MINOTAUR
Andrey Zvyagintsev carves out another scathing thriller cutting to the domestic bane of Russia's bloody hands.
Wealthy businessman Gleb's (Dmitriy Mazurov) perfectly controlled life with his wife Galina (Iris Lebedeva) and son Seryozha (Boris Kudrin) is under threat from shifting political winds and secret affairs. The year is 2022 and Russia's invasion on Ukraine is commencing, it becomes the burden of Gleb to offer up 14 of his own employees for the military draft as ordered by the slimy Mayor (Vladimir Friedman) who sits behind a desk with a picture of Putin hanging over his head at all times. To spare any of his own the staff of the forced recruitment, Gleb diabolically recruits 14 new bodies who believe they are signing up for industrial work with twice the usual pay, unbeknownst to them they are being fed straight into the war. Soon Gleb also discovers his wife is having an affair after having her followed by one of his contacts. Even before it comes crashing down, the perceived domestic bliss of Gleb and Galina’s life is only a false impression as the history of their unaffectionate dynamic is slowly revealed.
There are no surprises here from the director of Leviathan (2014) and Loveless (2017), where Andrey Zvyagintsev dissects the bitter existence of those living in Russia under such corruption and tyranny that pollutes every household. But even Gleb’s shallow family life must still be upheld, even a fancy evening out with his rich friends and their mistresses is all for show, as a way of convincing themselves that all is normal. But once Gleb discovers his wife’s infidelity, he impulsively gets his hands dirty. The 'Minotaur' of the title alludes to the ancient Greek myth where 14 lives are sacrificed to the dreaded creature, Zvyagintsev is once again crafting a timeless fable about the brutality of this country's governance that can't amount to anything than a savage beast.
Zvyagintsev takes us through a knife edge thriller of what one man is willing to keep his honour. There is a spine-tingling bureaucratical strategy to Gleb’s deeds juxtaposed to a more instinctual brutal reaction when he confronts his wife's lover. But the shaky hesitation for which he conducts himself is met with guilt, and anger but overcome by an almost governmental sense of duty to upkeep, not just to himself but his country. Everything must be put back in line; he must even kill Galina’s chances for happiness and manipulate her back into his own arms even if all they have to look forward to together is an encompassing grey cloud of despair.
Dmitriy Mazurov carries this man's calculating crimes with controlled poise but also wobbling with trepidation. Iris Lebedeva brilliantly manages to counteract the cold demeanour of Mazurov with an unmasked contempt and rage at her husband and inescapable family unit, while she quietly devastates at the loss of possible happiness outside of it. Galina is a classic Zvyagintsev protagonist who suffers at the hand of the domineering men controlling her place in society.
Regular cinematographer Mikhail Krichman shoots with sharp detachment from the characters in frames of poetic derision. At one moment Gleb is seen outside his workplace shot from a shadowy distance in the street as rainwater streams beneath his feet, like the blood of those he has doomed has already spilt. Gleb and Galina live away out in modernist superficial home by a lake as form of personal escape from the reality that surrounds them. There is a hauntingly moody score from Evgueni and Sacha Galperine that foreshadows the existential dread to come from the war that is still rages on now.
This is the same soulless self-loathing Russia that we have become all too familiar with, where an army of bodies can just disappear let alone a single one in broad daylight and no one bats an eye lid, not even the police who won’t waste time with such atrocities. This is how a country operates; it will cut out and bury a part of its own soul for a needlessly destructive cause and then just return to work like ever nothing happened. Zvyagintsev is in intelligently composed form as usual, bringing forth another disturbing impression of a nation devouring itself.
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