Film Review: The Death of Stalin (2017)
It’s not often comedies like The Death of Stalin come along. When they do, notice should be taken because this is the type of black humor and intelligent satire we need. It will likely prove to be too dark for some, but if you can get through the somewhat casual nature with which Stalin’s purges are treated, it’s easy to see that it’s more than just a film of historical fiction. It could be a warning too. Corrupt and power-hungry politicians who would commit heinous crimes to gain power, and even worse crimes to keep it, are becoming old news to us. The Death of Stalin is about the mad-dash for control of the Soviet Union in the days after the old man’s death, yes, but it could easily be about the direction many of the world’s current political leaders are taking. The circle of paranoia Stalin was known for certainly didn’t die with him, or with the end of the Cold War. Just look around.
The Death of Stalin isn’t a “nice” movie. It’s funny as hell, but the events that make up its historical context are horrifyingly brutal. At a glance, it might seem as if director Armando Iannucci (best known for HBO’s hilarious political satire, Veep) is making light of Stalin’s atrocities, but this conclusion, I believe, would be incorrect. What he’s doing is making us laugh at the pure absurdity and horror of those times, and in doing so, making us complicit in their devastating outcomes. He wants to include us in the terror so that we are forced to recognize our own involvement in our current political system and environment. He wants our laughter to be uncomfortable so that when we leave the theater we are thinking about what we would do when the secret police come for our neighbors and families. It’s a neat trick.
The film (based on the graphic novel by Fabien Nury and Thierry Robin) centers around the feud between two factions jockeying for power in the wake of Stalin’s death and during his funeral. One side is masterminded by Lavrentiy Beria (Simon Russell Beale)—the head of Stalin’s NKVD secret police force who is responsible for carrying out the nightly arrests and tortures—while the other by Nikita Khrushchev (Steve Buscemi)—a party leader who leans legitimately on the side reform. The two adversaries (and former friends) plot, deceive, and recruit others in an absurd dance that is heavily influenced by both Dr. Strangelove (1964) and any given Monty Python sketch or movie (the addition of Michael Palin to the cast helps drive the later nicely home).
Along for the ride are a host of spineless and confused committee members (Palin, Paul Whitehouse, and Paul Chahidi), braggadocios Generals (Jason Isaacs), ineffectual puppets (Jeffery Tambor), and family members (Rupert Friend and Andrea Riseborough). There are a lot of moving parts, but you needn’t worry too much about them because the plot never goes overboard. Yes, it’s a farce and an exercise in the absurd, but it’s also grounded in historical events (albeit liberties are taken such as composite characters and necessary timeline tweaking for dramatic effect). It moves like theater, though, with comedic timing, subtlety, and nuance that isn’t seen often outside of that setting. In short, it’s a comedy that is greater than the sum of its parts, managing to get a lot of history into a short amount of time in a way that makes absolute sense—and is the funniest thing I’ve seen all year.
In a comedy like this, the script must be spot-on, and the cast must be up to the task of delivering it. Without both elements in sync, the whole endeavor fails—and fails quickly and miserably. A better group of comedic character actors couldn’t possibly have been assembled. Everyone delivers. Everyone. The Death of Stalin is one of those rare treats where, even through the absurdity, there is a sense of reality, thanks to writing and performance. Dialogue is delivered as people really talk (and with unaffected accents—Buscemi sounds like Mr. Pink, Tambor sounds George Bluth, and so on) which makes the subjects of the conversations that much more unreal—and quite frankly, that much funnier.
The Death of Stalin is not going to be for everyone. It will, if I may make a prediction, be remembered as a truly great American comedy—one that has the unique ability to be both hilarious and deceptively topical, even though it takes place over a half century ago and in another country. The cyclical nature of the Cold-War era politics of paranoia is relevant to today’s political climate with a not much effort—something Iannucci has a knack for pointing out. I suspect that, even if this isn’t recognized, though, The Death of Stalin will still make a lot of people laugh. Possibly very uncomfortably laugh, but laugh nonetheless.
A small afterthought, for what it’s worth: as I watched, I kept thinking, “I bet Mel Brooks would like this.”
