In the icy wastelands of Yaroslavl in Stalin's Soviet Union, a young woman, Katja (Ekaterina Rednikova), gives birth on the side of a dirt track. The year is 1946, the war has left the country stricken with poverty, her husband will soon die and everything is ever so slightly grim.
Six years later Katja and her young son, Sanya, are still wandering, looking for a place to settle and someone to take care of them. On a crowded train travelling across country, Katya exchanges steamy glances with a vigorous young army officer, Tolyan (Vladimir Mashkov), and by the next stop, she, the officer and Sanya have become an instant family. Only one problemo. Tolyan is, in actual fact, a thieving scoundrel with more than hint of brutality mixed in with his charm.
Of course, from there on in everything goes from bad to worse. Let's face it have you ever seen a Russian slapstick comedy or even, for that matter, an Eastern European one. The Thief doesn't try to imitate the romanticism of Hollywood's more famous tales of con men - Bonnie and Clyde, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Sting. No, this is stark reality, beautifully shot and faintly reminiscent of the masterpiece Ashes and Diamonds or indeed something from Charles Dickens. Except without the happy ending.
The Thief is always watchable mainly because of its two male leads. The wide-eyed scared little boy played by Misha Philipchuk possesses a wonderfully expressive face and Vladimir Mashkov revels in playing the violent rogue, who rolls razor blades in his mouth for light kicks. The relationship between these two serves as the core of the film. At first the boy, who is haunted by images of his dead father, refuses to give in to Tolyan's stern demand that he address him as "Daddy," yet hesitantly grows fascinated by Tolyan's slick manner and tyrannical brutality.
As for Katja? Once the lust departs and she realises Tolyan is no soldier, but a liar and common thief, she is bitterly disappointed, yet her inability to leave him taints Sanya and eventually leads to tragedy for them all. Their plight is only worsened by the tyranny of communist Russia, where Josef Stalin pervades his people and the landscape, like, of course, Big Brother. Tolyan wears a tattoo of 'laughing boy' Stalin on his chest. Everyone toasts to Comrade Stalin. We become privy to Stalin's Russia in documentary footage. In fact as a harsh, relentless father figure for the uncertain young Sanya, Tolyan also serves as an emblematic double for Stalin and his ruthless domination over a deluded nation. However, Tolyan may be brute, but he comes off lightly in relation to the procession of vicious, corrupt soldiers who claim they're "not moved by whimpering or by kids" and in one unforgettable scene force "criminals" to run in the snow past bloodhounds, on the way to the trucks that will eventually take them to Siberia.
The Thief is moving, without being overly sentimental. It is no surprise that this stunning Russian movie was the nominee of that country for a 1997 American Oscar.
Six years later Katja and her young son, Sanya, are still wandering, looking for a place to settle and someone to take care of them. On a crowded train travelling across country, Katya exchanges steamy glances with a vigorous young army officer, Tolyan (Vladimir Mashkov), and by the next stop, she, the officer and Sanya have become an instant family. Only one problemo. Tolyan is, in actual fact, a thieving scoundrel with more than hint of brutality mixed in with his charm.
Of course, from there on in everything goes from bad to worse. Let's face it have you ever seen a Russian slapstick comedy or even, for that matter, an Eastern European one. The Thief doesn't try to imitate the romanticism of Hollywood's more famous tales of con men - Bonnie and Clyde, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Sting. No, this is stark reality, beautifully shot and faintly reminiscent of the masterpiece Ashes and Diamonds or indeed something from Charles Dickens. Except without the happy ending.
The Thief is always watchable mainly because of its two male leads. The wide-eyed scared little boy played by Misha Philipchuk possesses a wonderfully expressive face and Vladimir Mashkov revels in playing the violent rogue, who rolls razor blades in his mouth for light kicks. The relationship between these two serves as the core of the film. At first the boy, who is haunted by images of his dead father, refuses to give in to Tolyan's stern demand that he address him as "Daddy," yet hesitantly grows fascinated by Tolyan's slick manner and tyrannical brutality.
As for Katja? Once the lust departs and she realises Tolyan is no soldier, but a liar and common thief, she is bitterly disappointed, yet her inability to leave him taints Sanya and eventually leads to tragedy for them all. Their plight is only worsened by the tyranny of communist Russia, where Josef Stalin pervades his people and the landscape, like, of course, Big Brother. Tolyan wears a tattoo of 'laughing boy' Stalin on his chest. Everyone toasts to Comrade Stalin. We become privy to Stalin's Russia in documentary footage. In fact as a harsh, relentless father figure for the uncertain young Sanya, Tolyan also serves as an emblematic double for Stalin and his ruthless domination over a deluded nation. However, Tolyan may be brute, but he comes off lightly in relation to the procession of vicious, corrupt soldiers who claim they're "not moved by whimpering or by kids" and in one unforgettable scene force "criminals" to run in the snow past bloodhounds, on the way to the trucks that will eventually take them to Siberia.
The Thief is moving, without being overly sentimental. It is no surprise that this stunning Russian movie was the nominee of that country for a 1997 American Oscar.
- Ben Walsh