The White Crow Cert: 12A, 2hrs 7mins
Ralph Fiennes doesn’t speak much Russian himself, apparently, but the country has clearly got under his skin. When he’s not playing you-know-who in Harry Potter or M in James Bond, Fiennes likes nothing more than making a film either set in Russia or about a Russian – preferably both.
In 1999 he starred in Onegin, a stylish adaptation of Alexander Pushkin’s verse-novel that was very much a Fiennes family venture, with sister Martha directing and brother Magnus composing the music.
Then, five years ago, he upped the stakes with Two Women, a Russian adaptation of the Turgenev play A Month In The Country, in which, despite his self-confessed linguistic shortcomings, he delivered his lines in near-perfect Russian.
The White Crow is a quietly rather gorgeous biopic about Rudolph Nureyev, the great Russian ballet dancer. Oleg Ivenko lights up the whole film as the central character (above)
Now he’s at it again, directing and playing a major supporting role – again in Russian – in The White Crow, a quietly rather gorgeous biopic about Rudolph Nureyev, the great Russian ballet dancer who, like his predecessor Vaslav Nijinsky, was destined to become so famous that he could be referred to the world over simply by his surname.
But it was not always like that, and David Hare’s cleverly constructed screenplay – restlessly shifting backwards and forwards in time – tells Nureyev’s story from his romantic-sounding but no doubt very uncomfortable (at least for his mother) birth on board the Trans-Siberian express in 1938 to the dramatic key turning point in his life – his defection to the West in Paris in 1961.
Lighting up the whole thing is the central performance of Oleg Ivenko, the young Russian dancer who makes his film-acting debut here as Nureyev and brings a reality not just to the dance scenes, as you might expect, but to Nureyev’s complex, charismatic but often difficult character too.
As well as directing, Ralph Fiennes (above) plays Nureyev’s teacher and mentor, giving a masterclass in how an actor can still capture our attention by apparently doing very little
‘White crow’ is a Russian nickname used to tease those who are ‘unusual, extraordinary, not like others’, and Nureyev was certainly that. He was petulant, furiously driven, egocentric and, in an attempt to make up for the shortcomings of his impoverished childhood, as desperate for knowledge as he was for success.
For an actor with so little experience, the photogenic Ivenko does a wonderful job of capturing Nureyev’s many facets (he was a man capable of great charm too), and his captivating performance is a tribute to Fiennes’s talents as a director. Not only did he find the right actor, he’s drawn a great performance from him.
Fiennes’s own performance, as Nureyev’s teacher and mentor at the Kirov Ballet, is a quieter, more austere affair, and something of a masterclass in how an actor can still capture our attention by apparently doing very little.
Despite his clear preference for understatement, Fiennes delivers the big moments with undeniable skill; the climactic stand-off at Orly airport is worthy of the best Cold War thriller
As a director, Fiennes’s approach to language impresses too. When scenes take place in Russia, the dialogue, quite rightly, is in subtitled Russian. When the action switches to France, it’s certainly plausible that Nureyev and his new French friends conversed in imperfect English.
Less convincing but enviable is the access that Fiennes secured to two of the world’s greatest art museums. Those who have jostled for a two-second glimpse of the Mona Lisa will gaze in awe as Nureyev surveys Théodore Géricault’s The Raft Of The Medusa in the Louvre, and watch in disbelief as he saunters through the deserted courtyards of the Hermitage. We’d all be art buffs if it was that easy.
If some of the story feels familiar, that’s partly because a decent documentary covered the same ground last year, and partly because both Pawel Pawlikowski’s Cold War and, more improbably, Luca Guadagnino’s remake of Suspiria have recently mixed Iron Curtain politics with the velvet curtain of the opera house too.
Nureyev was only 23 when he defected – young enough perhaps for his no doubt well concealed sexual preference (homosexuality was still illegal in the UK, let alone the Soviet Union) to appear more fluid than it would soon become when he became the long-term partner of Danish dancer Erik Bruhn.
Still, his passionate affair with his mentor’s attractive wife (Chulpan Khamatova) does come as something of a surprise.
Despite his clear preference for understatement, Fiennes delivers the big moments with undeniable skill. Nureyev’s first standing ovation in Paris is real hairs-on-the-back-of-the-neck stuff, while the climactic stand-off at Orly airport, where Nureyev is forced to choose between East or West, is worthy of the best Cold War thriller. Highly recommended.
ALSO OUT THIS WEEK
Us (15)
Jordan Peele won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay with his first film, Get Out, and it will be interesting to see how he gets on with his follow-up, Us.
For while it’s undoubtedly high time we saw more black leading characters in mainstream horror films – and Lupita Nyong’o makes a good kick-ass mum here – I remain unconvinced that he’s really reinventing the wheel.
Oscar-winning Jordan Peele returns with Us starring Lupita Nyong’o (above with Evan Alex and Shahadi Wright Joseph) as a mum who encounters an ominous family in her driveway
In Us, the Wilson family have retired to their holiday home near Santa Cruz for a well earned break.
Then, late one night, their small son announces ‘There’s a family in the driveway’ and we’re off.
The family are dressed in red boiler suits, armed with scissors and definitely do not come in peace.
Suddenly, the much-referenced Bible passage Jeremiah 11:11 – ‘Therefore thus saith the Lord, Behold, I will bring evil upon them which they shall not be able to escape’ – begins to make sense.
Sorry Angel (15)
It’s 1993 and Jacques Tondelli (Pierre Deladonchamps) is a gay man living on what is almost certainly borrowed time. But while friends and former lovers succumb to the scourge that was Aids, Jacques, a playwright, lives on.
Does he have time for one last love affair with a much younger man? I’m afraid, amid all the cigarette smoke and moody introspection, most of us will run out of patience before we find out.