Roman Shumunov's Berenshtein is a film that aspires to greatness, delivering moments of artistic brilliance while grappling with inconsistencies in its emotional and narrative execution. It stands out for its meticulous craftsmanship, particularly in its visuals and sound design, but struggles to fully connect on a human level.
The cinematography is one of the film's most compelling elements. Through the use of muted tones, stark contrasts, and natural landscapes, it captures the bleakness of wartime Eastern Europe with haunting beauty. Light and shadow are employed masterfully to evoke an atmosphere of both despair and resilience. However, the film's focus on visual composition can sometimes feel distant, favoring aesthetic grandeur over intimacy. This detachment, while visually impressive, occasionally dampens the emotional impact of pivotal scenes.
Equally notable is the production design, which immerses the audience in a world of historical authenticity. From the meticulously recreated costumes to the desolate wartime settings, every detail feels carefully chosen. However, this precision can sometimes feel too calculated, as if prioritizing historical accuracy over the raw unpredictability of life in the chaos of war. This calculated approach is mirrored in the sound design, which blends period-accurate ambiance with a restrained, haunting score. While technically flawless, the overuse of silence creates moments of detachment during emotionally charged scenes.
The performances are anchored by Alexander Khmelnitsky as the older Leonid Berenshtein. His portrayal is restrained and poignant, effectively capturing the weight of a man haunted by his past. The contrast between his frailty in old age and his fierce resolve during wartime is a powerful narrative device, though the performance occasionally feels too subdued. The supporting cast is competent but underserved by a script that prioritizes the historical narrative over deeper character exploration.
Shumunov's direction is deliberate, leaning heavily into contemplative pacing. While this reflective tone adds to the film's poetic ambition, it often comes at the expense of emotional immediacy. Non-linear storytelling and abrupt time jumps, while potentially reflective of the confusion of war, leave viewers disoriented. Key moments lack the narrative grounding needed to fully resonate, and the absence of visual aids, such as maps, further hampers the audience's ability to contextualize the unfolding events.
Despite these flaws, Berenshtein succeeds thematically. It is a sobering exploration of heroism, sacrifice, and identity in the face of unimaginable hardship. The closing tribute to the WWII partisans, paired with archival photographs of the real Leonid Berenshtein, gives the film a poignant emotional weight. These moments remind the viewer of the real, human cost of war and the bravery of those who resisted tyranny.
Berenshtein is a visually striking and technically accomplished film that falters in its attempt to balance artistic ambition with emotional depth. Its evocative cinematography, sound design, and historical fidelity make it a compelling watch, but the lack of character development and narrative clarity prevent it from reaching its full potential. A tribute to unsung bravery, the film lingers in the mind, even as it leaves the heart wanting more.
