With my deeply-rooted suspicion that Russian cinema generally has always been formulaic and unduly bogged down in stiff “cultural guidelines”, and that in recent years it has grown perfunctory, unimaginative, and self-indulgent to boot, I was no less than awed by Aleksandr Sokurov’s gem of cinematic brilliance. Original without resort to painstaking euro-weirdness, moving without disintegration into pathos, it is quite possibly one of the most stunning films that I have ever had the fortune of seeing.

The first thing that movie critics rush to point out – and which I would like to cover right away – is the unusual way in which “The Russian Ark” was filmed. The movie is set in St. Petersburg’s Hermitage Museum – Russia’s most lavish and celebrated repository of historical artifacts and artistic treasures (hence the title). The cast of some 2000 actors rehearsed for two months, and the movie was then shot on location in a single 96-minute take, the longest one in the history of cinema. The Hermitage was closed to the public for only one day for the purpose of filming.

The sole exception in the movie’s adherence to the single continuous shoot is the wintry view of what pictures the Neva river, but is actually the Baltic Sea, filmed separately. A view of the real Neva upon exiting the Hermitage would have included the dense mass of buildings across the river, making it impossible to evoke the similarity of the dark, infinite waters to the mythical River Styx, which is apparently what Sokurov intended.

“The Russian Ark” is an exquisite ghost story, but it is a ghost story on many levels. The viewer sees the movie through the eyes of an unnamed Russian ghost, accompanied by a similarly unnamed specter of a nineteenth-century French diplomat. Wandering through the vast expanse of the Hermitage, the two companions encounter many other ghosts from many different time periods – some of rulers and famous people, others completely obscure. Some ghosts see the two protagonists, others do not; some welcome them, others chase them away with resentment and hostility.

The movie is most remarkable in its meticulousness and small details. The young Catherine II is accurately portrayed as a wilful ruler; she is at once enlightened and coarse when, after seeing the lavish rehearsal of an opera, she says casually to her courtiers: “I think that was not bad at all ... Now I’ve got to pee.” As a German native, she speaks Russian with a distinctly German accent, but when, a few corridors later, we see her aged and infirm, her accent is also diminished. During the ball scenes, Russia’s favorite poet Alexander Pushkin is moody and sullen, perpetually troubled with doubts and jealousy over his wife Natalya, whose looks were nearly as celebrated during that time as Pushkin’s artistic talent.

The Hermitage, comprised in part of the royal residence, the Winter Palace, is an ark to the extent that it houses Russia’s connections with its past. However, unlike the Ark, Noah’s Ark, which carries within it seeds of a future civilization, the Hermitage is a repository of painful memories, faded glory, frustrated aspirations, and unresolved cultural conflicts.

Although the film is largely self-sufficient and does not require extraneous knowledge, some historical background would lend extra depth to certain episodes. In one scene, a woman is seen silently dancing in front of Rembrandt’s “Danae” and even gesturing to the painting. In 1985, a man (later adjudged to be insane) slashed “Danae” and poured acid over it. The painting went through a painstaking conservation process which took several years. The woman who dances in front of it, first shown from some distance, is graceful and elegantly dressed, but a close-up reveals a ravaged, parchment-like face – an allusion not only to the fate of Rembrandt’s “Danae”, but to Russia in general, brutalized by the acts of its own governments, as well as countless wars and periods of internal upheaval.

In another hall, the French Ghost encounters the shadow of a blind woman caressing a statue. In a truly Shakespearean allegory, the blind Russian ghost leads the French Ghost around the painting gallery, pointing at and describing works which she cannot see. At a certain moment, she begins describing a painting that is no longer found on the wall. While the absence of the painting refers to the plundering of the Hermitage by three generations of Soviet officials, who sold many of its treasures to museums and private individuals abroad, the woman’s blindness and unshakable belief that the painting is still there symbolizes the veil of deception and oblivion under which the Russian society lived for nearly a century.

Seeing a pensive young man near El Greco’s “Apostles Peter and Paul”, the French Ghost suddenly grows violent and begins berating the boy. “How can you say you like them [the Apostles], if you do not know the Scriptures? What are they to you?”, he exclaims ruefully, pointing at the Russian’s society’s repeated destruction of its values and spirituality, its loss of direction and faith. Even academic study of theology was frowned upon in the Soviet Union, causing the Russian people gradually to become completely ignorant and uncomprehending of the content of the many works of Western art, which were inspired by biblical subjects.

Throughout the palace, restless pasty-faced ghosts of court officials scurry about, with a look of worry and painful anticipation in their eyes; these men of law lead a condemned existence in a country characterized, ironically, by lawlessness, and perpetually plagued by corruption.

The most significant conflict, however, and one which the movie explores very subtly, is the relationship between Russia and Western Europe. Ever since Peter the Great embarked on his Herculean (but only partially successful) effort to make Russia a part of the West, this country, which straddles the Ural Mountains, standing one foot in Europe and the other in Asia, has been in a perpetual identity crisis. As the French Ghost points out, the lavish Italianate interior of the Winter Palace, overfilled with French, Italian, Spanish, and Flemish art, is indicative of Russia’s strong desire to be like Europe – in fact, to be Europe. The Russian Ghost, for his part, points to evidence of the nationalism of Russian tsars, their adherence to Russia’s identity as culturally self-sufficient. It is interesting that many Russian court ladies shown in the movie wear “kokoshniki” – traditional Russian headdress – in combination with Western gowns.

At the same time, the French Ghost also personifies Western Europe’s complex perception of Russia. He dismissively scoffs at its “Western” aspects as imitation, frequently uses the “us” vs. “you” dichotomy, and, while taking credit on behalf of Europe for any enlightenment to be seen in Russia, he is quick to attribute the brutality of Russian tsars and the tyrannical slant of the country’s history to its “Asian” background. At the same time, after dancing at the ball with Natalya Pushkin, the French Ghost exclaims, “St. Petersburg has always had the most charming balls in all of Europe,” now evidently regarding Russia as a European country. This contradiction sums up Western Europe’s ambivalence towards Russia, at once welcoming it as its own and rejecting it at the same time – as well as Russia’s continued inability, after the soul-searching of so many hundreds of years, to finally make peace with history and to feel comfortable in its own skin.

Those who dislike “The Russian Ark” almost invariably complain that it did not explore in sufficient depth the Revolution of 1917 and the horrors of the purges. Personally, I am glad it did not. That Russia was a land flowing with milk and honey before the Bolsheviks came barging in is a popular view of history, but in my opinion, it is both deeply erroneous and overly simplistic. Therefore, I consider it among this movie’s “pros” rather than its “cons” that it did not slip into the banal cliche of moping over the cataclysmic effect of the Revolution on a heretofore problem-free fatherland. As for the movie’s failure to show either Lenin or Stalin – I also consider it a “pro” that Sokurov’s work did not dwindle to a tedious parade of Russia’s leaders, good and bad.

The only problem that I would like to point out has to do with the subtitles. Since “The Russian Ark” is, on its first level, a story of ghosts, there are bits and pieces of phrases constantly heard beyond the view of the camera, and the subtitles simply cannot capture them all. As far as I can estimate, approximately 40% or so of the Russian text is omitted in the subtitles. The only effective way to translate this movie is to have it dubbed.

“The Russian Ark” is undoubtedly one of the finest works in cinema, with astounding visuals and profound content. I give it a standing ovation.

Recommended: Yes