The sheer scope
of the production of Russian Ark is amazing in itself.
The numbers are baffling: 2,000 actors, 65 costume designers,
50 electricians, 50 makeup artists, three orchestras -- all gathered
together by director Alexander Sokurov to pull off the longest
continual shot in one take in movie history.
Sokurov's novel idea was to take the viewer through 300 years of Russian history in a tour of St. Petersburg's magnificent Hermitage Museum. But as Sokurov astutely notes in an interview in the DVD release of the 2002 film, it's a mistake to get caught up in the enormity of the project or the success of its execution. (The crew snagged it on the fourth take after three missteps, just as they were losing the light and batteries were running out of juice.) The movie should be judged on its own merit, Sokurov argues; if it doesn't resonate with the viewer, all the rest is pointless.
"The film is very simple," he says. "Everything is clear. There's a lot of music in it. It contains simple thoughts expressed in simple terms. But they should evoke very deep emotions."
In a cinematic shot that should be heard and seen 'round the
world, Russian Ark explores a nation's art, culture and
history while interpreting its complicated relationship with
Europe. Russia is a massive country spanning portions of both
Europe and Asia, but its European roots intrigue Sokurov the
most. He illustrates this with a French marquis (Sergei Donstov)
guiding an unknown, unseen Russian visitor (voiced by Sokurov)
throughout the museum. The visitor, essentially looking through
a Steadicam camera (operated by German cinematographer Tilman
Büttner) follows the marquis from room to room -- leading
the viewer past stunning works of art and mini-dramas of Russian
history played out by the cast.
One moment we're witnessing Peter the Great -- who ruled in
the late 17th and early 18th centuries -- displaying his famous
temper as he slaps an aid to the ground. This sets up one of
several exchanges between the dismissive Frenchmen and the defensive
Russian, who protests, "[Peter] taught everyone to enjoy themselves."
The marquis responds, "Peter ordered his son's execution. The
same man who taught people to enjoy life. How funny." History,
Sokurov suggests, is never as tidy as we'd like it to be.
Throughout the film, the marquis both admires and criticizes
the museum, whether it's the imported art works or the structure
itself -- much to the consternation of the unseen Russian visitor.
With good reason; often the marquis, despite the visitor's pleas,
finds himself an unwanted guest as he is often ordered out of
rooms and constantly tailed by a Russian spy. Undaunted, he
roams about the place, clearly mesmerized by what he sees.
The film hits a visual and historical apex when they wander
into a massive, gold-colored room with parquet floors, in which
a Persian ambassador, speaking for Fetkh-Ali-Shah, is offering
an apology to 19th century ruler Nicholas I for the murder of
Russian diplomats. The two strangers thread their way through
rows of dignitaries. It is a spectacle unto itself, with honor
guards drawing their swords in unison and the royal court standing
by.
Obviously, all this Russian art, culture and history might
fall strangely on unstudied American ears and eyes; at times,
Russian Ark feels like one big inside joke for the less
than cultured. But there are still lessons to be learned here,
both big and small, about how all these elements are interrelated.
As Sokurov points out in an interview, "The Hermitage is culture
as art, and culture as life. I believe that no other museum
in the world embodies life and art so clearly and obviously.
History and life, history and art. Only the Hermitage does this."
Hence, the museum is the titular ark of its nation, carrying
with it a heritage that will transport it into the future. After
the climactic scene -- a sweeping ball, whose end feels like
the end of a party, an era and the film itself -- the doors
open to a foggy sea as the Russian insists, "We are destined
to sail forever. To live forever."
The dreamy feel of the film, along with its lag of cuts, edits
and changes of angle, may also be an acquired taste for the
average movie-goer. But it has a rhythm and mood all to itself,
and one that can only be experienced on the big screen. (In
other words, unless you're one of those big-screen owners, don't
buy the DVD just yet; you'd be seriously disappointed.)
Russian Ark is a magical
history tour, and not just a triumph of production and cinematic
technique. It's also a sophisticated and poetic comment on how
a culture relates to the rest of the world. It's not just a
history lesson; it's a lesson for the ages.
