Two Prosecutors

The film Two Prosecutors is, from my point of view, a masterpiece. The screenplay, the directing, the cinematography, the acting - everything leads to this conclusion. Moreover, this adaptation is a moral film. I do not believe in the amorality of art. This film, perfectly directed, acted, and shot, is also extremely relevant today, in a time when the leaders of the world's great powers are destroying civil society, just as Stalin did.

The most remarkable thing about this film is that, although its pace is extremely slow, the film is not boring. You don't have time to look at your mobile phone while the film is playing, despite the fact that everything unfolds very slowly. This speaks to the genius of director Sergey Loznitsa (who is also the screenwriter) and to the skill of the cinematographer (Oleg Mutu).

Amid the terror of Stalin's Great Purge, a young prosecutor risks everything in his efforts to defend the prisoners in 1937 against fear and oppression where justice has lost its meaning. Ukrainian director Sergey Loznitsa, known for his unflinching portrayals of totalitarian history, adapts Two Prosecutors (Zwei Staatsanwälte) from Soviet writer Grigory Demidov's autobiographical novel, continuing his tradition of incisive, politically charged cinema.

Demidov himself was sent to the Kolyma labor camps in 1937, enduring years of imprisonment in the Gulag system, while his works remained buried under Soviet censorship. Through this adaptation, Loznitsa exposes the destructive power of bureaucracy over the concept of justice - a force that, under Stalin, became synonymous with oppression.

Like much of Loznitsa's work, Two Prosecutors delves deeply into the moral and psychological toll of living under a totalitarian regime. The film dissects how the judicial system, once meant to protect, turns into an obedient instrument of authority - a mirror reflecting the corruption of power. With austere compositions and haunting stillness, Loznitsa captures the collapse of conscience within a system that rewards silence over truth.

Rendered in stark gray-blue tones, the film envelops the viewer in an atmosphere of suffocation with Its long, static shots evoking the paralysis of a society. As the narrative unfolds, the futility of seeking justice becomes painfully clear - for in this world, even the purest intentions are crushed under the weight of fear and ideology.

My grade would be solid 8 for Loznitsa's work.

I saw this film at the AFI Film Festival in Hollywood. From Slovakia, this drama takes place in the USSR of 1937, when a young prosecutor tries to investigate abuse of a loyal party member, who has been unfairly imprisoned. Period recreations of the USSR at the time are very good along with atmosphere of despair that pervaded Russia that the time. A tense drama, but with a predictable conclusion that I saw coming from a mile away. 6/10.

Trust and idealism are certainly noble qualities, but, when taken too far, they can easily morph into naivete and gullibility. And those qualities, in turn, can carry seriously devastating consequences. But what I have difficulty understanding is why anyone would legitimately want to make a film showcasing such an unengaging, uninspired outcome. Is it supposed to be taken as a cautionary tale? A tragedy of epic proportions? A case study of the consequences that come with not waking up in time to smell the coffee? What's more, circumstances like this are made even worse when the victim in such a scenario can clearly foresee what lies ahead but still falls prey to it anyway. Is this supposed to enlighten us somehow? That's hard to fathom when we can't help but see what's coming (even if the protagonist is unable or unwilling to do so). If you can imagine that, then you have a pretty good idea of what's behind this patently obvious historical drama from writer-director Sergey Loznitsa. Set in the USSR in 1937 at the height of Josef Stalin's political tyranny, the picture tells the story of an idealistic young prosecutor (Alexander Kuznetsov) responsible for investigating the complaints of everyday comrades whose "rights" (if they can even be called that) have been violated by the state, particularly operatives of the NKVD, the nefarious Soviet secret police. When he learns that unspeakable abuses have been rampantly doled out against longtime loyal Communist Party members - many of them older, diehard Bolsheviks who truly believed in and fought for the promises of Vladimir Lenin's revolutionary ideology - he courageously takes up their cause, it being one that he, as a devoted Party himself, firmly supports. And, given the scope of what has been unfolding, he's well aware of the perilous risk to his own well-being but forges ahead anyway, only to be surprised by the fate that awaits him. But how seriously can this be taken in light of the spot-on suspicions he harbors about what could lie ahead? Frankly, this is where the picture turns wholly implausible; it's devoid of virtually all meaningful credibility and does little to foster genuine sympathy for its woefully naïve protagonist. Moreover, if this weren't bad enough, the story plays out primarily through a series of long-winded, belabored conversations, dialogues connected by a series of mundane, exceedingly dull transitionary scenes that play out in tedious, painstaking, slow-motion detail. In short, there are no surprises here, and what does unfold on screen makes watching paint dry look captivating by comparison. Sadly, whatever honorable heroics are meant to be celebrated here are buried under a morass of boredom, predictability and an utter lack of common sense, leaving one wonder what the filmmaker was going for here in the first place.

Sergey Loznitsa's film offers a restrained yet deeply unsettling portrait of the Stalinist repressive apparatus. By following a young, idealistic prosecutor, the story reveals how an authoritarian system inevitably consumes even its most loyal believers. Loznitsa's unexpectedly classical direction, combined with a rhythm that often resembles a political thriller, creates an atmosphere of constant tension and claustrophobia. Every scene exposes the paranoid logic of a regime that turns suspicion into guilt and loyalty into vulnerability. It's a concise, harsh, and sharply crafted film-one that leaves the viewer with a sense of helplessness, but also with a renewed awareness of how easily unchecked power can destroy those who uphold it.