The Death of Stalin
Director: Armando Iannucci
Talent: Steve Buscemi, Jeffrey Tambor, Michael Palin, Andrea Riseborough, Simon Russell Beale
Released: 20 October
Armando Iannucci’s film, based on a graphic novel of the same name, deals with the immediate aftermath of Joseph Stalin’s demise in 1953. More specifically, the plot revolves around Stalin’s inner-circle: eight members of the Soviet Union’s Central Committee, each vying for power in the unstable vacuum left behind by their leader’s passing. Chief amongst the plotting politicians are Lavrentiy Beria (Simon Russell Beale) and Nikita Khruschev (Steve Buscemi).
If you are familiar with Iannucci’s brilliant television series The Thick of It and Veep, you will be aware of his unparalleled capacity to excel at two, quite separate tasks: firstly, he has an uncanny ability to construct compelling story lines of political intrigue and rapid self-advancement that take place at the highest levels of government, where the momentum of change can be unexpectedly breath-taking, resulting in the sudden arrival of a status quo that had, only hours ago, been entirely unthinkable. Secondly, and the talent for which he is most famous, is his ability to write scathingly funny dialogue that displays the ultra-vapidity and absurdity of those who populate the corridors of power, for each of whom nothing is sacred – not the bonds of friendship, or familial love, and least of all duty to one’s stated ideological beliefs. For initiates of Iannucci, think a wildly comic version of House of Cards, where everyone is Frank Underwood.
This, his second foray into cinema (following 2009’s In the Loop), both fulfills and develops Iannucci’s twin strengths. The hilarity is side-achingly unrelenting, with every character throwing out one-liners that will make you scream with laughter. A personal favourite, delivered by Lazar Kaganovich (Dermot Crowley) as he agrees to betray a comrade while in the backseat of a tiny car with a barking dog, was “I’ve had nightmares that made more sense than this.” Furthermore, the characterisations are comedically fine-grained – you aren’t spectator to a cavalcade of clever jokes told by substitutable individuals, but rather, each person embodies a very different set of hysterically hilarious foibles, whether it’s Jeffrey Tambor’s weak-willed and indecisive First Secretary Malenkov or Jason Isaacs’ bluff, no-nonsense, physically-aggressive military man Georgy Zhukov.
And for those politico thrill-seekers, for whom backroom double-dealings are the source of a distinct and rich pleasure, Iannucci’s plot accelerates from one Mephistophelian conversation to the next, deftly orchestrating both the viewer’s attention and expectations to travel in multiple directions, without becoming stale or incoherent. While those of you knowledgeable about Soviet history won’t be surprised, it is nevertheless endlessly entertaining to watch each Committee member’s efforts to respond to the despicable Beria’s political machinations.
Finally, Death of Stalin succeeds in doing something totally unexpected: it captures moments of real tragedy. The end of Stalin’s regime was one of the most brutal and bloodiest in the Union’s history, and Iannucci manages to convey a sense of the emotional and physical carnage emblematic of the period, wreaked upon everyone, whether near or far from the centre of power. One of the best films of the year.
Words: Tom Lordan
Illustration: Eoin Whelehan
