ussian Ark (Russkiy Kovcheg) is one of those films more notable for the technical expertise it exhibits (or preens of) than any real artistic merit. It reminds one of Mike Figgis's 2000 film Timecode, wherein that whole film was supposedly done in four separate single takes, in real time. That claim was debunked by a simple watching of the film, and the film itself was notable for being a screenplay disaster. The four stories, which occupied one fourth of the whole screen the whole time, had volume turned up on one section while the others were backgrounded, and then switched, which made it difficult for the viewer to even stick with whatever tale he preferred. Technically, the film was a mess, and, as there was no real story, just a gimmick, the film bombed critically and financially. Russian Ark, made in 2002 by the infamously somnolent director Alexander Sokurov, has a similar gimmick. While not following four separate stories, it is claimed to have been shot in one continuous take, directly onto a High Definition portable hard drive. It also claims that it was shot over one day, and in real time. While not a technical film expert, I did notice several scenes where the camera passed over black spots, making it the perfect place for an edit to occur, so I tend to believe that the claim of its 87 minute single Steadicam shot are overblown, if not outright false, even though the filmmakers have stated that the completed, unedited film, was done on a fourth attempt by cinematographer Tilman Büttner. It could very well just be a slicker version of Alfed Hitchcock's more clumsy attempts in Rope.
But, even if wrong, the film is still all style and little substance. Like Timecode, it has an execrable screenplay. Here is its sum narrative: an unnamed an unseen protagonist (voiced by Sokurov, and viewed from his eyes as the camera) wakes up on a winter day and is astonished to be in the 19th Century. He wanders into Peter the Great's Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg- which later became the Russian State Hermitage Museum, that nation's answer to The Louvre and The Metropolitan Museum Of Art. Whether this is a dream or a vision of the afterlife is unclear. The narrator has two companions- another unseen unnamed one, whose voice is heard, and a seen one- a French Marquis (possibly the Marquis de Custine, according to the film information extraneous to the actual narrative) who speaks Russian. He is played by Sergei Dreiden, and helps guide the two unseen travelers through the three dozen grand rooms of the museum. There, we see time flow back and forth from Peter the Great through Catherine the Great through the day before the deaths of the Romanovs through the siege on Leningrad, in World War Two, and back. Other Russian notables, like Alexander Pushkin, have cameos.
There is also the feeling, watching the film, and even more so, listening the prattling on about the film in its DVD commentary with producer Jens Meurer, that Sokurov was trying so hard to make a film that was a masterpiece, as well as film history, that he forgot to master a good film. OK, Russian Ark is not bad, and I'll likely rewatch it, as a curio, but that's it. One wonders what a real filmic master of the little moments, like Yasujiro Ozu, or a master of depth like Akira Kurosawa, or a master of ecstatic truths, like Werner Herzog, would have done with a project like this.
In a sense, Russian Ark may indeed, in its better moments, achieve some Russian cultural relevance, but artistically it is pedestrian. Still, I would say see it once, if for the history and achievement- it's sort of like reading bad James Joyce. At least then you'll always be able to say, 'Ah, yes, I've seen Russian Ark,' when that pretentious pal of yours asks that at the next party. That neither of you will be able to say much else with zest says all you need to know of this film.
But, even if wrong, the film is still all style and little substance. Like Timecode, it has an execrable screenplay. Here is its sum narrative: an unnamed an unseen protagonist (voiced by Sokurov, and viewed from his eyes as the camera) wakes up on a winter day and is astonished to be in the 19th Century. He wanders into Peter the Great's Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg- which later became the Russian State Hermitage Museum, that nation's answer to The Louvre and The Metropolitan Museum Of Art. Whether this is a dream or a vision of the afterlife is unclear. The narrator has two companions- another unseen unnamed one, whose voice is heard, and a seen one- a French Marquis (possibly the Marquis de Custine, according to the film information extraneous to the actual narrative) who speaks Russian. He is played by Sergei Dreiden, and helps guide the two unseen travelers through the three dozen grand rooms of the museum. There, we see time flow back and forth from Peter the Great through Catherine the Great through the day before the deaths of the Romanovs through the siege on Leningrad, in World War Two, and back. Other Russian notables, like Alexander Pushkin, have cameos.
There is also the feeling, watching the film, and even more so, listening the prattling on about the film in its DVD commentary with producer Jens Meurer, that Sokurov was trying so hard to make a film that was a masterpiece, as well as film history, that he forgot to master a good film. OK, Russian Ark is not bad, and I'll likely rewatch it, as a curio, but that's it. One wonders what a real filmic master of the little moments, like Yasujiro Ozu, or a master of depth like Akira Kurosawa, or a master of ecstatic truths, like Werner Herzog, would have done with a project like this.
In a sense, Russian Ark may indeed, in its better moments, achieve some Russian cultural relevance, but artistically it is pedestrian. Still, I would say see it once, if for the history and achievement- it's sort of like reading bad James Joyce. At least then you'll always be able to say, 'Ah, yes, I've seen Russian Ark,' when that pretentious pal of yours asks that at the next party. That neither of you will be able to say much else with zest says all you need to know of this film.