Festival Reviews
Top Picks From The Sydney Film Festival 2018
Here are my top favourites at the Sydney Film Festival. Watch out for them when they get a mainstream release.
Rolmar Baldonado
June 4, 2019
That’s a pretty nice pitch for a film and a brief summary of the profoundly intense feature, TCHAIKOVSKY’S WIFE, masterfully written and directed by Russian filmmaker Kirill Serebrennikov. Premiering in the main competition at the 75th Cannes Film Festival 2022, this beautifully filmed lush production is less about Tchaikovsky as it is more obsessively focused on his wife Antonina, with a powerful performance by Alyona Mikhaylova. The term “obsessive” here should not be taken lightly, as this is a film about obsession. Really mad, mind-losing, life-destroying female obsession similar to dark Hollywood stalkerish classics like FATAL ATTRACTION and THE CRUSH. The main difference, aside from the period and locale, is that the female lead here is self-destructive rather than destructive.
At two hours and 23 minutes, the movie deceptively starts with a period romance texture until it eventually morphs into a torturous psychological drama. The opening funeral scene sets the stage for the director’s creative approach when Pyotr Tchaikovsky, convincingly played by Odin Lund Biron, rises from the dead in objection to his wife’s arrival. “Why is she here?” Flashback to the past, and a young music student, Antonina, is seen as totally awestruck and infatuated with Tchaikovsky’s talent. With the promise of a dowry through the sale of her family forest land, a very forward Antonina gets Tchaikovsky to marry her with the “love of a brother, a calm love,” a union characterised by separate carriages with a dinner that felt “more like a funeral,” an ominous sign.
What follows is a quick separation that spirals hellward into Antonina’s intense and aggressive persistence to get her genius Tchaikovsky back. From an enamoured wife to that consuming gaze to naive stupidity to outright pathetic, Antonina is in denial of reality. Despite noticing her fake corals, Tchaikovsky missed the sign when she threatened to kill herself the first time he refused her marriage offer. Just like the fly Tchaikovsky was swatting away then, Antonina has become the same nuisance in his life. Not even the warning to “run from him” will stop her in her obstinate pursuit and worship of her hero.
Intriguingly, the mystery of Tchaikovsky’s homosexuality isn’t revealed until midway through the film, when his sister Sasha tells Antonina that he is a bougre, “He likes men. Young men.” Even after the revelation, the film only hints at this identity through words and affiliations, never through outright actions, shrouding the secret, an interesting storyline treatment by Serebrennikov. On another note, even before the disclosure, whether Antonina suspects Tchaikovsky is gay or not is another mystery open to interpretation.
Prior to being forced to agree to a divorce by Tchaikovsky’s male coterie, a teary-eyed Antonina delivers with chilly resolve her vengeful mantra for the rest of the film, “You don’t know me.” And from that point on, the estranged wife remains tenacious and determined. From being married for money, she refuses offers for money to finalise the separation. She is now reduced from being a pushover lapdog to a psychological wreck, a neurotic, stubborn fool; she cannot get over him. Antonina has relied on religious sorceries with street beggars to win Tchaikovsky, but it now seems reality has not responded to her more despairing superstitious rituals.
A bold scene in the film is when Antonina is offered five good-looking well-built men who fully undress for her as she chooses among them. For a moment, the gender power roles are reversed. In its philosophical underpinnings, Antonina’s determination and resolute pursuit may translate into more feminist matters personified to the extreme. In 19th-century patriarchal Russia, a woman is merely a name on a man’s passport. The exclusive gentlemen club that Antonina breaks into represents male entitlement in its atmosphere and is rife in its fraternity, with women only welcome by invitation. And yet, through emotional oblivion, she enters with a defiant impunity. Like in previous scenes hinting at misogyny, Antonina can only shout during these distraught moments: “I am Tchaikovsky’s wife!”
Serebrennikov livens up the period genre by employing various modern cinematic techniques, such as playing with space and time in long takes, aside from the fantasy elements. In a conceived final encounter with Tchaikovsky before his death, Antonina still undermines herself as a martyr after years of self-imposed torture from being banished. “I’m downtrodden. Demeaned.” When in that single moment, he is about to return her kiss but then withdraws, calling her a viper, Miliukova delivers her best performance when she holds back a tear as she desperately professes her love. “I love you and only you. Nobody will take my place. Nobody.” Ironically, Antonina’s promise to protect Tchaikovsky forever has led to a situation where he needs to be protected from her. But still, when her dwelling burns down, Antonina screams in anguish to willfully retrieve the one and only important thing she left in her room, her wedding ring.
Is it really love when it is totally unrequited? Is she a slave to love when she can’t let go? Is it ultimately uncontrollable desire or mere self-destructive obsession? Is the truth of this real-life madness stranger than fiction? Climaxing the haunting classical score used throughout, Serebrennikov inventively modernises it by bringing back the naked men in a surreal elaborate dance choreography to signify what eventually becomes of Antonina until and after Tchaikovsky’s death. Wikipedia summarises it simply: she spent the last twenty years of her life in an insane asylum.
Here are my top favourites at the Sydney Film Festival. Watch out for them when they get a mainstream release.
The Japanese Film Festival is back for its 24th year in 2020 with this virtual edition streaming online from December 4 to 13, 2020.