While his career was cut tragically short as a result of his untimely death, Aleksei Balabanov was a relatively prolific director, having made nearly two dozen films over the course of his career. The ones he is most fondly remembered for are his more abstract works, like Happy Days and Of Freaks and Men, both of which are masterful, Kafka-esque dramas that showcase the best the director had to offer. However, some of his more conventional films are just as intriguing, as is the case with It Doesn’t Hurt Me (Russian: Мне не больно), a poignant and compelling romantic melodrama that shows that even when working with a more straightforward story, Balabanov brought so much nuance and wit to the proceedings, its impossible to not be utterly beguiled by both his intentions for telling a story, as well as the subsequent technique he employs to bring some very broad ideas to life on screen. Centred on the relationship between a young interior decorator and a mysterious young woman he meets by chance (who is secretly battling terminal leukaemia), the film has a discreet method of exploring some very serious themes, taking its time to unpack a range of ideas, while being a masterful, well-constructed story of love amongst a generation caught between major historical eras. Crafted by a director with a precise vision, and told with an equal amount of soothing sentimentality and hardened grit, It Doesn’t Hurt Me is a really endearing film that knows exactly how to approach challenging material in a way that is accessible and interesting, rather than being a convoluted jumble, one of the more unfortunate qualities of the genre that the director is actively attempting to subvert.

It Doesn’t Hurt Me certainly does have a peculiar tone, and you can easily see that this is a film made by a director with a penchant for the slightly absurd. Even at its most simple, the film carries with it a sense of surrealism, almost as if the director was actively trying to pull apart the layers of a genre that has become far too reliant on a set formula and familiar pattern. The romantic melodrama has become one of the more consistent narratives, but also one that has rarely shown much promise outside of a very particular structure – and while Balabanov is not entirely dismantling it, he does effectively use this style to tell his own story, which goes in a range of different directions, but yet feels so authentic when it is put in context. It Doesn’t Hurt Me is an unorthodox version of the romantic drama, so much that even categorizing it amongst other melodramas (which several viewers have done, which is not entirely incorrect) feels like it is underestimating the film as a whole, not because this is a supposedly inferior genre, but rather one that is actively being taken apart and put back together by a director whose interests clearly skew more towards unconventional reconfigurations of familiar genres. It does help considerably that the story is not too complex – Balabanov’s work tends to be a lot more detailed in terms of plot construction, so his decision to keep it more simple did allow him some space for experimentation, which was ultimately integral to the success of this film in particular, since it thrives on its ability to take a taut genre and breathe new life into it, which was something that he often did, usually to varying degrees of success, but where even the most peculiar work carried an abundance of merit based on the ideas that it explored.

Looking at the premise, one could legitimately expect It Doesn’t Hurt Me to be a much more overwrought, sentimental film than it ended up being, since it does lend itself to some strong emotional responses on a purely theoretical level. Balabanov was a gifted and versatile director, but he was not one to adhere too closely to conventions, and this film offers him the opportunity to work in a genre as common as the romantic melodrama, and still find a way to subvert expectations and take us on a journey much more complex than those that we see being made by other directors. The elements that would naturally lend themselves to cliche are certainly present – the film follows the familiar three-act structure of many screen romances (including the meet-cute and third-act tension in which the love between the two characters is put to the test), but yet it feels so authentic. Add onto this the concept of disease, with one of the main characters being terminally ill with a condition that is causing her health to deteriorate at a rapid pace, and we see exactly how the director had a challenge ahead of him in telling a story that touches on these issues, but in a way that never feels forced. Considering the layers involved in the construction of the film, it’s surprising that he managed to evade nearly all unnecessary components that are nearly always present in these films. Only the important information is conveyed here, and It Doesn’t Hurt Me knows how to effectively work with these themes in a way that doesn’t disregard them, but rather reworks them into a more unique form, which serves to be the foundation of some of the more compelling conversations that occur at the heart of the film.

At the heart of It Doesn’t Hurt Me are a few stellar performances, all of which essentially define the film and help elevate it further than many entries into the genre it was aiming to reconfigure. Renata Litvinova and Aleksandr Yatsenko are the two central characters, playing people who undergo the process of falling in love at first sight, and decide to pursue a relationship that ultimately ends in tragedy, since one of them is concealing a secret that will change the course of their entire romance. It Doesn’t Hurt Me may be constructed as a romantic melodrama in theory, but in practice it has many elements drawn from social realism, which includes very natural, authentic performances – and Balabanov makes sure to cast actors that realize the importance of finding the balance between the two. Both of the leads of It Doesn’t Hurt Me, as well as those on the periphery (Dmitri Dyuzhev and the legendary filmmaker Nikita Mikhalkov in particular steal every scene they are in, both of them adding some levity to the otherwise very serious film) grasp the tone, and manage to see beyond the trite romantic plot, and acknowledge the reality, which is that this film is as much about two young people falling in love as it is a ethnographic study of Russia in the early years of the new millennium – the country was facing a lot of change, which is reflected in the intergenerational divide, as well as in the theme of change, which is vital to the film. Old architecture established by the Soviet Union is destroyed in order to make way for new, more efficient styles, which are representative of a younger generation that is distancing itself from the old regime. The film never makes bold statements directly, and instead relies on its actors to convey this information, establishing some strong themes that go beyond the more restrictive genre on which too many tend to depend.

It’s not the disquieting, surreal departure from reality that many associates with Balabanov as a result of some of his more popular works, but It Doesn’t Hurt Me has many fascinating ideas simmering just below the surface. The film anchors itself in a place of profound emotional expressivity – when given the chance to go high, the director chooses to remain as subdued as possible, keeping the hysterics to a very minor level, and instead focusing on the more detailed elements that are far more interesting. As a whole, this film is a well-constructed romantic drama that has its moments of levity, but mostly takes a sobering look at a relationship that is doomed before it even starts. It’s not a particularly complex film, but it manages to be poignant without necessarily being all that groundbreaking, leading us to wonder whether this was supposed to be as abstract as it was, or if it was a serious attempt to make a straightforward drama, in which the director earnestly tried to make something simple, but found his idiosyncracies blending together with the narrative to create something quite different in many ways. Whichever way we want to look at it, It Doesn’t Hurt Me is a wonderful film, and a great addition to a steadily-growing canon of Russian films from the past two decades, where the past is reflected (rather than directly addressed) in the stories of a younger generation taking control of a country that is gradually shifting to their control – beautifully-made, well-constructed and told with an abundance of genuine emotion, it’s a truly moving film with a lot to say, and the capacity do say it all without even a slight moment’s hesitation.