Futility reigns supreme in Russian Oscar contender 'Leviathan'

City Paper grade: A

International admirers of Andrey Zvyagintsev's fourth feature — and there are many — have characterized it as one of the most devastating criticisms of the Russian Federation ever committed to film. But to American audiences, so accustomed to chuckling into our cheese fries while terrorists mortar-bomb the White House or stoned comedians murder world leaders, its grievances can come off as downright subtle. This gap in discourse might make Zvyagintsev's indictments seem less blistering than they are, but all you need is a little context to understand why Leviathan has so many pissed — and so many pleased.

Barely eking out a living as an underemployed mechanic in the far north, Aleksei Serebryakov's Kolya is loosely inspired by the biblical Job, sans the benevolent ending. A salty, temperamental drunk with a disaffected wife and son, he can cite multiple sources for his misery, most prominently Vadim (Roman Madyanov), a bloated, Yeltsin-esque bureaucrat who's gamed the corrupt system to commandeer Kolya's land. Despite maneuvering by his lawyer (Vladimir Vdovichenkov), shit just keeps getting shittier. But instead of orchestrating some sort of off-the-mat redemption tale, Zvyagintsev uses Kolya's misfortune to expand the scope of his skewering, prodding national leadership, the gilded Orthodox Church and the darkened Russian psyche along the way. It's an aesthetically beautiful but profoundly unhappy piece of work, valuable for its honesty as much as its artistry.