Maria
Yudina was such a brilliant classical pianist, she survived the Great Terror,
even though she made no secret of her Orthodox faith and her contempt for
Stalin’s brutal regime. According to a story mostly considered apocryphal, she
was dragged back for a repeat concert performance (with full orchestra) after
Stalin requested [demanded] a recording of her live radio broadcast of Mozart’s
Concerto No. 23. That true-in-spirit
historical legend inadvertently ignites a political crisis in Armando Iannucci’s
The Death of Stalin, which screens during the 2018 Sundance Film Festival
in Park City.
The
poor, harried director of Moscow Radio does indeed call back Yudina and the
orchestra to accommodate Stalin’s whims. She is not inclined to be so
agreeable, but her participation is quickly purchased. It is also an
opportunity for her to slip a personal note of pointed condemnation to Stalin,
who is so surprised to be criticized in such terms, he has a massive coronary
and dies.
Of
course, this ignites a power struggle within the Central Committee. Technically,
the pompous Georgy Malenkov is next in line as the Deputy General Secretary,
but the real contenders are Lavrentiy Beria, the sadistic chief of the NKVD and
Nikita Khrushchev, the closest thing to a reformer in Stalin’s inner circle.
Thanks to his de facto control over Kremlin administration, Beria gets a jump
on Khrushchev, hypocritically positioning himself as reluctant participant in
the purges and a would-be liberalizer. However, Khrushchev will win over key
allies, such as Field Marshal Georgy Zhukov and the dithering senior statesman,
Vyacheslav Molotov.
Adapted
from Fabien Nury and Thierry Robin’s French graphic novel, Death of Stalin is a wickedly funny, pointedly scathing satire of
corrupt power run amok. Frankly, the succession battle waged by Khrushchev and
Beria ranks up there with the rivalry between Simon Yam and Tony Leung Ka-fei
in Johnnie To’s Election, but
Iannucci’s film has a higher body-count—by a factor of at least one hundred. Despite
the mordant wit and subversive slapstick humor, Iannucci and his platoon of
co-screenwriters make it chillingly clear what happened to inconvenient
witnesses and ninety percent of the victims Beria swept up during the Stalinist
Terror. It is hard to believe one can laugh so much during a film openly discussing
torture and mass executions, but such is the case.
It
is also hard to believe that A: we can find ourselves openly rooting for Nikita
Khrushchev and B: pencil-thin Steve Buscemi would be the perfect actor to
portray him, but both also prove to be true. In fact, Buscemi gives a
tour-de-force, possibly career best performance as Khrushchev, with the help of
a little stomach padding. Arguably, Iannucci’s conception of Khrushchev as
shrewd opportunist and a fount of nervous energy rather puts him in Buscemi’s
wheelhouse.
Buscemi
is perfectly counterbalanced by Simon Russell Beale’s wonderfully sly and
flamboyantly sinister portrayal of Beria, which rather helps align viewer sympathies
with Team Khrushchev. Jeffrey Tambor basically does his regular shtick as Malenkov,
assuming he won’t be replaced by Christopher Plummer for the film’s American
theatrical release. However, it is a real stitch to watch Jason Isaacs ham it
up as Zhukov. Yet, maybe the best surprise in DOS, is a late-career comedic gem from Michael Palin as the
astonishingly indecisive Molotov. Plus, Olga Kurylenko adds some class and
poise as Yudina, while Andrea Riseborough gives it greater human dimension with
her vulnerable and conflicted turn as Stalin’s future-defector daughter,
Svetlana Stalina.
No comments:
Post a Comment