a review by Jeffrey Overstreet
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Director – Andrey Zvyagintsev.
Writers – Vladimir Moiseenko and Alexander Novototsky (in Russian, with English subtitles).
Director of photography – Mikhail Kritchman.
Editor – Vladimir Mogilevsky.
Music – Andrey Dergatchev.
Art director – Janna Pakhomova.
Producer – Dmitry Lesnevsky.
Released by Kino International.
106 minutes. Not rated.
STARRING: Vladimir Garin (Andrey), Ivan Dobronravov (Vanya), Konstantin Lavronenko (Father) and Natalia Vdovina (Mother).
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The four films I enjoyed the most in 2004 were films I discovered for the first time, but that have been available and widely acclaimed for years. They were Robert Bresson’s Au Hasard Balthazar, the most unforgettable two hours I spent in a theatre; Bresson’s A Man Escaped, a similarly profound and challenging masterwork; Béla Tarr’s Werckmeister Harmonies, which is very difficult to find (I saw it thanks to a generous friend with a VHS copy); and Tokyo Story, the masterpiece by Yasujiro Ozu about family ties, respect for one’s elders, and the necessity of humility and love.
2004 offered me no new titles on par with such timeless poetry. But there was one film that came pretty darn close: The Return.
Watching this film, it’s hard to shake the impression that you’re seeing the debut of a great artist. It’s too early to say if Andrey Zvyagintsev is one of the great filmmakers of our time. But the one film he has made deserves to be discussed in the same way we discuss work by Tarkovsky (The Mirror), Kieslowski (The Decalogue), and Bresson (Diary of a Country Priest).
Great storytelling, excellent cinematography, a beautifully subtle soundtrack, sensational performances by three actors, a poetic script resonant with Scriptural allusion—The Return is never indulgent, never superfluously stylish, and always convincing. That is what sets it apart from the handful of films I considered choosing as my top recommendation for 2004.
The story follows two brothers who must deal with the unexpected “return” of their father, a man they’ve never known. They try to take their mother’s word for it, but when the mysterious, quiet man takes them on a journey that morphs from fishing trip into a desperate and frustrating mystery, the brothers argue passionately over the man’s true identity and what he intends to do with them. Are they being led to their deaths? Is this a rite of passage into manhood? Is it a lesson in wilderness survival skills? What in the world is going on?
On a deeper level, the film leads us to ask questions about our own experiences with authority figures. Is it ever enough to just “trust and obey”? Is it arrogant for us to demand justification for the behavior or instructions of our elders? If there is a god, what is he like? Is it cruel for God to expect unquestioning obedience of us? Or is it his right? What is God really up to, and what is our part in his plan? Does he love us? Would he place us in danger unnecessarily, or has he ever demonstrated his love for us in any significant fashion?
The film ultimately feels like a lost Dostoyevsky novella brought to life. It powerfully echoes questions that have haunted spiritual seekers since … well … since God first told us not to mess with that blasted tree.
Like each episode of Kieslowski’s Decalogue, The Return is a small but potent story that never becomes preachy, didactic, simplistic, or dishonest. And yet it captures how good and evil work in our lives. It fulfills the highest rule of art — Show, don’t tell.
The relationships, the motivations, the decisions all goad us to see ourselves in these characters, and to abstract from the specifics into discussions of our impressions of God and our responses to him.
The conclusion is confounding, frustrating, and yet brilliant because it is specific to this story rather than merely an allegorical flourish. (I was on the edge of my seat in those final minutes, worried that the film was going to become too obvious in its implications, rather than merely suggesting spiritual realities.)
The young actors are extraordinary, and I hope to see their faces again. Konstantin Lavronenko is perfectly opaque as the father.
I will be eagerly watching and waiting for Zvyagintsev’s next film … just as I will anxiously await someone to tell me how to pronounce his name, so I can go around shouting it.