A young artist becomes a witness to—and participant in—Vladimir Putin’s rise to power in post-communist Russia in The Wizard of the Kremlin, an adaptation of Giuliano da Empoli’s 2022 novel that premiered at last year’s Venice International Film Festival and opens in Prague cinemas this weekend. Director Olivier Assayas delivers a lavish but uneven tale of political transformation, where the fall and reinvention of Soviet ideology is vividly recreated, though often at the expense of character depth and emotional engagement.
The Wizard of the Kremlin opens in the mid-2010s with American writer Rowland (Jeffrey Wright) traveling to Moscow to research a new novel about a Russian literary figure. He is invited to the secluded estate of Vadim Baranov (Paul Dano), a shadowy advisor whose life story mirrors Russia’s turbulent post-Soviet history. As Vadim recounts his rise, the narrative flashes back to his university years, capturing Moscow during the chaotic early 1990s.
These scenes, marked by punk fashion, provocative art, and experimental lifestyles, are immediately engaging. Vadim first meets Ksenia (Alicia Vikander) at a surreal party where she recites poetry while leading a naked man on a leash. Assayas draws parallels between the Russian punk movement and its Western counterpart from 15 years earlier, highlighting the generational energy and creative experimentation in a country struggling to redefine itself.
Vadim’s journey from artistic outsider to political insider forms the backbone of the story, though the character often feels frustratingly opaque. His friend Dmitri (Tom Sturridge) represents the new capitalist Russia, building one of the country’s first public banks and profiting from Western-style economic reforms. Meanwhile, Vadim enters the orbit of media magnate Boris Berezovsky (Will Keen), whose manipulation of public opinion and political elites sets the stage for the rise of Vladimir Putin (Jude Law).
Assayas depicts Putin as a calculating, relentlessly suspicious figure, and Law’s performance is a highlight, conveying both charisma and menace—and deep-seated insecurity. But those expecting to see a larger portrait of Putin that might echo the recent The Apprentice will be left wanting: Law doesn’t show up until about 45 minutes into the film, and remains a supporting character, leaving audiences with tantalizing but incomplete insight into one of the world’s most infamous political figures.
Much of the film’s dramatic weight falls instead on Baranov and Ksenia, whose moral ambiguity is central to the story. Baranov, inspired by real-life political advisor Vladislav Surkov, rarely asserts personal agency, following the currents of political events without a clear sense of individual motivation. Ksenia, whose role is expanded from the book, displays ambition, intellect, and emotional complexity, but we similarly struggle to fully connect with her journey. Their progression from punk artists to enablers of a re-emerging Soviet-style regime is compelling on paper but lacks sufficient emotional resonance to give the story its full impact.
Where the film excels is in its depiction of Moscow and the broader political landscape. Location filming in Latvia stands in convincingly for Moscow, from grimy apartments and student hangouts to oligarch offices and presidential events. Cinematographer Yorick Le Saux’s CinemaScope visuals create a dynamic, almost tactile portrait of post-Soviet Russia, enhancing the film’s historical authenticity.
Assayas also brings attention to the interplay between public spectacle and hidden power, a recurring theme in his work, exploring how the projection of strength can mask manipulation and control. Supporting performances contribute significantly: Keen’s Berezovsky is both charming and ruthless and Sturridge’s Dmitri is slippery and opportunistic. Latvian basketball star Kaspars Kambala, as Night Wolves leader Alexander Zaldostanov, and Andrei Zayats as politician Igor Sechin, also make strong impressions, underscoring the mixture of ideology, ambition, and violence shaping modern Russia.
The narrative spans three decades, from Gorbachev’s reforms to the 2014 annexation of Crimea, incorporating political events alongside personal stories. While the film effectively conveys the mechanics of Putin’s ascent, it can feel episodic, hopping from plot point to plot point without graceful transitions. Themes of corruption, media influence, and authoritarian control recur, but repeated emphasis can make the storytelling feel heavy-handed.
Despite these shortcomings, the film has striking moments of engagement. Recreated political meetings, behind-the-scenes maneuvering, and the collision of Western influence with Russian power structures are depicted with care and subtlety. Assayas’s direction, marked by fluid camerawork and attention to visual detail, lends energy to otherwise static sequences, making the political machinations visually compelling even when narrative stakes feel distant.
The Wizard of the Kremlin is a visually rich, intellectually provocative exploration of post-Soviet Russia, elevated by Law’s restrained yet magnetic portrayal of Putin. While the film’s enigmatic protagonist and episodic structure limit emotional engagement, Assayas delivers a compelling chronicle of power, ambition, and historical transformation. Audiences seeking insight into Russia’s political evolution and the origins of Putin’s dominance will find much to admire, though those hoping for a more immersive character-driven drama may be left wanting.
