Olivier Assayas’s 20th feature film opens with text that normally be placed the very end of the film credits: “characters portrayed within this film are fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental”. Presumably, this is either ironic or a safeguard against law suits. Virtually all of the characters portrayed here are very real, and the developments portrayed are almost entirely accurate. The exception is television-producer-grudgingly-turned-government-advisor Vadim/Vadya Baranov (Paul Dano), a man whose job is to add a veneer of morality to the dirty tactics of Russian authoritarianism and imperialism. Not an easy task.
The story starts in the 1990s, after the demise of the USSR. Alcohol-intoxicated Boris Yeltsin seeks to inject noble democratic values into Russian society. His well-meaning political efforts collapse just as quickly as his health deteriorates. After eight years in power, Yeltsin can barely sit straight on his chair. Young and ambitious Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin (Jude Law), a former KGB spy, takes over before the old man could finish his second term. He soon convinces Vadya to become one of his closest aides. His skills as a reality show producer selecting “slutty” women to marry billionaires could come in hand in Putin’s equally promiscuous and power-hungry regime. Vadya and his beautiful wife Ksenia (Alicia Vikander) join an elite circle of politicians.
Putin is portrayed as a tyrant obsessed with power. He who wishes to overtake Stalin as the most popular Russian in history. He is adamant that the controversial Soviet leader is so loved because of his ruthlessness (and not despite it). He remains indifferent to the sinking of the Kursk, and the scientists trapped underwater. Media mogul Boris Berezovsky (Will Keen) attempts to convince Putin to change his tactics and show a more humane face, even committing to more positive coverage. Next we see Putin relax in “Putin’s Palace” near Sochi, just before the Southern Russian city hosted the 2014 Winter Olympics. We then learn that Putin leveraged the popularity of the event in order to annex Crimea. His disregard for Ukrainian sovereignty is consistent: he dismisses the Orange Revolution as plain “US meddling”. Putin eventually assassinates Berezovsky, just as he did with other billionaire “friends” before. Putin’s perversity knows no limits.
Except for Vadya, his wife and his American confidente, all of the characters above are real. There are also repeated references to Russian author Yevgeny Zamyatin (who famously wrote the novel We, often described as the predecessor of George Orwell’s 1984), and radical poet and political dissident Eduard Limonov (the subject of Kirill Serebrennikov’s 2024 film). Based on the eponymous novel by Italian-Swiss essayist Giuliano da Empoli, The Wizard of the Kremlin is in reality to a historical drama with some elements of fiction (and not the other way around).
With an entirely unwarranted duration of 156 minutes (that’s a whopping two hours and 36 minutes), The Wizard of the Kremlin is an unremarkable political thriller, and in more ways than one. Despite the recognisable French auteur at the helm and a top-drawer cast, the film lacks originality, vitality, and a touch of humour. No single scene is particularly powerful. The performances are lukewarm. Dano is consistently dispassionate and anodyne in the lead. Perhaps such posture is intended to match Putin’s calm and confident assertiveness, but he ultimately just fails to rivet viewers. Even multifaceted Law is rather unmemorable as the cold-blooded leader of the second biggest military powerhouse in the world: the English actor just looks bored. Vikander is given no particular opportunity to shine, except as a sounding board that Vadya repeatedly disregards. This is a testosterone-fuelled movie guaranteed to fail the Bechdel Test. Vadya’s confidente is an American writer (Jeffrey Wright), in a very strange subplot that barely fits in with the rest of the story. Perhaps because Vadya needs a portentous male voice (instead of his wife’s “nagging”).
The Wizard of the Kremlin is a movie entirely devoid of auteurial identity. None of Assayas’s trademarks are present: the self-referencing, the experimentalism, the eclecticism, the gentle French humanism. This is a movie that could be turned into a five-episode series, and signed by just about anyone. The stock actors add very little to the story. Their main function is to lend their names to the posters and publicity. Karim Ainouz’s Firebrand is another example of a film with an instant recognisable auteur and actors attached to it, and without a personal touch and originality. Incidentally, both films feature Jude Law and Alicia Vikander in leading roles. These are misfires in the filmography of directors with a lot more to offer. The mere byproduct of an industry that prioritises names and production values (read: money) ahead of audacity.
To boot, there is very little regard to authenticity. The entire film is spoken in English. None of the international cast (not a single Russian actor is in the main roles) ever utters a single word in the language of Pushkin. Even a cabaret performance is carried out in English. Russian is only briefly heard in the background of a nightclub, and from a woman complaining about the Russian government. Some archive footage of Moscow and Saint Petersburg give viewers a very vague notion of what the two majestic cities look like. This is plain lazy.
There is virtually nothing in The Wizard of the Kremlin to commend in terms of artistic achievement. The film’s only saving grace is that it does offer viewers some interesting insight into the recent history of Russia. And a warning that tyrants are never to be trusted. Putin is an inveterate narcissist. He’s dangerous to his people, to Ukraine and to the entire universe.
The Wizard of the Kremlin premiered in the Official Competition of the 82nd Venice International Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. Also showing in San Sebastian, at the Tallinn Black Nights, and at the Red Sea.
