THE WHITE CROW
****
Director: Ralph Fiennes
Screenwriter: David Hare, based on Rudolf Nureyev: The Life, a biography by Julie Kavanagh.
Principal cast:
Oleg Ivenko
Ralph Fiennes
Louis Hofmann
Adèle Exarchopoulos
Sergei Polunin
Olivier Rabourdin
Chulpan Khamatova
Country: UK/France/Serbia
Classification: M
Runtime: 127 mins.
Australian release date: 18 July 2019
Previewed at: Universal Pictures Theatrette, Sydney, on 17 July 2019.
The White Crow is the third directorial outing for Ralph Fiennes, after Coriolanus and The Invisible Woman, and, as in those productions, he also takes a principal acting role. On this occasion, Fiennes plays the Russian ballet master Alexander Ivanovich Pushkin and he speaks the Russian language fluently. In fact, Fiennes has a life-long interest in all things Russian and this was part of the appeal for him in choosing to make this film. Pushkin’s quiet, reflective manner concealed a deliberate, calculated personality who recognised the talent of a man who would go on to be regarded as the greatest ballet dancer of his generation. When asked by the KGB, near the start of The White Crow, why he thinks Nureyev defected to the West, he simply says that the young dancer has “had an explosion of character.” The screenplay is an adaptation of the first six chapters of Rudolph Nureyev: The Life (click for an interesting review from The Guardian), Julie Kavanagh’s 2007 biography, and it details Nureyev’s formative years as he rose through the ranks of the USSR’s ballet world before defecting, a decision based on his career, not his politics.
In an early scene, we witness the birth of Nureyev on board a trans-Siberian train heading to Vladivostok in 1938 where his father, a member of the Red Army, was stationed. By the time the young Nureyev took up formal ballet training he knew he was already well behind other students of his age yet he was determined to catch up. When he arrived in Leningrad, today’s St. Petersburg, as an adolescent in 1955 (now played by Oleg Ivenko, a Russian dancer in his first film role), he was obsessed with succeeding in his chosen career. He lived for a while with Pushkin, his mentor and teacher, and Pushkin’s wife Xenia (Chulpan Khamatova), in intimately close quarters, before becoming a principal dancer with the Kirov Ballet (now the Mariinsky Ballet). This led to him being included in a tour to Paris in 1961. In the French capital, Nureyev, an autodidact, spent his leisure hours in the city’s galleries and museums, soaking up everything he could about Western art history and culture. He also enjoyed the Parisian night-life and was befriended by Clara Saint (Adèle Exarchopoulos), a Chilean heiress who was to become integral in his defection at Paris Le Bourget airport. The defection scenes are very tense and work so well because they illustrate Nureyev’s difficult personality, which was both forthright yet immature, and it’s fascinating to observe this man-child wrestle with the enormity of the decision that confronted him. Restrictions were very much in place when Soviet citizens travelled abroad and the KGB acted as guardians, overseeing every move their charges made, so it required great bravery to defect, particularly as he was the first major cultural figure from the USSR to do so.
Although there are not many dance sequences in the film, those that exist are quite breathtaking as Ivenko is an extraordinary dancer, one worthy of representing Nureyev. He may well have created a new career for himself as his presence on screen is mesmerising. There is also a physical similarity to Nureyev which is quite uncanny. The supporting dancer roles, although kept pretty much in the background, are also excellent, particularly Sergei Polunin as Yuri Soloviev, Rudi’s fellow dancer and room-mate in Paris. Fiennes, of course, is excellent. The three-part structure of David Hare’s script paints a revealing portrait of its subject, cutting back and forth between Nureyev’s childhood in the 1940s, his years in Leningrad in the late ‘50s and Paris in 1961. Needless to say, a beautiful soundtrack of recognisable classical music accompanies the action.
The White Crow is an enthralling and informative drama, which succeeds in detailing the authoritarian atmosphere of life in the Soviet Union and how Nureyev, who had a giant chip on his shoulder, was entirely unsuited to the conformity that it demanded. He truly was ‘a white crow’, totally different to everyone around him, incapable of fitting into society and unwilling to make the effort to do so but his genius excused his behaviour. Fiennes has created a compelling film that should be embraced not just by ballet fans but also by those interested in the politics of the period and the life of an extraordinary man.
Screenwriter: David Hare, based on Rudolf Nureyev: The Life, a biography by Julie Kavanagh.
Principal cast:
Oleg Ivenko
Ralph Fiennes
Louis Hofmann
Adèle Exarchopoulos
Sergei Polunin
Olivier Rabourdin
Chulpan Khamatova
Country: UK/France/Serbia
Classification: M
Runtime: 127 mins.
Australian release date: 18 July 2019
Previewed at: Universal Pictures Theatrette, Sydney, on 17 July 2019.
The White Crow is the third directorial outing for Ralph Fiennes, after Coriolanus and The Invisible Woman, and, as in those productions, he also takes a principal acting role. On this occasion, Fiennes plays the Russian ballet master Alexander Ivanovich Pushkin and he speaks the Russian language fluently. In fact, Fiennes has a life-long interest in all things Russian and this was part of the appeal for him in choosing to make this film. Pushkin’s quiet, reflective manner concealed a deliberate, calculated personality who recognised the talent of a man who would go on to be regarded as the greatest ballet dancer of his generation. When asked by the KGB, near the start of The White Crow, why he thinks Nureyev defected to the West, he simply says that the young dancer has “had an explosion of character.” The screenplay is an adaptation of the first six chapters of Rudolph Nureyev: The Life (click for an interesting review from The Guardian), Julie Kavanagh’s 2007 biography, and it details Nureyev’s formative years as he rose through the ranks of the USSR’s ballet world before defecting, a decision based on his career, not his politics.
In an early scene, we witness the birth of Nureyev on board a trans-Siberian train heading to Vladivostok in 1938 where his father, a member of the Red Army, was stationed. By the time the young Nureyev took up formal ballet training he knew he was already well behind other students of his age yet he was determined to catch up. When he arrived in Leningrad, today’s St. Petersburg, as an adolescent in 1955 (now played by Oleg Ivenko, a Russian dancer in his first film role), he was obsessed with succeeding in his chosen career. He lived for a while with Pushkin, his mentor and teacher, and Pushkin’s wife Xenia (Chulpan Khamatova), in intimately close quarters, before becoming a principal dancer with the Kirov Ballet (now the Mariinsky Ballet). This led to him being included in a tour to Paris in 1961. In the French capital, Nureyev, an autodidact, spent his leisure hours in the city’s galleries and museums, soaking up everything he could about Western art history and culture. He also enjoyed the Parisian night-life and was befriended by Clara Saint (Adèle Exarchopoulos), a Chilean heiress who was to become integral in his defection at Paris Le Bourget airport. The defection scenes are very tense and work so well because they illustrate Nureyev’s difficult personality, which was both forthright yet immature, and it’s fascinating to observe this man-child wrestle with the enormity of the decision that confronted him. Restrictions were very much in place when Soviet citizens travelled abroad and the KGB acted as guardians, overseeing every move their charges made, so it required great bravery to defect, particularly as he was the first major cultural figure from the USSR to do so.
Although there are not many dance sequences in the film, those that exist are quite breathtaking as Ivenko is an extraordinary dancer, one worthy of representing Nureyev. He may well have created a new career for himself as his presence on screen is mesmerising. There is also a physical similarity to Nureyev which is quite uncanny. The supporting dancer roles, although kept pretty much in the background, are also excellent, particularly Sergei Polunin as Yuri Soloviev, Rudi’s fellow dancer and room-mate in Paris. Fiennes, of course, is excellent. The three-part structure of David Hare’s script paints a revealing portrait of its subject, cutting back and forth between Nureyev’s childhood in the 1940s, his years in Leningrad in the late ‘50s and Paris in 1961. Needless to say, a beautiful soundtrack of recognisable classical music accompanies the action.
The White Crow is an enthralling and informative drama, which succeeds in detailing the authoritarian atmosphere of life in the Soviet Union and how Nureyev, who had a giant chip on his shoulder, was entirely unsuited to the conformity that it demanded. He truly was ‘a white crow’, totally different to everyone around him, incapable of fitting into society and unwilling to make the effort to do so but his genius excused his behaviour. Fiennes has created a compelling film that should be embraced not just by ballet fans but also by those interested in the politics of the period and the life of an extraordinary man.