Dostoevsky in 1931: A heavy, strange watch

Is it worth the time?

If you have a weekend to kill and a high tolerance for 1930s melodrama that refuses to smile, sure. It is a slow burn that demands you pay attention to the facial expressions rather than the plot, which moves like molasses in winter. If you want something snappy like The Hayseeds Come to Sydney, you will hate this. It is heavy, it is dark, and it is obsessed with its own misery.

The whole thing feels like it was filmed in a basement that had just enough light to catch the sweat on the actors' brows. There is this one shot of Dimitri where the shadow cuts his face in half—it’s not subtle, but it works. The film feels like it's trying to wrestle a mountain into a tiny room.

Fritz Kortner is doing a lot of heavy lifting here. Sometimes he’s so intense he looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel just by standing there. It’s almost distracting.

The set design is weirdly claustrophobic. You keep expecting someone to walk through a door, but they just sort of appear in the frame. It’s like the characters are ghosts in their own house.

I found myself staring at the background furniture more than the actors for a good ten minutes. Is that a real vase? Did they have that in 1931? The details in these old films are always more interesting than the dialogue, honestly.

There is no light at the end of this tunnel, obviously. It’s Dostoevsky. The ending doesn't offer any big, cathartic release, just a long walk into more trouble. It is the kind of movie that leaves you feeling like you need a glass of water and a nap.

It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s a weirdly honest attempt at capturing that specific brand of Russian gloom. Better than most attempts to shove literature into a camera lens, anyway. 🎥