Even from its first handful of shots, Andrey Zvyagintsev’s Leviathan demands your attention. A sorrowfully sterling tale of biblical proportions, this daunting, 140-minute tale is both epic and affable in its approach, blending smoothly a story both soft and hard-knuckled as it is laced in ruin and vodka.
Focused on a small Russian town, local father and mechanic Kolya (Aleksey Serebryakov) finds himself in a legal battle with the mayor (Roman Madyanov) when told his house is to be demolished. Hiring his lawyer friend Dmitriy (Vladimir Vdovichenkov) to help, they find themselves with seemingly better fortunes as time goes on. When Dmitriy grows closer to Kolya’s family and lover Lilya (Elena Lyadova), however, misfortunes continue to tumble in meager-funded man’s direction.
Leviathan is powerful in how it’s riveting narratively equally as it is visually. Gorgeously shot by cinematographer Mikhail Krichman, the gravitas of Kolya’s situation are never easily forgotten for he and Zvyagintsev bring such a vivid sense of stakes and surroundings with each passing shot. While never afraid to give a lush vividness to the film, Zvyagintsev also provides a piercingly personable approach to his feature that makes the staggering grace of the film still grounded and hard-won, much like its characters.
Characters mature and vicariously live out their circumstances in due fashion, but the filmmaker’s touch is so impressionable in small fashions as big that these moments are just as resonating as the grander, cinematic ones. Serbryakov, Madyanov and Lyadva, just by the nature of their characters, give the most impressionable performances, but all the cast shine. They drive home the unsuspecting bleakness of this saga in sorrowful fashion, but never in a way that feels forced or alienating towards reality. Their commitment to the story and their characters helps what’s already a powerful examination excel, and provide Oleg Negin and Zvyagintsev’s screenplay with the power they need—even when their writing drifts towards pompous or cliché means.
As the final act approaches, Leviathan sadly grows messy. The religious undertones become overtones and the desire of the filmmakers to give their movie the final gut punch of forsaken morality comes across as rather overbearing. It’s evident this tale means to study the tales of the Old Testament, primarily David and Goliath and the Book of Job—the latter made a tad too obvious by a supporting character’s parables—and how they bring us into dubious lifestyles. What makes them so powerful in the acts before were how they were approached in natural fashion. While the sense of scale at the end is certainly appreciated, it feels unnecessary and even a bit forced as the film climaxes.
Such comments aside, Leviathan is a work of mature, elegant storytelling, laced with rich bleakness and thoughtful commentary. It’s unshakable in its convictions, and harrowing in its look at humanity. Even at two plus hours, the weight rarely feels overwrought, and while some may mistake this tale as pretentious, its hard to fathom the emotions it sirens accomplished were it shorter.