Russia in the early 1990s is a fascinating and mysterious place. The entire country essentially was transformed overnight with the fall of the Soviet Union, followed by several years of trying to figure out what kind of a nation they’d become. We now know the direction Russia ultimately took, of course, but the behind the scenes machinations are ready made for cinematic treatment. So, a film like The Wizard of the Kremlin, while decidedly a throwback sort of work, very much scratches that itch. The movie has elements that hit and elements that miss, but a couple of strong performances ultimately rule the day.

The Wizard of the Kremlin arguably could have been made into a compelling miniseries, but going about it as a film does keep things from sprawling out too widely. Now, the pacing is lax and the running time is a bit bloated, but the core of what makes this flick interesting is consistently in evidence. It’s a work that now seems like a throwback, though the issues it’s tackling are very much still on our minds today.

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After we set up the framing device of a writer (Jeffrey Wright) speaking to our protagonist, we officially meet Vadim Baranov (Paul Dano), a former avant-garde theater director and reality television producer that will grow to be a shadowy figure in government. In the early 90s, Russia had Boris Yeltsin in charge, so ineffective and drunk that he’s literally propped up for speeches. When oligarch Boris Berezovsky (Will Keen) assembles the Unity party, a group of the wealthy elite hoping to find a figurehead to replace Yeltsin. Berezovsky recruits Baranov to help, and they settle on Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin (Jude Law), the director of the Federal Security Service. He seems happy as a spy and skeptical of politics, but with only a time bit of convincing, he’s set to become Prime Minister.

Soon, Prime Minister becomes President when Yeltsin resigns. With Putin now elevated to power, the changes come hot and heavy. In short order, any hope of Russia becoming like the west goes away, reduced to a fearful gangster state. As Barnov becomes the right hand man of Putin, he’s conflicted about what he’s seeing, all the more so when he rekindles a relationship with Ksenia (Alicia Vikander), a woman from his younger days who gives him a potential way out.

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Paul Dano and Jude Law are both quite good, with the former getting a rare leading role, while the latter gives layers to what could have been a caricature. Dano also takes his fictionalized character and adds the complexity that never makes him feel out of place. It would be easy to have Baranov seem like a writer’s creation, though Dano allows him to fit in. You see the moments where he has doubts about you believe Dano, too. Law doesn’t show up until almost halfway through, and once he’s on screen, he’s effectively unsettling. He doesn’t play him as a monster, even as he does awful things, but he plays him so convinced of his own authority that it’s deeply creepy. Alicia Vikander is solid, though a bit wasted, while Jeffrey Wright has almost nothing to do. In addition to Will Keen, supporting players include Tom Sturridge, amongst others.

Filmmaker Olivier Assayas directs while co-writing with Emmanuel Carrère, and it’s an effort that should get him more consistent English language work if he wants it. While not on the level of a Clouds of Sils Maria or a Personal Shopper, his European sensibilities pair well with this look at Russian dealings. Now, Assayas does let things run long, as this goes far past the two hour mark, while some elements of the story are more interesting than others. Assayas and Carrère never figure out what to do with Wright’s character, either, so he feels superfluous. However, as a fly on the wall, watching as Dano’s character puppeteers it all, it’s never less than compelling.

The Wizard of the Kremlin would have been an Oscar hopeful two decades ago, when this type of flick was awards bait. Now, it stands as a bit of an odd duck, though even with that, it’s a compelling film with some strong acting contained within. Could it have been better? Sure. Could it have been a lot worse? Absolutely.

SCORE: ★★★

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The concept behind Given Names (Prénoms) is so simple that it’s hard to believe no one has ever done it before. Filmmaker Nurith Aviv showed up at the apartment of various friends of her with a bunch of flowers, and then listened to the friend talk about their first, or given, name. That’s it! It’s the kind of discussion that happens often in real life – just listen to any group of new mothers justify their choices, or any teenager sulk about what this label for their identity means to them – but it’s not often such a chat is captured on film.

It doesn’t work flawlessly, of course: at the Berlinale Ms. Aviv made it clear the movie was originally designed as a kind of art installation, and more reviews than were included were filmed. The opening of the film is also more of a tribute to the late French filmmaker Agnès Varda, who Ms. Aviv had worked with. (Mr. Varda’s original given name was actually Arlette, changed by her when she was a teenager.) But once we are into the direct interviews this hiccup is immediately forgotten as we get a window on some really interesting cultures and how their given names have shaped these very interesting lives.

You learn so much about someone while knowing so little of them, just from the simple story of their name. One of the interviewees was born in secrecy during the Holocaust, left on the doorstep of a Polish family by his Jewish parents where he spent the first years of his life under the name of a dead child of the Polish family. Once he was reclaimed by his parents they did not really change his name, but moving to France and beginning a new life in a new language changed it for him. Other interviewees had parents from different cultures and gave their child a name that with different connotations in each culture. It’s fascinating to hear these considerations be discussed but also how the owner of this name felt about it. One woman has a stutter, so mentions how pleased she is to have a name she can pronounce. She also has a very ordinary name from her birth culture (the Turkish name Zeynep), because her mother had a embarrassing first name that her own parents made up, and was therefore adamant her own children would not have the same problem. Some people have had different names through different stages of their lives, while others have had names for different purposes. Some have had the same name the whole way through and never liked it, others like their name so much they write poems about it. There’s a whole spectrum of humanity and history on display here through just one simple question.

The interviews were clearly rehearsed but they were not a dialogue. Instead Ms. Aviv filmed them talking directly to the camera, sharing these intimate details about this gift they were given and how that’s affected them like we’re chatting over a coffee. All the interviews were conducted in Paris and in the French language, but even amongst that there’s a global reach among the people here that is both very ordinary and highly unusual. Some people have received prejudicial treatment based on their names while others have had no problem at all. In France names are taken seriously for an additional reason: the spelling of names is legally standardised. Some people are pleased by the simplicity, while other people (or their parents) rebel. A cultural side effect is that it’s therefore not unusual for the name on your birth certificate to be used only in government contexts, while your true name is used everywhere else.

American audiences find such interference laughable, of course, but in other ways American discourse around baby names has shaped the way people around the world think about their choices. Just think how ordinary names like Luna or Lea, Liam or Luca are in preschools around the world right now. These short, easy-to-spell names travel across different cultures in ways which names like that of this movie’s editors, Nurith and Hippolyte, might not. Given Names is a fascination exploration of a cultural issue we more normally take for granted, and I am not just saying that because one of the interviewees is also named Sarah. Our given names are who we are but also who our parents thought we might be, and that’s not necessarily who we become. Hearing people discuss their feelings about this is entrancing indeed.

Given Names (Prénoms) recently played at the Berlin International Film Festival.

Learn more about the film at the IMDB site for the title.

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The first half of Gabriel Mascaro’s latest movie, The Blue Trail, is filled with immense sadness. It imagines a dystopian Brazil in which its fascist government built colonies for elderly people to live in and forces them to relocate, despite the fact that many of them are still able to contribute to society. One of those people is Tereza (Denise Weinberg), who has recently learned that the government has lowered the age threshold from 80 to 75, in an attempt to relocate more elderly citizens to spend the rest of their lives in.

Of course, still able-bodied and wanting to continue her daily routine, Tereza rejects the government’s interventions and leaves her home, determined to fulfill a lifelong dream: to fly in a plane. Throughout her journey, she meets a bevy of colorful individuals, including ship captain Cadu (Rodrigo Santoro), who takes her deep into the Amazon and literally opens her eyes to things she never saw in her plane of existence.

Describing the viewing experience one takes in trusting Mascaro’s vision is a little difficult. The Blue Trail offers a clear-eyed view of how the filmmaker believes society treats elderly individuals, even though they will reach that age at some point. Mandatory diapers on bus rides. Colonies for them to live and never be allowed to contribute to society. The fact that they think little of them and believe they’re disposable, without understanding their impact on the world, says so much about how governments around the world have constantly mistreated them and continue to fail to truly care for their well-being.

Watching Tereza being forced to wear a diaper before boarding a bus, one feels the filmmaker’s frustration in their eyes. In that moment, the protagonist feels helpless. All she wants is to return home and, hopefully, fly. Since she isn’t allowed to go anywhere, her only shot at adventure is a boat ride. These sections see Mascaro’s filmmaking at its most visually audacious, with painterly tableaux that recall the staggering grandeur of Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo. There’s something so majestic when seeing a camera float in the water, as if it acts as the boat itself, as the captain and Tereza explore the Amazon. The feeling one gets when a firework appears in the air is so textured that the film becomes hard to look away from, even as it begins to sag in its second half.

While the bulk of The Blue Trail seems to follow a conventional path, Mascaro begins to take the esoteric route when he has Cadu trip balls on blue snail drool, which may or may not be a direct visual reference to Frank Herbert’s Dune? Either way, a scene like this arrives on left field and completely repurposes the rest of the movie, which takes a strangely spiritual route that seems poised to fleetingly say something about society’s mistreatment of the elderly and Tereza’s close connection with scripture, but ends up saying nothing at all. As her journey continues, the film’s images become less impressive, and our initial connection with a funny and biting protagonist begins to falter, because Mascaro and cinematographer Guillermo Garza frame her on a much smaller scale than in the first half.

That said, Weinberg remains an effective actor and imbues her performance as Tereza with a pain she’s been carrying for decades. It further exacerbates itself by the way society rejects her altogether, even her own daughter, who prefers she live in a colony so no one has to worry about caring for her needs. But the movie works the strongest when it focuses on the adventure and Tereza’s quest to do something worth her while, for once, rather than scenes where Mascaro attempts to interiorize her.

Still, out of all the films in competition at last year’s Berlinale, The Blue Trail is one of the most engrossing and rewarding titles that graced their screens. It may not work for everyone, but its images are so potent that one leaves the cinema with a sense of renewal, and perhaps some hope that society might improve if we let the elderly decide, on their own, how they would like to spend the rest of their lives, at home or elsewhere. We should give them the privilege of doing so, because that’s what they deserve.

SCORE: ★★★

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