THE BANISHMENT

The opening scenes of Tarkovskian quietness which crescendo to a collection of city-produced noise is the perfect introduction to this intense, subtle and incredibly clever piece of arthouse cinema. The Banishment, based on a short story by William Saroyan entitled 'The Laughing Matter', is the second feature film of award winning Russian director Andrey Zvyaginstev and it already smacks of genius. Described as "a tale of pride and patriarchy, which illuminates the dark soul of the Russian male", this movie is full of dark and moody unspoken issues which simmer beneath a remarkably still and calm countryside exterior. The setup is that Alex is moving back to the countryside together with his and wife and two children. The backdrop is one of leaving the city, including its tensions and its suggested past problems, behind. But, of course, for all of the beautiful idyllic images of the countryside that we see and for all of the archetypal depictions of family paradise the tensions and problems cannot be avoided. All it takes is for a single twist to bring the whole structure crashing down. The overall feeling of this film is incredibly unsettling. The natural, yet strangely sapped, imagery of the Russian countryside combined with an eerie almost brooding score keeps you constantly expecting something to happen in the midst of a slow-paced unfolding of events. More importantly, the nuances of the performances of the lead actors, in particular Konstantin Lavronenko (who plays Alex) and Ingmar Bergman veteran Marie Bonnevie (his wife), add much needed depth to the glossy filmic rendition of the countryside and help us identify with the film's inhabitants when we are given very little action or even dialogue to latch onto. But for all of its ingenuity, and the incredible, drawn-out events that conclude the film, there is a high risk that this film alienates its audience. The clever tricks and high brow techniques that layer this piece are often extended to the fullest limits to hold the plot (which seems merely to amount to the voyeuristic observation of a family's daily life at some points) together; and the dramatic conclusion, whilst poignant and painful, felt just a little unsatisfactory. But the bottom line is that this is a film whose raw emotion loses none of its power even when delivered so slowly and carefully, and whose concepts and idea, though perhaps not fully realised, will be left simmering in your head for some time afterwards.