The Death of Stalin

Stalin was not a funny man. Even when played as cockney gangster by Adrian Mcloughlin in this film, you grasp what a monster he was. Casually authorising death lists, sinister threats when one of the secretariat mentions the wrong person, or the absolute panic he causes radio producer Andreyev (Paddy Considine) when he demands a recording of a piece of music performed that evening on the radio, only it wasn’t. This is all however contributes to one of the blackest and funniest films of the year.

It’s simple really Stalin’s the supreme ruler of the USSR and general secretary of the Communist party. He rules with an absolute iron fist and nobody messes with him.

Stalin suffers a stroke at home and when found, the secretariat are called. Checking him over they find he’s messed himself, that and them carrying him to his bed, results in a brilliantly realised scene of physical comedy. But it’s not that clear for a time that he’s dead (though that’s confirmed soon after)!

Nevertheless, in this short period of limbo, the members of the secretariat have already started manoeuvring for his succession, mainly to keep themselves alive and then be in a position to do in the others. Such is the corruption and self-interest of these men, that whatever alliances are formed are no more than a short-term convenience to be annulled whenever necessary.

That’s borne out by a brilliant later scene from Simon Russell Beale as the greasy and creepy Beria in which he rounds on the secretariat and confronts them with their pasts, as he is about to be condemned for his and the present. He’s a monster but they too have blood on their hands. Beria’s eventual death is pathetic and grim.

The secretariat consists of the aforementioned Beria, a craven Molotov (Michael Palin), arch schemers Krushchev (Steve Bushemi), Mikoyan (Paul Whitehouse), and the pitiful successor to Stalin Malenkov (Jeffery Tambor). The interplay between them is an absolute joy, as they jostle for position, attempting to keep some semblance of respect while making arrangements for Stalin’s funeral.

Into this we have Stalin’s eccentric children Svetlana (Andrea Riseborough) and Vasily (Rupert Friend), Svetlana a neurotic confused figure of fun and pity, while Vasily is an alcoholic lunatic. Trashing the politicians comes in Zhukov with Jeremy Isaacs chewing the scenery; a deranged northern accented amalgam of Rik Mayall’s Lord Flashheart and Jack Nicholson’s Colonel Jessup.

The lust, depravity, cowardice and humiliation of these people is seamlessly scripted by Armando Iannucci, David Schneider and Ian Martin, based on the graphic novels of Fabien Nury and Thierry Robin. It is a masterpiece; viciously lampooning the weakness of these people, and exposing how truly dreadful they all were.

Isaac’s stands out for the sheer bravado of his performance but it’s brief. The more enduring memory is - if one must be picked out - of Tambor as the wretched Malenkov, in a position that he’s not up to, and he knows it. Iannucci’s direction carefully captures this was well as handling the quite complex tones within the script. You get a sort of understanding of these people and their motives but there’s never any sympathy for them.