Sort of a Russian companion piece to Erik Gandini’s nonfiction Videocracy, which looked at modern Italian life and the high-glitz, low-information media culture promulgated by prime minister Silvio Berlusconi, documentary Putin’s Kiss throws a light on dissident voices and oppositional political groups in the former Soviet Union, where once-and-present president Vladimir Putin has in ways both subtle and not-so-subtle encouraged the stifling of political foes and those seeking greater governmental transparency through a youth group known as Nashi.
Directed by Lise Birk Pedersen, the film takes as its two main subjects Masha Drokova and journalist Oleg Kashin. While still a teenager, the ambitious Masha joins Nashi, a 25,000-member strong, nominally “anti-fascist” movement whose members are pumped up with nationalistic fervor (in hilarious self-produced videos, some chant in unison, “It’s the best country, and dickheads are not tolerated here!”) and expected to pledge their unwavering support to Putin and all his policies. Masha quickly rises through the group’s ranks, becoming a top spokesperson for the organization. She’s given pause, though, when she slowly befriends a group of decidedly liberal journalists (unlike, say, most members of the United States Congress, she’s able to actually hang out and even talk with people with whom she disagrees politically), and learns of more radical factions within Nashi that engage in disruptive and abusive tactics which seem to run counter to democracy and other principles she holds near and dear. When her friend Kashin is later beaten so severely that he almost dies, Masha has a painful and difficult decision to make.
In her Variety review, Leslie Felperin tagged Putin’s Kiss “a riveting story about contemporary Russia’s dark side,” and while that’s largely true in the broad strokes sense of the encapsulation, the movie also never quite coheres into something truly special, mainly because it lacks the evidence to convict. While Masha in particular is an intelligent and compelling protagonist, the movie’s subtitled translations often seem dubious or at least lacking in nuance, which creates a certain space between viewer and subject. Additionally, there were times when I wondered whether I was watching a Russian politico’s version of The Hills, because the Danish-born Pederson never bothers to clearly communicate whether certain pat discussions she presenets are staged recreations involving the actual principal players or more generalized recollections. Ditto, too, some aftermath footage of Kashin’s beating.
Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Putin’s Kiss comes to DVD presented in 1.85:1 widescreen, with a Dolby digital 2.0 stereo audio track and complementary English subtitles. Separated into 10 chapters under a scored but static menu screen, the film includes as bonus features only a version of its theatrical trailer and a gallery of photo stills. This is really a shame, not only since the movie played at the Sundance Film Festival in 2012 (where it picked up the World Cinema Cinematography Award in Documentary) and would in theory have some interviews and press material from that event, but because the subject matter itself cries out for the deeper exploration and updates to which the home video format is uniquely suited. To purchase the DVD via Kino Lorber, click here; alternately, if you’d like to pay more via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) D (Disc)
