the core, agrees to his terms, but he has no intention of honoring his promise. After consulting the police chief and a judge, both of whom are in his in his pocket, Vadim hatches a scheme to settle accounts with Dima and Kolya.
One supposes that Dima and Kolya are bosom buddies as they plot strategy, drink vodka by the bottle-full, devour herring and enjoy jokes. But this not not necessarily true, judging by a scene in which Kolya’s much younger second wife, Lilya (Elena Lyadova), visits Dima’s hotel room for a tryst. It’s really no secret that they’re lovers. Kolya is aware of his wife’s adultery, as is his rebellious teen-aged son, Roma, who dislikes Lilya with a passion.
The film pokes sly fun at Soviet-era and current Russian politicians, taking aim at them in a sardonic scene during which Kolya and his gun-friendly friends wonder whether they should use their fading portraits as shooting targets.
Leviathan also cast aspersions on the Russian Orthodox church, focusing on a cynical priest who serves as Vadim’s confidant. “You’re doing god’s work,” he says in fulsome praise of this repulsive official who lives off the fat of the land.
Leviathan, featuring a great cast, pulls no punches in its scathing critique of post-communist Russia. It’s a country where well-connected politicians prosper at the expense of the common man and where miscarriages of justice occur on a regular basis.