Moloch

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.

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."

MOLOCH (translated as 'a demon in the shape of a man') is a film that shows yet another aspect of Aleksandr Sokurov's approach to film-making. As in his splendid 'Russian Ark', 'Mother and Son', and 'Father and Son' he manages to say more in his silences and interplay of his characters with nature and their environments that in his spare scripts (this script is by Yuri Arabov and Marina Koreneva). His movement is slow, like an adagio, his eye is constantly on symbolism and irony, and his filming/camera technique is always experimental. Given these factors 'MOLOCH' is a fine example of how Sokurov works his magic: whether or not the viewer will relate to this bizarre film depends on how willing one is to enter Sokurov's vision. This film about Hitler is very much a Russian product and given the history of the relationship between Russia and Germany, that fact is necessary to know.

1942, in a fortress in the clouds of Bavaria, we find Eva Braun (Yelena Rufanova) cavorting balletically both inside the foreboding stone 'dungeon' and out on the dangerous parapets. She is visited by a strange entourage: Hitler (Leonid Mozgovoy), Dr. and Mrs. Goebbels (Leonid Sokol and Yelena Spiridonova), Martin Boorman (Vladimir Bogdanov), and a priest (Anatoli Shvedersky). The action takes place in a single day and during this time the actual war is not discussed. We are to understand this is a retreat for relaxation, but as we get to know the characters we find that many hints of the evil and insane minds of all of them. They talk: Auschwitz is mentioned and Hitler apparently has never heard of it; Hitler pontificates on power; the Goebbels demonstrate their abject worship of Hitler; Eva Braun is the sassy journalist who is the only one who can talk back to Hitler, teasing, seducing and acquiescing to his inability to demonstrate intimacy. They dine (Hitler's vegetarian mentality deplores the 'corporal soup' his dinner partners devour), they watch old grainy black and white news clips of war machines, new tanks, soldiers, and oddly a performance of Beethoven's 9th Symphony with Knappertsbusch conducting. Then the guests retire, and Hitler is joined by Eva Braun in a bizarre boudoir scene. In the morning the entourage leaves and Eva remains, retuning to her strange world of dancing through the fortress.

Throughout the film the music is that of Wagner - Siegfried's Funeral Music, and other passages from 'Die Götterdämmerung' (Twilight of the Gods!) accompanied by some banter about Furtwangler and Bruno Walter as well as Knappertsbusch. The acting is somewhat stylized which adds to the bizarre mood the story creates. In the final analysis this appears to be Sokurov's image of a mind gone mad with power and visions of immortality and it is only at the very end when Eva Braun whispers that he cannot defeat death that there is a moment of vulnerability in the historical Hitler.

This is a slow moving 108 minutes of film and not for everyone's taste, but if you are an admirer of Aleksandr Sokurov it is a mesmerizing journey through the cerebral passages of one of history's worst molochs. Grady Harp

Honestly, I don't know what all the fuss is about when people say this is a boring and pretentious film. Yes, this is an art-house flick. It's beautiful purpose is to make you think in many different ways and about many different aspects of Nazism; for instance, look how the throng assembles like one of Rembrandt's paintings of the ruling council when 'Adi' slumps into the chair. A very telling reference out - but this film doesn't restrict its references to 'highbrow' themes. In its stylised portrayal of Goebbels and Bormann it manages to suggest the stereotypes of American cinema, which is meant to generate insights into how to view this centre of evil. As the synopsis says, Hitler et al have come to Berchtesgaden for R & R, right? Not much fun, is it? At the centre of this empire, there is simply a void of yes-men who cannot relax in each other's company, who cannot even break out the wine until der Fuhrer has gone to bed, and who for whom every day is an exercise in the most intense nervousness *with no way out except through der Fuhrer's whimsical violent rage.* This movie is one of the driest I've come across. If Mel Brooks was the slapstick Nazis, this is Nazis as 'Big Brother' contestants. So underplayed, it's not exactly surprising many people complain there's nothing going on here - but then, the evil of the Nazis is a strange and unwanted gift for artists and filmmakers who want to get as damn near to Eliot's 'Objective Correlative' as possible, so they can play with a collective, coherent response. In this case, it begins with, "The Nazis were awful, awful people. When did their punishment happen, eh? How was death truly a punishment for their particular evil?" This movie shows, by making fun of them from several perspectives, exactly what their punishment was. When the film moves into the relationship between AH and EB later on, it is further complicated by the fact that Eva is the only one who has even seen what they are doing. Note the subtlety of the exchange which ends in Adi saying, "That's the right answer," or the weird symbolism of their body language when he finally catches up with her in the bedroom. Sokhurov is not trying to portray realistically what happened; he is using the space of Berchtesgaden as a space for a symbolic expression of what Nazism did to the Nazis themselves. Their hell began when they imposed it on others, and they only discovered it later, by which time, one of them was a doddering old neurotic wreck, another one way out of his depth, and still another one abandoned by his old comrades and desperately trying to curry favour. And the whole thing adds up to something ludicrous. I have read on another critique here, that Hitler was considered to be very boring. Well, he can't have been that boring, if you could provoke him to send you to the Russian front simply by criticising his ambitions - but then, the boredom angle is catered for in the first ten minutes with Eva's listlessness. This film is classic.

Part of a tetralogy that includes the recent, amazing "The Sun" about Hirohito (2005, shown at the New York Film Festival but as yet without a US distributor), as well as "Taurus" (Telets, 2002), about a mortally ill Lenin. (The fourth I think is not yet made.) All concern men of great power at decisive and tragic moments. "Moloch" concerns Hitler in 1942 in an eagle's nest castle in the Bavarian Alps, isolated, as in other portraits, among his cadres and Eva Braun, indulging in grumpy vegetarian dinners and tossing about weird racist remarks about other nationalities. This is acted by strong members of the theater of St. Petersburg, Elena Rufanova as Eva Barun, Leonid Mosgovoi as Hitler, Leonid Solol as Goebbels, Yelena Spirindonova as Frau Goebbels, Vladimir Bogdanov as Martin Bormann, whose lines are dubbed by German actors, and this is done well. The whole is bathed in a murky green-gray or verdigris fog -- saturated, someone has written, with a kind of patina characteristic of old Agfa films -- the fogginess typical also of Sokurov's style elsewhere, with (as in The Sun) a sumptuous feel in the mise-en-scène and amazing, evocative period realness to objects (photo books, ashtrays, serving dishes) which seem at once solid and delicate. Yes, this is remarkable film-making. But the film as a whole is yawn-inducing. Hitler spends most of his screen time moaning about his health. Ten minutes are devoted to Eva's wandering around naked without a word spoken. She is graceful and athletic; but why? Well, to evoke the boredom and idleness of the isolated concubine -- but is such length necessary? "Moloch" is very different from, and rather disappointing in comparison to, "The Sun's" stunning, touching portrayal of Hirohito, which dwells also on trivial moments, but always in the cause of a sensitive exploration of character and situation. There is a hushed intimacy about "The Sun" that "Moloch", though it has a few grand moments and may even evoke Lang's "Metropolis," never attempts. Hitler doesn't even really talk enough, and this brings us to the inevitable fact that at this date, 2006, "Moloch" is thoroughly overshadowed by the far more conventional, sometimes heavy-handed, but nonetheless richly detailed and accurate and breathlessly exciting recreation of the last days in the Bunker achieved recently by Oliver Hirschbiegel in his "Downfall" ("Der Untergang," 2004), released in the US last year and containing Bruno Ganz's powerful performance as the Nazi dictator.