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Father and Son Otets i syn **/**** Image C+ Sound B+ starring Andrev Shchetinin, Aleksey Neymyshev screenplay by Sergey Potepalov directed by Alexander Sokurov
by Travis Mackenzie Hoover After Alexander Sokurov's Russian Ark, I was ready to accept almost anything Sokurov did–a TV movie, some Wheaties ads, those trivia slides before the show starts, anything. Surely in the wake of the dense, virtuoso track of that earlier film, I could expect more philosophical fireworks, more challenging juxtapositions, more dazzling movements. Alas, it was not in the cards: Sokurov's follow-up Father & Son turns out to be the same old homosocial militarism familiar to a million lesser talents, tarted up with elite finery. (Think Top Gun with Tchaikovsky instead of Kenny Loggins.) Though the controversy surrounding its alleged homoeroticism is a red herring inasmuch as it fails to consider other sources (the film is about the mortal flesh of religious painting, not the pornographic bodies of pop), it's all in the service of the ain't-boys-grand, I-love-a-man-in-uniform vagueness that might be profundity but also suggests Tony Scott with a haircut and a new suit.
Father & Son takes place in a man's world, where women are barely present and the patriarchal bond is everything. We open with the eponymous twosome bare-chested and embracing, and their physical connection is what drives the film. Unfortunately, the son is so idolatrous that he's given to grand pronouncements in the Rod McKuen vein. An X-ray of his father prompts the line "It's your portrait. You're not hiding behind clothes. Muscles are an exaggeration"–cue the violins, in other words: he's looking at Dad's soul. In between the awkward poetry, we see our father (veteran of "the war") and son (a soldier patiently waiting for one) minister their loving masculinity to the son of the father's comrade, who's searching for his missing paterfamilias. (We're meant to feel for his deprivation.) But threats of separation loom over the proceedings: father could be sent out of St. Petersburg for better pay, while son is entranced by a cute little girlfriend (Marina Zasukhina, billed simply as "Girl").
My Top Gun jibe wasn't merely a cheap shot: like that movie, Father & Son pours loving idolatry on male ritual and equates the same with a military that exists outside the perimeters of politics. Just as Scott's epic alluded to but never really named the Cold War, the father here is a veteran of "the war" yet never brings up the name Afghanistan. This has the effect of placing both the characters and the military outside of time in some mythical, eternal realm–a realm bolstered here by Sokurov's gauzy, distorted photography and fluid approach to his half-narrative. The insularity of the pair is mirrored by the insularity of the military bubble–it's beyond politics, beyond linear objectives, and should not be disturbed by blonde girls with pixie haircuts seeking to impose them. Like that final gibberish speech in Black Hawk Down ("It's about nothing but the guy next to you"), the approach refuses to acknowledge the forces that push people into battle, or take a stance on whether those forces are adequate justification.
A forward thrust is blunted, too, by the earthy austerity of the camerawork and the overbearing pomposity of the dialogue–ridiculous sentimentality coats every shot and every line. What the cries of homoeroticism really allude to is the bloated, earth-shaking significance of everything father and son do together: their bodies are transformed into erotic sculptures by the portentousness of their casual affection. It's not enough for people to love each other, they have to be forging some sort of cosmic connection, fixing what is already perfect. What exactly do you say when your son quotes some saint or another to the tune of "a father's love is crucifying. A loving son lets himself be crucified"? Thanks, kid. You can ride my tail, anytime.
THE DVD Whatever my feelings on the content of Father & Son, there's no denying that it's gorgeously and sensitively shot (the aesthetic is faintly reminiscent of Mamoru Oshii's sepia-drenched Avalon)–which makes Wellspring's shoddy transfer all the more galling. The 1.85:1, 16×9-enhanced image is marred by a variety of visual hobgoblins: be prepared for major strobing and the occasional compression artifact, as well as an unpleasant greenish tinge to blacks that casts a pall over the darker scenes, i.e., most of them. Dolby 5.1 and 2.0 stereo soundmixes in the film's native Russian are on offer; Father & Son is light on pyrotechnics, meaning the audio suffices by being creditably round and reasonably potent.
Bonus material begins with an insert booklet featuring remarks from noted critical pariah Armond White. As much as I respect the man for his brave and lonely stances, there's no way he's putting this one over on me. You tell me how the movie is about "the intimacy of human experience," or how it's relevant that Sokurov "regards cinema as a medium that does more than records life, but also interprets it." White is right to chide the critical community for their narrow definition of homoeroticism, but the buck really stops there. As for extras on the disc itself, we have a small photo gallery, a Wellspring weblink, and trailers for both Father & Son and the preferable Russian Ark.
110 minutes; NR; 1.66:1 (16×9-enhanced); French DD 5.1, French DD 2.0 (Stereo); CC; English (optional) subtitles; DVD-9; Region One; Wellspring
