Russian's entry into the Best Foreign Film category is a tale of moral putrefaction so it's no shock that the deepest rot has set in at city hall and the local Eastern Orthodox church. When an artist paints a target on priests and politicians, they had better bring either a fresh, or a very incisive eye to the fight. The director and co-writer, Andrey Zvyagintsev, brings some of the necessary to Leviathan, but he also delivers a ponderous grandeur that flattens his effort.
Set in a forlorn if majestic village near the Barents Sea and bathed in gloriously bleached cinematography, Leviathan suggests both nature's and God's mercilessness. Throw in some swirling Philip Glass and it's easy to overreach.
Against this backdrop, the film's characters are well realized members of the working class. They drink vodka like spring water, have meaningless sex, shoot at portraits of past Russian despots and seem predestined to early graves. It all feels like Russia fighting a gruesome hangover from communism. And some of this is wry and sad in a tangible way. A teenager hangs out in the ruins of a church learning to drink. A policeman knocks off a fifth of vodka and his wife asks nonchalantly if he's good to drive. Of course he is. And when they shoot at portraits of fallen leaders, one vodka swiller opines that Yeltsin is unworthy of the honor, having been such a small time dictator.
Leviathan's finer moments are eventually lost to the director's epic vision, which includes allusions to Job, political philosopher Thomas Hobbes, the sea, whales etc. Oddly, the film was partially financed by the Russian Ministry of Culture, which wasn't pleased with the negative view of Russia in the finished product. Maybe that's progress; it wouldn't have seen the light of day under communism.
