We are often misled into thinking that the head of state is the most powerful position one can be in, at least in terms of governance. These are the elected officials who are chosen by their populations (in most cases) to represent them and serve their best interests. However, it does not take too much research – or even critical thought – you recognise that the most powerful people are not those who stand in the spotlight as the face of their countries, but rather those who linger behind the scenes. What fascinated me most about studying political theory was not the discussions around notable leaders, since there comes a point where one realises that they’re often just puppets that represent a group of people who are not well-known, but whose influence is far greater and more pivotal to the functioning of government. Often described as “kingmakers”, they serve a vital purpose, despite often remaining mostly quite obscure, a choice on their part, as there is a belief that true power comes in being able to orchestrate plans without being associated with them directly. This is where Olivier Assayas chooses to start The Wizard of the Kremlin, his adaptation of the novel by Giuliano da Empoli, which is an ambitious and sprawling exploration of the rise and fall (and subsequent rise again) of Vladimir Putin, showing him as an ambitious young upstart who weaponised his experience in the KGB to become not only the most ferocious leader Russia has ever seen since the heyday of Joseph Stalin, but one of the most powerful men in the world. All of this is viewed through the perspective of Vadim Baranov, a fictional character who represents several notable political strategists who were associated with Putin, each one of them being an important figure who played a part in creating someone who is adored by some, feared by others. Assayas has had a fervent interest in exploring politics, and this film contributes to a body of work that has not always been as consistent in terms of subject, but which still contains some terrific, challenging works that push boundaries in unexpected and daring ways.

The Wizard of the Kremlin has a very simple structure, which reflects the core themes that Assayas and screenwriter Emmanuel Carrère set out to extract from the source material, which may be a slightly exaggerated fictionalised portrait of the rise of one of the world’s most notorious leaders as seen through the eyes of the person who installed him into such a position of power, but has an abundance of its own merits. There’s something very compelling about how Assayas draws on some very complex themes in the construction of this film, while still maintaining a sense of simplicity and sincerity in the process. The core of this story is to look at Putin as more than just this folkloric, larger-than-life personality – so much of the discourse that surrounds him looks at him as the embodiment of 21st-century Russian politics, but neglect to acknowledge that there was a point in his career where he was not particularly well-known or celebrated, just another opportunistic politician in a low-level position that he quickly overcame through being able to carefully manipulate the system, rising to power rapidly as a result of his willingness to take many risks. It’s difficult not to be fascinated by his journey, even if we can certainly agree that his journey to becoming one of the world’s most feared men is nothing if not controversial. Unfortunately, very little is known about the inner workings of Putin’s rise to power, so everything in The Wizard of the Kremlin is a combination of the information we have and pure conjecture, an imagined (and most likely slightly inaccurate) depiction of his early political career. Accuracy is not a priority here, since this is not intended to be a biographical film, but rather a story about how someone can go from a pencil-pusher’s squalid office to the very face of modern European politics almost overnight. There is no reason that The Wizard of the Kremlin had to even use Putin’s name, since this is less a story of his personal life as it is an effort to use his legacy to explore something much broader and more complex than the usual period dramas that this film presents itself as at the start.

The core principle guiding The Wizard of the Kremlin is that of political power and influence being both a blessing and a burden, which is something that is exemplified in the film being structured not around Putin (who is essentially a supporting player in the film, entering roughly only forty minutes into the narrative), but rather those who surrounded him – it explores how he was recruited to be almost a shadow puppet for the regime, only to carefully manipulate those who underestimated his skills to become his pawns. It’s fascinating and complex, and the inherent humour is certainly not lost on Assayas and Carrère as they craft what turns out to actually be a wickedly dark comedy about political maneuvering and the unexpected challenges that come when succumbing to the decadence of a hedonistic lifestyle. A lot of what makes The Wizard of the Kremlin so intriguing is found in the tone – there’s nothing particularly remarkable about the craft of the film itself (it is competently directed, but also doesn’t present itself as being all that memorable as far as its aesthetic goes), which leaves a lot of the responsibility to other aspects of the execution. The film walks a very narrow conceptual tightrope, and weaves many different tones together – there are moments where Assayas fondness for absurd humour does come through, and while its not quite the kind of political comedy that we’d expect from the likes of Armando Ianucci (whose The Death of Stalin is a very effective companion piece to this film) in terms of how it builds itself around increasingly outrageous scenarios, there is an irreverence that anchors this film. Much of this is in how Putin is portrayed – the same calculating, power-hungry figure we recognise is present, but he’s shown as being also someone with clear flaws, but rather than making them out to be sympathetic, the film chooses to underline them as vaguely comedic quirks, which creates a fascinating dynamic between the characters as they undergo their own negotiations with power, something that this film explores exceptionally well and with a lot of focus on the underlying commentary in the process.

There are quite a few interesting qualities that allow The Wizard of the Kremlin the chance to avoid falling into the same territory of the contrived, derivative political dramas that we receive quite frequently, but very rarely tend to remember. In addition to being helmed by someone who is far too interesting a director to simply be working with subpar material, the film makes an active effort to explore the lives of its characters in a way that isn’t just referencing information we already know. Part of this comes from the novel, which revolves around a fictional character (or rather an amalgamation of different people), which immediately allows the story some degree of artistic liberty. It also helps that the film is exceptionally well-cast – Paul Dano is the de facto lead, playing the titular character, a man driven to become as powerful as he can without having his name known to those outside his private circle, and who is positioned as covertly the most powerful man in Russia. The central conceit of the film is essentially proposing that, as powerful as Putin may be, it’s those who made him that are perhaps more interesting and worth discussing. The allure of this film – at least on the surface – is how it promises to portray Putin, since this seemed like a risky process but one that could yield exceptional results if done right. It is Jude Law who is enlisted to play Putin, and while there is once again not too much of a focus on accuracy (he speaks with his usual British accent), the way he capture’s Putin’s physicality is impressive, embodying this man who was essentially handed the keys to the kingdom for what his cohorts thought was only a temporary solution, but ultimately used them to become arguably the most powerful politician of the 21st century. The cast has many terrific performances scattered throughout, some familiar faces interweaving with underpraised veterans to create a strong ensemble that works together to bring these complex ideas to life on screen.

Perhaps it can’t be considered quite as original and provocative as we may expect from someone who has often attempted to redefine the boundaries of cinema in some of his previous work, but The Wizard of the Kremlin is nonetheless very entertaining, proving that reliability is valuable in the absence of innovation, especially considering Assayas is certainly a very competent filmmaker when it comes to these intricately-woven biographical thrillers. Its far from a revolutionary film – I’d say that the most innovative aspect of this film was to infuse it with layers of dark humour, which not only break the monotony that comes from nearly three hours of political jargon, but highlights the absolute absurdity that often comes when exploring the concept of power, which is very rarely (if ever) logical or consistent. It’s a challenging film in a lot of ways, but Assayas knows how to create something that feels both sincere and intriguing, compelling us to look beneath the layers of this film in an effort to understand exactly what is being explored. This is far from the definitive biographical account of Putin – there are too many inaccuracies and artistic liberties for it to be considered realistic – but it does have enough merits of its own to earn our respect, becoming a fascinating dissection of power, influence and how some of the most seemingly insignificant events can lay the foundation for something bleaker and more harrowing than any of us may be able to fathom. Not the apex of the director’s work, but a reliable and entertaining thriller formed in the model of the kind of political potboilers that were dominant in previous decades, as well as being well-crafted and consisting of some superb performances, The Wizard of the Kremlin is a terrific film, and one that dares to challenge our understanding of one of the world’s most fascinating individuals.