Russian ArkIf we were to choose the most significant moments from our culture, our nation, and our people, put them into a vessel, and then send them for future civilizations to discover and come to know us from them, what would we choose? What would define us? Russian Ark is an experimental film, whose greatest claim to fame is that it is done in one, unbroken shot. A nameless narrator--voiced by the film's director, Alexander Sokurov--is guided through moments in Russian history from the 18th to 20th century by an enigmatic guide called "the European" (Sergey Dreyden), floating through the halls of the Winter Palace of St. Petersburg like a specter.
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Movies comprised of unbroken shots have been something of a cinematic stunt over the years. Many filmmakers have made the attempt, and are usually restricted in their efforts by technical limitations. For example, Alfred Hitchcock's Rope was forced to devise tricks to conceal when the ten minute reels were changed over, such as hiding the camera behind a chest opening up, and so on. Sokurov's film runs around ninety minutes, and is able to achieve its unbroken shot on uncompressed, high definition video thanks to modern technology. (This was in 2002; there have been even more exciting advances since then.) A feature length film that is an unbroken shot is daring enough, but what Sokurov does is add a historic dimension by filming in the Winter Palace, an actual museum that was once home to the rulers of Russia during the time in which Russian Ark is set. This adds a level of verisimilitude that is virtually unprecedented, making this as close to a living time capsule as can be (short of being a documentary which would be impossible here). Russian Ark feels like a love letter to the history of Russia, pre-Soviet Union, even if the narrator and European occasionally debate the nature of "tyrants" and the rule of the nobility at times. For audiences unfamiliar with Russian history, this should be enlightening, yet many of these moments still feel a bit esoteric. Nevertheless, most of these scenes are so awash with grandeur and majesty, including the pageantry of soldiers and nobles in finery navigating the opulent palace, that even if these nuggets from the past lack historical significance for some audiences, the sheer gorgeousness of it all should more than make up for it. In a sense, Russian Ark feels like an elaborate museum tour, taken to an extreme degree only possible with cinema. There are even multiple instances where the European inspects works of art on display, commenting along with other admirers about its significance. These are arguably the least exciting moments in Russian Ark, and bank dreadfully close to feeling like the most boring kinds of virtual museum tours. On the other hand, these scenes serve as quieter moments, making the cinematic fireworks at the climax all the more dazzling by comparison.
It's difficult to describe Russian Ark from a traditional narrative breakdown, as there is no true story proper--only the shadow of one. There are things that can be assumed from the movie, like how the narrator's befuddlement at finding himself in the Winter Palace, not knowing how or why he got there has suggested to some that he is, in fact, a ghost; he is also invisible to everyone else, save for the European. Additionally, the European is thought to resemble the Marquis de Custine, a French aristocrat known for writing on the history and nobility of Russia in the 1830s. The costumes of the background characters in the opening fits this time period--an attention to detail not lost on astute audiences who appreciate the historical accuracy of costuming. The narrator and the European's journey through the halls shifts through the centuries barely any preamble, if any. Add on top of this a couple of scenes which are clearly depictions of a play being performed, and the barrier between reality and artifice is made paper thin, crossed over with ease and often. And because Russian Ark is an unbroken shot, Sokurov seizes this opportunity to perform plenty of cinematic legerdemain and sleight of hand for filmgoing audiences seeking this sort of thing. (This reinforces an old idea about how Russians tend to understand the visual language of movies better than most, going back to the likes of Battleship Potemkin.) The standout moment for this "movie magic" comes at, as previously mentioned, the climax, during a gala event--a lavish ball held in the Nicholas Hall. The narrator (the camera) weaves between the dancers as an orchestra plays. Time and space feels fluid, and before you know it, the orchestra is situated where none should have been before. How did it get there? Was it there all along, or is this one of those moments where Sokurov (admittedly) employed some compositing during the editing process? Regardless, the effect is the same: all of the majesty of the long-gone Russian Empire floods our senses, with bold design and luminescent gilding. It may be nostalgic and wistful for days long past, but if there wasn't some merit in looking to the glory days of yore, we wouldn't do it. Russian Ark, as the name suggests, thus becomes a life raft of sorts, sent out into the world those vestiges of the past, to stand as a testament (or even just a fantasy) of a sliver of history, speaking to where we come from, and asking us to consider where we're going.
Recommended for: Fans of a daringly constructed and lavish (if occasionally superficial) glance at the last couple of centuries before the fall of the Russian Empire. Russian Ark may not be consistently thrilling--at times it feels as dry as a dull museum tour--but for film buffs acquainted with the language of movies, it is a spectacular achievement and veritable magic show combined.
It's difficult to describe Russian Ark from a traditional narrative breakdown, as there is no true story proper--only the shadow of one. There are things that can be assumed from the movie, like how the narrator's befuddlement at finding himself in the Winter Palace, not knowing how or why he got there has suggested to some that he is, in fact, a ghost; he is also invisible to everyone else, save for the European. Additionally, the European is thought to resemble the Marquis de Custine, a French aristocrat known for writing on the history and nobility of Russia in the 1830s. The costumes of the background characters in the opening fits this time period--an attention to detail not lost on astute audiences who appreciate the historical accuracy of costuming. The narrator and the European's journey through the halls shifts through the centuries barely any preamble, if any. Add on top of this a couple of scenes which are clearly depictions of a play being performed, and the barrier between reality and artifice is made paper thin, crossed over with ease and often. And because Russian Ark is an unbroken shot, Sokurov seizes this opportunity to perform plenty of cinematic legerdemain and sleight of hand for filmgoing audiences seeking this sort of thing. (This reinforces an old idea about how Russians tend to understand the visual language of movies better than most, going back to the likes of Battleship Potemkin.) The standout moment for this "movie magic" comes at, as previously mentioned, the climax, during a gala event--a lavish ball held in the Nicholas Hall. The narrator (the camera) weaves between the dancers as an orchestra plays. Time and space feels fluid, and before you know it, the orchestra is situated where none should have been before. How did it get there? Was it there all along, or is this one of those moments where Sokurov (admittedly) employed some compositing during the editing process? Regardless, the effect is the same: all of the majesty of the long-gone Russian Empire floods our senses, with bold design and luminescent gilding. It may be nostalgic and wistful for days long past, but if there wasn't some merit in looking to the glory days of yore, we wouldn't do it. Russian Ark, as the name suggests, thus becomes a life raft of sorts, sent out into the world those vestiges of the past, to stand as a testament (or even just a fantasy) of a sliver of history, speaking to where we come from, and asking us to consider where we're going.
Recommended for: Fans of a daringly constructed and lavish (if occasionally superficial) glance at the last couple of centuries before the fall of the Russian Empire. Russian Ark may not be consistently thrilling--at times it feels as dry as a dull museum tour--but for film buffs acquainted with the language of movies, it is a spectacular achievement and veritable magic show combined.