Film Preview

Two-thousand actors. Thirty-five rooms of The Hermitage museum. One single 95-minute, continuous, unedited, technologically and artistically miraculous Steady-Cam shot. And a mad genius for a director, bent on making—and remaking—Russian history. Were it not so exquisitely beautiful, Russian Ark, the latest film from Russian director Alexander Sokurov, might pale in comparison to the epic story of its own production.

Having first premiered in May of last year, delivered as a gift for the 300th anniversary of the founding of St. Petersburg, Russian Ark made its American debut in early February; critical awe—from Robert Ebert to the Village Voice (in which it appeared on five of six critics’ top-ten lists for 2002)—has followed wherever it goes. It makes its Cambridge debut on Friday at the Brattle Theatre.

Sokurov, though he insists upon the modest nature of his project, clearly intends his film to function on the level of national myth, international wonder, and cinematic miracle. He casts The Hermitage as the biblical “ark” in which the filmmaker travels through time, history and heritage.

The film begins with a black screen, and the voice of an anonymous filmmaker (“The Author,” whose voice is provided by Sokurov) explaining that he has just awoken after a terrible, mysterious “accident.” The audience and the Author next find themselves in 18th century Russia, being led through a museum-tour through history by another time traveler, a 19th-century Frenchman, the Marquis (Sergey Dreiden).

Russian Ark’s relation to history is even more complicated than it seems, however. While intended as a celebration of Russian history—and perhaps, a means of mythologizing the “accident” of Communism—the Russian Ark is a slap-in-the-face to an icon of Russian film theory.

Sergei Eisenstein, the father of Russian cinema, is best known for his theory of film-as-montage. He positioned himself as a manipulator of space and time whose role it was to contribute to the foundation of a new Russia after the revolution of 1917: the end of czarism, the beginning of communism.

Sakurov’s technical innovation is meta-historical argument: a refutation and rejection of Eisenstein, a reconsideration of Russia from czarism, through communism, to the present.

This philosophically significant innovation required considerable practical talent. Tilman Buttner, the Director of Photography, deserves much credit for the film’s visual success. Previously acclaimed for his work running after Lola for Tom Tykwer (in Run Lola Run), his 95 minutes of continuous Steadicam operation for Sokurov was an amazing feat of both artistic and athletic ability.

A German company, Kopp Media, specially engineered portable rig for Buttner and his high definition (HD) camera. In order to accommodate the length of the shot, a French company developed a special hard drive with twice the capacity of traditional HD camera: 100 minutes of uncompressed images compared to a usual 46.

Sokurov, however, insists that the idea of the film, if not the making of it, was simple. “I am sick of editing,” he said. “Let’s not be afraid of time.” Repeatedly in promotional materials, he asserts that he sought merely to create a film that “mirrors the flowing of time accurately,” following rules of Classical form and content.

However, his film contradicts such statements: employing time travel as a key device, the film sees 300 years of history pass in 95 minutes.

A re-making of history celebrating the beginning of a new historical and cinematic era, Russian Ark leaves little to be desired. It is a beautiful film, an artistic masterpiece and a philosophical can of worms.

—Ashley Aull

—Russian Arc plays at the Brattle Theatre Friday through next Thursday.