‘Two Prosecutors’ Review: Sergei Loznitsa Explores the Stifling Climate of Stalin-Era Russia in a Legal Drama That Burns Slowly but Brightly

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In the somber, Stalinist drama “Two Prosecutors” by Sergei Loznitsa, you don’t have to physically hold a hammer and sickle to sense the heavy burden of Soviet-era tyranny looming. This film serves as a powerful symbol for the oppressive forces that are currently plaguing modern Russia.

Masterfully crafted and powerfully portrayed, this film tells a gradual tale of political oppression set within the oppressive environment of Stalin’s Great Purge in the U.S.S.R., characterized by its suffocating, confined ambiance. For those acquainted with that era, no element in the movie, which was based on a 1969 book by physicist and gulag survivor Georgy Demidov, may appear unusual. However, this entry to the Cannes competition focuses less on the end result and more on the experience, providing insight into what it felt like to exist in an era where personal liberty was largely snuffed out by unrelenting authoritarianism.

The opening scene of the film shows a prison door opening and shutting, setting the stage for the events that follow in Loznitsa’s carefully constructed storyline. Oleg Mutu, who worked on 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, handled the cinematography in the square-like 1.33 aspect ratio. The movie was filmed in color, but it feels as if it could have been shot in black and white due to its bleak portrayal of a world devoid of warmth or optimism.

Director Loznitsa has a knack for portraying grim settings, delving into the somber aspects of Russia and his home country Ukraine in a versatile collection of films that fluidly transitions between narrative pieces like “My Joy,” “In the Fog,” and “Donbass” and documentaries such as “Maidan,” “The Event,” and “Babi Yar. Context.” The film, “Two Prosecutors,” stands out as his most minimalistic work yet – just as rigidly structured as the NKVD (the secret police of Stalin’s era) controlled the Soviet populace during the 1930s and 40s. It may not always be a comfortable watch, progressing slowly from one oppressive scenario to another. However, it subtly escalates into a potent commentary on tyranny in Russia, both in the past and present.

Initially, a somber introduction unfolds with convicts being gathered in a courtyard. The time is 1937, and their weary faces suggest they’ve endured great hardships. (Regrettably, one of them meets his end shortly after, falling from scaffolding and passing away, his lifeless body swiftly removed.) The eldest convict (Eugene Terletsky) is singled out and sent to a solitary cell, where he’s given the duty of incinerating fellow inmates’ letters. In an act of defiance against those in power, he chooses to preserve one letter, which contains a plea for legal aid from a prisoner who claims to be wrongfully imprisoned.

The sequence is revealing, emphasizing the overwhelming difficulty of achieving justice within a system built to suppress resistance at every level, from its foundation up to its pinnacle. This is the direction the film moves in, gradually tracing the impact of that single act defying authority, starting deep in a provincial prison and culminating at one of Moscow’s highest positions of power.

Navigating the labyrinthine bureaucracy is our tenacious young prosecutor, Kornev (Alexander Kuznetsov). He acquires a clandestinely sent letter and ventures into the penal institution to handle the predicament. At every turn, he encounters hostility, ranging from menacing guards, an aloof warden (Vytautas Kaniusonis) who consistently attempts to dismiss him, all the way up to the Soviet Union’s top prosecutor (Anatoli Beliy), who eventually receives him following a seemingly endless wait.

Intriguingly, I find myself captivated by “Two Prosecutors.” It’s a realm where no one dares challenge Kornev openly, nor do they reveal their true thoughts to him. It seems everyone is so petrified that a mere word or action could send them to jail, or worse, Siberia, that they remain silent while navigating the system. As a novice in the 4D Soviet chess game during Stalin’s rule of terror, Kornev stands out as the lone individual who freely expresses his mind. It comes as no shock, then, that his actions lead to significant consequences.

It’s ironic that Kornev assumes he’s preserving the Marxist revolution symbolized by the U.S.S.R., as Stepniak (Aleksandr Filippenko), a long-time Bolshevik worker who participated in the 1917 uprising and has been imprisoned for years without cause, is actually the one being addressed. Unwittingly, Kornev is engaging in a struggle against corruption within the regime he’s intended to support by advocating for a revolutionary hero.

In a striking depiction, Kuznetsov presents the prosecutor as a shrewd yet tenacious attorney, who seemingly was the last to appreciate the irony behind Communism under Stalin’s regime. This is particularly evident in a climactic scene — arguably the most impactful part of the film — where Kornev journeys by train from Moscow to his hometown of Briansk, accompanied by two businessmen (Valentin Novopolskij and Dmitrij Denisiuk) whom he suspects might be NKVD agents. After a brief pause for thought, he chooses to join them in revelry, partaking in an impromptu musical performance as the train rolls through the night, blissfully unaware of the perilous future that awaited him.

Loznitsa proves to be far more insightful than the unsuspecting Korvev, and the film concludes by leading us right back to where it started – the same prison gate. In essence, the tale of Two Prosecutors forms a loop – an extended journey that takes us between a rock and a hard place and then brings us back. This portrays the reality of life in the U.S.S.R. during that era, and it’s no hidden truth that modern-day Russia under Vladimir Putin shares similar struggles. Loznitsa is reminiscing about the past here, but for those who care to observe, he is also reflecting on the present.

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2025-05-15 01:55