Literature has the power to not only transport readers to entirely different periods and settings, but also to capture history in a way that few other kinds of art can. There is something about putting words on the page and telling a story that can be both incredibly entertaining and profoundly moving. As far as Russian literature goes, there are few works quite as poignant and effective as The Twelve Chairs, which remains a work of revered storytelling, and one of the greatest novels of the 20th century. Written by Ilya Ilf and  Yevgeny Petrov, whose creative partnership saw them commanding a large portion of the artistic culture in their native Russia during the first half of the previous century (having worked in literature, theatre and even the early days of Soviet cinema), it tells the story of a group of equally desperate individuals who go in search of hidden treasure in the hopes of using it to become wealthy and rise out of a difficult situation brought on by enormous change to their native country. It has been adapted dozens of times across every conceivable medium, consolidating it as a work of pure brilliance, and a cherished piece of Russian literature. It has undergone a shift out of its native country, with many artists staking their claim to this story in their own way – and besides the small handful of Russian productions (which will always be more authentic by virtue of their close proximity to the source material), the version directed by Mel Brooks is certainly the most worthwhile. Not the film that most would dare assert as being his best, but also one that is continuously underpraised, falling victim to a slight level of obscurity, The Twelve Chairs is simply another opportunity for the tremendous director to charm us with his precise vision and exceptional gift for storytelling, which has rarely been better suited than this dense but poignant satirical text.

When it comes to recording history (whether a specific event or a general moment in time) in an artistic medium, aren’t many works that are as invested in finding the perfect balance between social, economic and political change, where each one is given equal time to unravel. One of the reasons The Twelve Chairs is seen as such a beloved work is precisely because it looks at these ideas, in addition to a range of others, proving to be a novel with numerous layers, meaning that every adaptation is going to focus on different ideas, and each viewer will bring a new interpretation and find unique details on which to place our interest. The density of the text is hardly an obstacle for Brooks, whose experience on both sides of the camera made him well-equipped for the challenges that came in adapting The Twelve Chairs – and if anything, he rises to the occasion, ensuring that his adaptation is faithful and genuine, but still incredibly entertaining. As anyone with an admiration of comedy as more than just the process of making audiences laugh through well-placed jokes will tell you, humour can be a very powerful tool – while authenticity is always optimal, having something that will linger with the viewers is far more effective, which is why so many great satires have been as equally committed to providing genuine, earnest laughter as they are providing viewers with a strong sense of this particular period. Nothing ages quite as well as a decently-made satire, since it finds the balance between historical context and timeless humour, which can lend itself to something far more complex and nuanced than almost any other kind of comedy. The Twelve Chairs reminds us of the virtue of telling a historical story with a sense of humour, because what is the past if not something that we can look at with sarcastic reverence, especially the more absurd moments that make history so much more vibrant than the more prosaic, academic approaches would suggest.

At a cursory glance, The Twelve Chairs seems like something of an outlier in Brooks’ career (although not in a way that feels so wildly different to anything he did before), because we don’t often find him working towards such a straightforward narrative, which is undeniably guided by his deep reverence for the source material. He certainly seemed intent on providing an adaptation that honours the original text, but still filtering it through his off-the-wall humour. There are a couple of moments in this film where we cease to laugh, and instead peer into the almost melancholy imagery that Brooks is presenting to us – there are certainly more than a few moments where he is drawing on the deeper issues that underpin the text, meaning that The Twelve Chairs is not the perpetual stream of absurdist jokes we normally expect from the director’s work. Brooks is leaning into a blend of both the comedy and the tragedy, since these are the elements that made the original text so compelling, as the authors use their offbeat sense of humour to underpin the working-class malaise felt by ordinary people, while also framing the more sobering realities of the Soviet Union’s treatment of its citizens in a way that is intentionally surreal, drawing out humour from some of the more strange and disquieting situations. What has always been really interesting about Brooks’ career as a director is that even at his most outrageous, his work is never mean-spirited, and The Twelve Chairs is a truly meaningful film that pays deep respect to the people who suffered under the system, while still being wildly funny, containing a wealth of complex ideas that feel like they’re leaning into something much deeper and more profound, which makes a considerable difference when dealing with such a multifaceted and iconic text.

As is often the case with these legendary Russian novels, The Twelve Chairs is populated by a few characters that stand for various archetypes, and essentially become iconic based on the virtue of what they represent. The two central characters here are the disgraced bourgeois bureaucrat Ippolit Matveyevich Vorobyaninov, played by Ron Moody, and the sardonic conman Ostap Bender, portrayed by Frank Langella. Both actors are incredible, bringing these challenging characters to life with such ease and nuance, it’s bizarre to imagine that they were not representatives of the working class of the Soviet Union themselves. They both have a remarkable ability to capture every intricate nuance of the original text, while still adapting to Brooks’ zany style, the balance of which was absolutely vital to capturing the spirit of the novel and its wealth of ideas. Both Moody and Langella, while having several astonishing films between them, are classically-trained stage actors, and thus they bring a sense of gravity to the production that some of the director’s more eccentric collaborators would have missed. The Twelve Chairs works so well because it is played completely straight by actors who, while acknowledging the inherent hilarity present in both the novel and Brooks’ adaptation of it, still approach it as if they were starring in the most sobering and heartwrenching drama. Brooks frames all the humour around these performances, which automatically creates an unforgettable balance between comedy and tragedy, and allows the film to be elevated far beyond just a mindless riff on Russian literature, instead becoming a vibrant and captivating text all on its own.

The Twelve Chairs is not the film it appears to be at a cursory glance. The names associated with its production, as well as the subject matter, lead one to believe it is going to be an outrageous and eccentric comedy that is filled to the brim with slapstick, rather than the actively engaging, deeply moving look into life under the Soviet Union that it aimed to be. We have grown conditioned to believe that everything Brooks makes is supposed to be interminably hilarious, so much so that when confronted with something that has a few more downbeat, serious moments, we can become slightly confused, since it almost doesn’t register. However, there’s an abundance of merit to this perspective, especially in how we see Brooks challenging his own style in this adaptation – it occurs early enough in his career to make sense, since he did not fully succumb to making only parodies, which he would for the next few years, but rather was working in a more actively engaging and nuanced sphere. Whether or not this was successful remains to be seen, especially since he is not a director who we necessarily expect to have done the most complex work in terms of dramatic material (not to dismiss his comedic efforts – few directors manage to be as consistently funny as him, it’s just that seeing him do something slightly more serious is quite a jarring but welcome change of pace). The Twelve Chairs is not a work that has always been considered a masterpiece – if anything, it is viewed as peripheral to the director’s other work. However, there is a certain earnestness that keeps it so engaging, and helps us view it as nothing close to a minor work, but rather a genuinely intriguing and complex work of satirical fiction from a director that has consistently proven himself to be a master of his craft, regardless of material.