Russian Ark

Whatever way you slice it, Alexander Sokurov’s Russian Ark is a tour de force of modern cinema. This Russian filmmaker, whose resolute commitment to the exploration of cinema’s basic elements has been his enduring career constant, outdoes himself in this new work. Yet, it must be said that even though Russian Ark is a visual spectacle and technical marvel to watch unfold, the film’s narrative achievement leaves something to be desired … that is, if you find form-and-content equivalency conundrums that substitute for narrative substance somewhat less than fully engaging. The 95-minute narrative feature Russian Ark was filmed in one, unedited, single-screen take. As such, the film lays claim to a number of technical firsts – beginning with it being the first feature-length film to have achieved this long-fantasized dream of filmmakers throughout the ages. The movie was recorded on HD video by Run Lola Run’s movement cinematographer Tilman Büttner. Russian Ark is also the longest uninterrupted Steadicam shot and the first-ever uncompressed HD movie, having been recorded onto a specially designed portable hard disk – which, just to complicate things, could only perform the task one time. Recorded in a single afternoon, Russian Ark was well-rehearsed for months beforehand so that the camera, the 867 actors, and hundreds of extras could glide through the equivalent of 33 sets all lighted for 360-degree camera movement. And the set is the magnificent Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, replete with opulent riches and great works of art. However, Russian Ark is not a guided art tour or travelogue film as one might expect. Instead, it’s a record of the unusual journey of a contemporary filmmaker who is magically dropped into this 17th-century palace, amid royals and the other palace populace. The filmmaker is inexplicably invisible to those around him, but the character is voiced by director Sokurov. He hooks up with another unseen "visitor," a cynical diplomat from the 18th century (Dreiden), with whom he explores, observes, comments, and shares barbs regarding the cultural state of Russia and modern Europe. The diplomat and the disembodied voice wander from room to room and down corridors, stopping now and again to comment on an El Greco or some other painting, witness Peter the Great beating one of his generals with a whip or Catherine racing around the palace trying to find a chamber pot or Tsar Nicholas dining with his family oblivious to the events that were to come. Their perambulation through three centuries of Russian history is fragmentary, fleeting, and disconnected. Rather than build toward any sort of drama, they seem more like living tableaux that we have been permitted the great pleasure of glimpsing but depart with little better understanding of historical events than might have been derived from a trip to Madame Toussand’s. (Amid this time of bearing witness to the looting and wanton destruction of priceless antiquities in that Baghdad museum, however, Sokoruv’s journey through the Hermitage’s "Russian Ark" of civilzation also acquires new and unexpected layers of relevance.) Sokurov is interested in the formalist qualities of film: time and space and how to make a film seem as though the entire work were capturing one single breath. Sokurov has indeed created something magnificent with Russian Ark, but the film still seems to me more a technical feat than a true cinematic masterpiece. The film culminates in a huge, lavish ball as the camera weaves among partygoers dancing the minuet. It’s a breathtaking experience despite being void of narrative crescendo or character import. Russian Ark is the kind of movie that inspires no less a critical eminence Susan Sontag to write a preface to the film’s press notes calling Sokurov the living filmmaker she most admires. Indeed, Sokurov’s movie is "against interpretation." Russian Ark is a movie that instead "breathes."