O Desterro

Andrei Zvyagintsev's gripping drama The Banishment plays out like Eastern Promises meets Carlos Reygadas' 2007 feature Silent Light; a combination of rather embittered Russian criminals operating and uncovering certain revelations around innocents whom later become caught up in the crossfire, with this weighty, steady visual aesthetic of rural land captured by way of long takes and eerie, heavenly music juxtaposing the on screen non-paradise we witness. Zvyagintsev's film is a minor-masterpiece, a film combining the essence of each of the above films with various cues from that of something like Coppola's Godfather films; the studious deconstruction of a family unit, not all of them necessarily criminally minded, slowly; painfully; deathfully falling apart at the seams as those of varying genders, ages and backgrounds fall away from one another because of a troupé of men's actions. It is a rigorously immersive film, a fine effort from a man firing on mostly all the cylinders he decides to shoot from; the end product formulating into a morbidly fascinating procession of drama and character.

The film will begin with a car being driven by a wounded man through rural fields split by the tarmac road his car occupies, the trees and birdsong unpleasantly disturbed by the roar of the car as it hares by. After another instance of countryside peace being disturbed, an unperturbed cut will see the car enter a more urbanised locale full of bricked up walls and factory chimneys churning out reams of smoke. The driver is a certain Mark (Baluev), a criminally orientated brother to that of Alex (Lavronenko) who lives in the city; the charging of his car past the calm, peaceful rural world during the opening shots a precursor to the sorts of later shattering of the tranquillity he and the family with whom he shares ties to. The aforementioned jolting cut between peace and countryside to city life additionally highlights a sudden change in surroundings, an example of shifting surroundings for the worse which will additionally go on to encapsulate the framework of the film and the general well-being of a family congregation. Mark is injured, but trusty brother Alex patches him up in the dead of night - his dealing with a bloody, scuzzy; grotty situation highlighting skill of a physical nature in his ability to deal with such a scenario of such a delicate, precise nature; before the film places him into a similar predicament, only of immense psychological and spiritual sorts.

With Alex lives his wife Vera (Bonnevie), whom puts up with people of Mark's ilk arriving at her home whilst she sleeps at ungodly hours; when Alex goes to lie next to her, the film providing us with the first of many eerie shots that peer straight down at the couple lying in bed facing upwards at us: very little in the way of contact nor communication and grossly varying positions as they lie situated there, as if not of a similar ilk. Following on from the opening, Alex; Vera and their son Kir with their daughter Eva journey by way of localised train network and by foot through the forests and fields to a farm house. The journey by train is, again, muted; the unit of four sharing varying poses and stances as they sit in the train's compartment avoiding eye contact; the insinuation is disenchantment or a unit not hooked up to one another.

The house they arrive at is one Alex appears highly attuned to, later reveals are that he spent time there as a boy with brother Mark; the faces of elderly and long since deceased family members peering through the exterior glass window of their photographic frames as their image hang there, looming over proceedings as they watch on from the walls. The house, of which is seemingly only accessible from the front by way of a narrow wooden bridge over a kind of moat thus inflecting it being cut off from a distinct 'other side', is a peaceful haven set isolated from civilisation amidst the scorched fields and constant sun. The family are not infallible, uncomfortable scenes such as the one that sees Vera argue with her young daughter unravel, whilst the visiting to Alex's family by neighbouring relative Viktor (Sergeev) and his family demonstrate a seemingly perfect, working unit of this nature in full flow as the distinction between his and Alex's appear even greater.

The bombshell which ruptures this existing arrives in the form of the announcement of Vera's pregnancy, a pregnancy which Alex is informed wasn't instigated by him. What follows is a slow burning sensation of dread and affliction, perpetrated out of human nature's ill-advised methods in dealing with such situations; a late night seeing off of Vikto and co. whom were visiting seeing Alex occupy a part of the porch to the left side of the screen as a distinct wooden foreground beam splits the frame down the middle, distinctly placing Vera on the other side; the film seeing it now necessary to place a physical object so as to highlight the 'split' from one another the two characters share. Zvyagintsev's film is a fine effort, instilled with an agonising and morbidly captivating air about it as we witness these people and their lives disintegrate out of a man too of-his-ilk to be making decisions whilst influencing another man whom ought to be strong enough to see sense. The contemporary cinematic antithesis to Bekmambetov's Americanised Night Watch, or indeed Bondarchuk's Hollywood war movie simulacrum 9th Company, The Banishment banishes most doubts over the Russian cinema industry's strengths and motifs.

Those who have seen Russian director Andrei Zvyagintsev's first film "The Return" will have no trouble in realizing that his second film "Izgnanie" /"The Banishment" is equally impressive.However,his second film is little less effective despite having many themes in common with his first film.It can be surmised that it was due to intriguing focus on adults instead of children.This is exactly the reason why many a times viewers might get the impression that children are used merely as unavailing props.Astute viewers will also notice that many references to Tarkovsky are quite natural and self explanatory as Andrei Zvyagintsev is an honorable heir of that famous Russian school of cinema which prides itself in observing minute things in greater detail.It is true that a film maker must not give all answers to viewers but highhandedness of Andrei Zvyagintsev's direction failed to engage viewers.This is one reason why so many essential questions remained unanswered throughout the film.But this would surely not deprive any sagacious viewers to enjoy this extremely meaningful film with excellent focus on art direction especially in the manner interiors have been created.

Andrei Zvyagintsev's second film "The Banishment," if evaluated closely, could arguably be as interesting as his first film The Return, if not better. Both relate to related concepts "Father" and "Love/Absence of Love." In both films, there are few words spoken.

To evaluate "The Banishment" is like completing a challenging crossword puzzle. You would know this unusual situation if you have seen "The Return." To begin "The Return" was not based on a novel. This one is. That, too, a William Saroyan novel—"The Laughing Matter." Yet the director is not presenting us with Saroyan's novel on the screen. He develops the wife as a woman "more sinn'd against than sinning," while in the novel she is mentally unstable. Understandably, the director decides to drop the Saroyan title. Thus the words "I am going to have a child. It's not yours" provides two utterly distinct scenarios depending on whether the woman who speaks those words to her husband is a saintly person or a mentally unhinged woman. The change in the character of the wife by the director opens a totally new perspective to the Saroyan story—a tool that contemporary filmmakers frequently use, not to wreck literary works, but creatively revive interest in the possibilities a change in the original work provides.

Those viewers familiar with the plethora of Christian symbolism in "The Return" will spot the painting on which the children play jigsaw is one of an angel visiting Mary, mother of Jesus, to reveal that she will give birth even if she is a virgin. This shot is followed by a black kitten walking across the painting. And the forced abortion operation at the behest of the husband begins on Vera, the wife in Zvyagintsev's film. By the end of the film the viewer will realize that the director had left a clue for the viewer—not through conventional character development using long conversations.

"The Banishment" is representative of contemporary cinema provoking viewers to enjoy cinema beyond the story by deciphering symbols strewn around amongst layers of meaning structured within the screenplay.

As usual, the cinema of director Zvyagintsev is full of allusions to the Bible. This is the third famous film that refers to a single abstract chapter in the Bible on love: 1 Corinthians Chapter 13. In "The Banishment" the chapter is read by the neighbors' daughters. In Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Blue", set to the musical score sung towards the end of the film a choral musical piece sings the words "If I have not love, I am nothing" from the same Biblical chapter commenting indirectly on communication breakdown between husband and wife and the slow and painful reconciliation with the husband's lover. Bergman's "Through a glass darkly" is a phrase on taken from the same chapter of the Bible, a film also on lack of communication and love between father and son, husbands and wives.

The banishment alludes to the banishment of Adam from the Garden of Eden represented in the film by the anti-hero's tranquil family house, far from the inferred socio-political turbulence elsewhere. Soon after the wife's proclamation we see her children playing with the jigsaw puzzle depicting an angel appearing to Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus, that she will bear a child. These clues indicate to the viewer that wife was innocent. In the movie, these are but a few of the dozens of symbols and metaphors that extend even to the selection of classical music. As usual, the cinema of director Zvyagintsev is full of allusions to the Bible. The banishment alludes to the banishment of Adam from Eden represented in the film by the anti-hero's tranquil family house, far from the inferred socio-political turbulence elsewhere. A black kitten crosses the jigsaw puzzle and tragedy follows. These clues indicate to the viewer that wife was innocent. In the movie, these are but a few of the dozens of symbols and metaphors that extend even to the selection of classical music Bach's Magnificat or the "Song of Virgin Mary". There is washing of the brother's bullet hit arm, reminiscent of Pilate washing his hands in the Bible.

While the story and structure of "The Return" is easier to comprehend, "The Banishment" is more complex. The first half of the film entices the viewer to reach the wrong conclusions. The Father is correct, the wife is wrong. The second half of the film surprises the viewer as all assumptions of the viewer made from the preceding episodes are turned topsy-turvy. Men are arrogant, egotistical and father children without love. There is no love in the silent train journey of the family while the wife is looking at her husband with love. Like Kieslowski's "Blue" the woman appears stronger than the man—and in an apt epilogue its women (harvesting a field) who are singing a song of hope and regeneration.

A supposed major flaw noted by critics is the lack of character development. In this film, Zvyagintsev develops characters using silent journeys (lack of communication) and misconstruing of reality ("child is not ours"), very close to the storyline of the director's first film. Actually, Zvyagintsev progresses in this second film by extending the relationship of "Father and children" in the first film, to "Father and wife" in the second. In the first film, children do not understand the father; in the second, the father does not understand his wife. When he does it is too late, just as the kids in the first film of the director. This is a film that requires several viewings to savor its many ingredients of photography, music, and screenplay writing. Zvyagintsev is not merely copying directors Tarkovsky, Bergman and Kieslowski—-he is exploring new territories by teasing his viewer to "suspend his/her belief" and constantly re-evaluate what was shown earlier.

Not as strong as Zvyagintsev's haunting 2003 debut 'The Return'/'Vozvrashcheniye' (grand prize at Venice--I reviewed it when it was shown theatrically in the US the following year), this adaptation of William Saroyan's 1953 novella, "The Laughing Matter," is recognizable for its intense, slow-paced style and beautiful cinematography (by Mikhail Krichman). 'Izgnanie' (the Russian title) takes us out to a remote country house where there are thin roads, grassy fields over gentle hills, herds of sheep -- and old friends, because this is the childhood home of the protagonist Alex (Konstantin Lavronenko), who's brought his family out there for summer vacation. But before that (and a signal of a certain disjointedness of the whole film) we observe Mark (Alexander Baluev), Alex's obviously gangsterish brother, getting him to remove a bullet from his arm. this is also the first of a series of failures to seek adequate medical treatment. Now we move to Alex with his wife Vera (Maria Bonnevie) taking their young son Kir (Maxim Shibaev) and younger daughter Eva (Katya Kulkina) out to the country by car.

Zvagintsev certainly takes his time with every action of the film. It's as if he thought he was writing a 500-page novel rather than making a movie. The effect is not so much a sense of completeness as a kind of hypnotic trance. Everything is marked by the fine clear light, the frequent use of long shots, and the pale blue filters that give everything a distinctive look. Some of the long landscape shots are absolutely stunning, and the interior light and the way shadows gently caress the faces are almost too good to be true.

When another family comes into the picture and they all spend a day outdoors, the sense of familiarity, summer listlessness, and vague unease made me think of a play by William Inge or Tennessee Williams. That may seem odd for a Russian movie, but the names are only partly Russian, the location is deliberately indeterminate, and Saroyan's source story is set in a long-ago California, not in Russia. Zvyagintsev doesn't seem to work in the real world but in some kind of super-real nether-land. Whether it is unforgettable or simply off-putting seems to vary. In 'The Return' it as the former; here it is more the latter.

Vera drops a bombshell, when she announces she's pregnant and that the child isn't his. The tragedy that slowly but inexorably follows arises from a derangement in the wife and a misunderstanding by the husband. To deal with the problem Alex wants the children out of the way and he is happy to have them stay at the friends' house, where they're putting together a large jigsaw puzzle of Leonardo da Vinci's painting, 'The Annunciation'. I'm indebted to Jay Weissberg's review in 'Variety' for this identification; Weissberg adds, "That... isn't the only piece of heavy-handed religious imagery on offer. There's Alex washing his brother's blood off his hands, Eva/Eve offered an apple, and a Bible recitation from 1 Corinthians about love ("It does not insist on its own way"), handily set apart by a bookmark depicting Masaccio's 'The Expulsion From the Garden of Eden.' OK, we get it, but that doesn't mean the parallels offer a doorway into personalities who offer little emotional residue on their own." And he is right: Zvyagintsev's fascination with Italian painting, and here also with the Bible, doesn't change the fact that the characters nonetheless remain, this time, troublingly opaque. Mark is an adviser and stimulus to action for Alex. Robert (Dmitry Ulianov) is a third brother who enters the picture later. I will not go into the details because the chief interest of the film is its slow revelations.

And yet the revelations don't quite convince, because for one thing they do not fully explain. The wife's behavior remains unaccountable. And a long flashback in the latter part of the film seems to come too late, and to explain too much, yet without explaining enough. None of this is the fault of the actors, who are fine, including the children.

Zvyagintsev's second film, then, is a disappointment and a puzzlement. I began to think after a while that the whole thing would be much more effective if it were done in a very simple style, with simply workmanlike photography, in a film trimmed of all externals, down to the bone, something noirish like Robert Siodmak's 'The Killers' or Kubrick's 'The Killing.' We are left to figure things out anyway, so why all the flourishes? Yet Zvyagintsev's style is nonetheless beautiful, and one only hopes he finds material that works better for him next time. I was thrilled with 'The Return' and wrote of it in my IMDb Comment: "This stunning debut features exceptional performances by the talented young actors, brilliant storytelling in a fable-like tale that's as resonant as it is specific, and exquisite cinematography not quite like any one's ever seen before." The excitement I felt about the first film is why the new one feels like such a let-down.

Seen as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center series Film Comment Selects 2008 (February 25) at the Walter Reade Theater, NYC.

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Having recently watched and been most impressed with director, Andrey Zvyagintsev's first film The Return and having also liked his later films thought I would take a look at this, his second outing. It is a terrible tale but, oh so well told. From the opening shot of a solitary tree in a golden landscape to the very end this is wonderfully filmed with frame after frame a joy to behold. The story itself is another matter and the director's easy way with children means that even if the adults avoid saying very much, the children are less inhibited and provide a delightful backdrop. Although the innocence of the young children does contrast and further emphasise the horrors that the adults do, to each other, mostly mentally and off frame something pretty terrible too that we are not privy to. There is a terrible darkness here but the performances are as magical as the cinematography and the whole is a great pleasure to watch. The town and city sequences are, apparently, shot in France and Belgium whilst the unique countryside scenes are filmed in Moldova, which I discover is a small former soviet country between Ukraine and Romania. Brilliant film - the director talks of L'Aventura and this just could be considered a Russian Antonioni - even if it wasn't filmed there.