Moloch

If you remember Casablanca, you'll recall that Rick is a man who begins the film dead on the inside. His heart is broken, he is an alcoholic, he's perfectly neutral, and he doesn't stick his neck out for anybody. But as the film progresses Rick rediscovers his own life again and goes on to take a roll in the war.

"Moloch" shows us this reverse story of the anti-hero Rick. Hitler is the negation of an anti-hero, someone who probably began life off-screen perfectly moral and alive. But his desires and fears have made him a monster, dead on the inside.

People who destroy life do so because they are afraid of their own deaths. Any child who has a momentary fright in contemplating death may respond by killing an insect or a small animal and taking succor in the control over life and death. This is how evil might begin. Thus Sokurov films the vulnerable, underwear-clad Hitler of the everyday in a state of child-like fear of his own death, nearly all the time.

But the real damnation of the killer is that in the end even perpetrating destruction will not ward off the ghosts of the mind. "Death is death," reminds Eva Braun, helpfully. Like Rick's Ilsa, she knows the whole time the true source and purpose of life, knows it down in her bones. But poor Eva has no Rick to work with, and eventually her efforts to liven Hitler only bring up her own worst fears.

Pretty nice example of classical plot structure with negation of the anti-hero!

The year is 1942. Hitler is at the height of power. He and his inner circle retreat to a misty mountaintop castle in the Alps. Eva Braun, nearly naked and alone, basks in solitude on the ramparts. It is her only escape from the burden of loving a human chimera. Thus begins Alexander Sokurov's film MOLOCH, which won the Best Screenplay Award at the 1999 Cannes Film Festival.

Webster's Third International English Dictionary describes Moloch as an ancient Semitic deity, and the figurative definition runs as, "A tyrannical power propitiated by human subservience or sacrifice." The latter is definitely in evidence as the film explores Braun's personal world and tribulations, as well as the grotesque behavior of Hitler and his obsequious associates. The film does not attempt to mirror history; rather it is a bold speculation that takes its cues from the past.

Leonid Mozgovoy's performance as Hitler is uncanny. He is nervous, annoyed, self-absorbed, even vulnerable, and oblivious to the strained relations around him, including his troubled relationship with Braun, played by Yelena Rufanova. Their final scene is particularly compelling, where Braun in sympathetic tones tells Hitler as he is about to be driven away in his sedan, "Death is Death. It cannot be defeated."

In a unique maneuver, Sokurov had his entirely Russian cast voice the dialogue in German, after which they were dubbed by native German actors from Berlin, creating a nearly seamless result.

Unfortunately, the Russian version of the film in theaters had a voice-over translation (done entirely by Mozgovoy), which interferes with the German text, defeating the whole purpose of going to all that trouble. This decision was made in deference to Russian audiences, which are used to – and even sometimes prefer – this type of translation, but subtitles would have worked much better. Luckily, the Russian DVD has this option (Russian subtitles only).

The film is more streamlined than other Sokurov efforts, and may be called one of his best works, if not the best. The editing and pacing are smoother than that of many of his other films. The recently released video version of the film contains 21 minutes of footage not seen in the theatrical version. The long version plays well, with more rich detail, more expository elements such as additional manifestations of Eva's mischievous nature and Adolf's sensitivity to smells and foodstuffs.

Sokurov studied history at Gorky State University before becoming a filmmaker. He makes highly idiosyncratic, strikingly atmospheric and ponderously paced works, drawing inspiration from classical literature and music – what he calls "Old World art." He crafted the film from a screenplay entitled "The Mystery of the Mountain" (originally the title of the film), written by Yury Arabov, with whom he has collaborated frequently.

The film can rightfully be called a cinematic milestone because of its portrayal of Hitler. For the first time in narrative film history, Hitler is shown to be human. This is ultimately a valuable artistic judgment, for it fosters understanding of the political forces that he set in motion.

Sokurov notes, "Erich Fromm wrote that until we learn to understand Hitler's human nature, we will never understand anything about Nazism or learn to discern potential monsters in those lusting for power."

Sokurov is alone in the universe of known-to-me filmmakers in that he comes up with wonderful ideas for movies but is terrible at making the movies themselves (for a demonstration of both, see especially Russian Ark). So much so, in fact, that letting someone tell you the central concept of a Sokurov movie is pretty much the same experience as watching the movie, except, of course, for the duration. On the one hand, that's good, because very few people can come up with a truly poignant movie concept. On the other, it's bad, well, because the movie itself is.

So what is the central concept of this movie that's so wonderful you say? It is this: that Hitler, Goebbels and the rest of the Nazi high command were just people, and not particularly extraordinary or intelligent people, either.

Some of you will go "no f***ing kidding!" but really, that's something that is forgotten too easily and is a frightening fact. The atrocities of the Great War and Holocaust are somewhat explainable if one considers Hitler to be an insane genius, a man of pure evil. To see him as a dumb short guy who likes to get his belly poked by fat blond women, well, that's much scarier, because then how do you explain that this man caused the deaths of tens of millions of people? The thought is a harrowing one, but it is immediately understandable in the movie, and so there's no real reason for about 100 of the 108 minutes of its length.

Moloch is the cinematic equivalent of a post-it memo to yourself that you wrote some time ago and see just in time to act upon its instructions. If you remembered the contents, you're annoyed at having wasted the time to write (watch) something so obvious. If you didn't, you're very thankful for the note, and yet annoyed at yourself for needing the note in the first place.

So should you see this movie? Not if you've read my review or had someone tell you the gist of it. If not, it is necessary, if boring viewing.

Molokh is an intimate portrait about the state of torment of a reduced delirious aristocracy. The limits of the characters are often confused with the environment, with the unreal atmosphere of the landscape. It is important to highlight its fine technical work and especially its cinematography: a very careful composition in each scene. The cold way in which the light is treated and the density of the environment in each picture are the perfect frame to explain the morbid delirium of a group of attenuated and bizarre figures confined to their desolation. The dialogues have a certain dynamic and despite their absurdity and pathos they maintain enough dramatic tension so that the film is not lost in boredom. An original movie with an independent way to explore, from the formal simplicity of its cinematic, the hypochondria, the mania and the phobia of the main character and his naive and wicked chorus.

Yes, it would be easy to criticize Molokh for being slow, and for having Russian actors mouthing German words that aren't natural to them, but I found this film to be fascinating through most of its length (and if Tarkovsky had made it, it would have been TWICE as long).

What we see is Hitler and his inner circle being jovial and vicious by turns, along with loopy discussions of racial characteristics (Czech men have droopy mustaches, indicating moral turpitude; the Finns are rendered mentally unfit owing to cold weather, etc.) There is a lot of backstabbing going on between Bormann and Goebbels; pity that Goering isn't in the film--we would have benefitted even more from his cynicism. All of this has the ring of truth--I recently read Speer's memoirs, Inside the Third Reich, which has detailed accounts of these lunch and dinner talk-fests.

Yelena Rufanova is not convincing as Eva Braun--too slavic looking--but Leonid Mozgovoy with his dumpy body is great as Hitler. The hypochondria, the refusal of middle-class pleasures--no slippers!--the insane political musings: it's all here. Leonid Sokol is Goebbels, absolutely. The rat face on a dwarf's body, the desperate ridicule of Bormann whom he knows is cutting him down: this is fine acting.

Sokurov adopts Leni Riefenstahl's style to tell a Wagnerian story of grandeur and collapse.