Directed by Kantemir Balagov
Written by Kantemir Balagov, Aleksandr Terekhov, and Svetlana Alexievich (book)
Starring Viktoria Miroshnichenko, Vasilisa Perelygina, Andrey Bykov
Running time 2 hours 10 minutes

by Jaime Davis, The Fixer

In the middle of Kantemir Balagov’s bleak, gorgeous Beanpole, Masha and her boyfriend Sasha are painting the apartment Masha shares with Iya, a strikingly tall, pale creature who looks not of her time. Deeply old, deeply red wallpaper crusts the walls as the two slather them in bright green paint. In one beautiful moment, a swatch of green slowly melts down the wall, covering the ancient red walls in something newer, brighter. Green and red lovingly pervade almost every shot of Beanpole, a stylistic choice not unlike that made by Jean-Pierre Jeunet in Amélie, Hitchcock in Vertigo, and most recently by Pedro Almodóvar in Pain and Glory. Ozu has also famously infused pops of red throughout his films. Color is so strikingly and significantly prominent in this story of the horrors amid the aftershocks of war.

Beanpole is based on Svetlana Alexievich’s 1985 oral history, The Unwomanly Face of War, which finally gave voice to the Soviet females who lived, fought, and survived during and after World War II. Having sold more than 2 million copies upon it’s release, it was published in English for the first time in 2017, opening it up to a whole new generation and regional demographic of readers. After seeing the film, I can only imagine the atrocities both big and small, and the dichotomy of life’s ugliness and beauty on display within the book’s pages. Picture in your mind some of the saddest circumstances, triple it, times it by ten, and then you may be close to some of what’s featured in both book and film. The adaptation follows Iya, a former front-line soldier who, after a brain injury released her from service, suffers from debilitating PTSD-esque fits where she essentially freezes like a statue and struggles to breathe. The film opens on Iya mid-episode, her breathing coming out in tortured, scratching gasps. She is at work at a military hospital in Leningrad, where she’s well-liked by both the head doctor, Nikolay Ivanovich, as well as the wounded and disenfranchised. She is quiet, shy, reserved, and cares for her very young son, Pashka. Life in post-war Leningrad is anything but victorious - in fact it very much feels like war is still quite at hand. Balagov makes it very clear that the terrors of war didn’t necessarily leave after the victory flag came out. But there is a slight peace to Iya’s daily existence, a fragile calm that unravels when her close friend Masha returns from the front.

Screenwriters Balagov and Aleksandr Terekhov skillfully piece together their multi-layered plot, slowly unfolding the story in strategic bites to devastating effect. The way nuggets of truth are unearthed and revealed is near masterful, so this review won’t go into too much more in the way of story. Balagov was inspired by the female perspective of war and felt very strongly that these stories needed to be told. His goal with Beanpole was to realistically depict the horrors of war for generations who perhaps haven’t had any first-hand exposure, or who know very little about that time in history. It’s a first-hand look at the specific struggles women faced, in one of the countries hit hardest by war.

What is so striking to me about this film is, again, its use of color to provide visual cues and denote meaning. A periphery character, one of Iya’s persistent neighbors, explains that Iya’s name means “violet.” In Russian slang, “violet” could be translated as “I couldn’t care less.” Iya’s initial relative passivity in light of all she endures is fascinating, but even more enlightening with the understanding of what her name represents. But it’s the psychology behind the colorful visuals that’s especially striking. The beginning of the film is swathed in white with stabs of red - in Russian culture and language red is considered synonymous with power and beauty, while white runs completely antithetical to that - the word “white” in Russian history traces back to the Russian Civil War that began in 1917. Two armies fought against each other - a Red Army and a White Army - with the Red as proponents of Bolshevik socialism and the White fighting for capitalism and a more democratic view of socialism. After the Red won out, “white” became equated with a more negative, hostile connotation. So at the beginning of the film we have this battle between red and white - perhaps symbolizing WWII itself, or the battle Russia faced after the war between old and new within its own borders. Red is everywhere in Beanpole, at first, but as the film continues, it is green, the color of life, most closely associated with renewal and healing, that begins to seep into the corners of every frame and the clothing of Iya and Masha, representing a hopeful, positive transition to peaceful life. We don’t see that here in this film, but that’s for another story, another film.

I don’t want to be too quick to pronounce filmmaker Kantemir Balagov as a genius, or a master director, especially since this is only his second feature and the only one I’ve seen so far. But, like…genius. Every painstaking period detail, every gorgeous silent moment captured, and perfectly enthralling performances by a trio of relative film acting newcomers (Viktoria Miroshnichenko, Vasilisa Perelygina, and Andrey Bykov) suggests that this 28 year-old is an artistic force to be reckoned with. While Beanpole is an especially upsetting sight to behold, I can’t wait to see more from Balagov in the future.