A Gentle Creature – first look review | Little White Lies

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A Gen­tle Crea­ture – first look review

25 May 2017

Words by David Jenkins

A young woman with dark hair against a blurred, wintry background.
A young woman with dark hair against a blurred, wintry background.
Cor­rup­tion and vice reign supreme in Sergei Loznitsa’s pun­ish­ing­ly bleak descent into the bow­els of Russia.

In 2014’s ani­mat­ed fea­ture, The Lego Movie, the world as pre­sent­ed as a grat­ing dystopia where hap­pi­ness rules the roost and the glob­al anthem is titled, Every­thing is Awe­some’. If you can imag­ine a dia­met­ri­cal­ly oppo­site ver­sion of this image, you’re half way to com­pre­hend­ing the near-par­o­d­ic lev­els of bleak­ness on show in Sergei Loznitsa’s Russ­ian mis­er­ab­list epic, A Gen­tle Crea­ture. The anthem here should be, Every­thing is Awful’, and every­one should be forced to sing it, all day, every day, on pain of death.

Curios­i­ty killed the cat, and that seems to be proverb that applies to all life in mod­ern Rus­sia. Vasili­na Makovt­se­va is the unsmil­ing crea­ture” of the title who returns home one day to a col­lec­tion card from the post office. A care pack­age of canned food, sent to her hus­band who is lan­guish­ing in a Siber­ian prison, has been returned to her for no rea­son. He is inside on a mur­der rap, but she claims he is inno­cent. With no infor­ma­tion or the abil­i­ty to con­tact her incar­cer­at­ed beau, she decides to hop on a train to Siberia and suc­cumb to the foul tor­ments of a bar­barous prison town.

Dis­cov­er­ing rel­a­tive­ly quick­ly that this was no sim­ple admin­is­tra­tive sna­fu, the woman then gives her­self over to the pimps and rack­e­teers in the hope that she’ll some­how find her answer. She seems utter­ly untrou­bled by dan­ger, con­stant­ly hand­ing over her pass­port to ran­dom tyrants who claim to want to help her (even though she’s been hood­winked over and over again). She goes deep­er and deep­er down this fes­ter­ing rab­bit hole, and all you want her do to is get back on the train, go back to her coun­try shack and play with her dog.

This inevitably makes for drea­ry and pun­ish­ing cin­e­ma, a film that will have you leav­ing the audi­to­ri­um with head slung low. Makovt­se­va is low-key excel­lent in the lead, some­how remain­ing com­plete­ly mys­te­ri­ous and blank at a char­ac­ter, but doing just enough so that you pine for her to sur­vive the next vio­lent encounter. Yet the film is some­thing of a bust, and its con­ceit­ed ded­i­ca­tion to despair presents a world which feels whol­ly dis­con­nect­ed from reality.

When she realis­es that her odyssey is point­less and that there are far more press­ing con­cerns in Moth­er Rus­sia than a miss­ing pris­on­er, Loznit­sa takes a bold styl­is­tic U‑turn before unload­ing a final shot­gun car­tridge to the face in a sil­ly coda. The film’s clos­ing image appears to sug­gest that Rus­sia is phys­i­cal­ly abus­ing its pop­u­lous and it has the mus­cle and the wiles to get away with it. The prob­lem will per­sist while there remains a desire for nor­mal cit­i­zens to know the real truth as opposed to the offi­cial truth.

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