From one of Russia’s leading creatives, Petrov’s Flu is a surrealist comedy-drama romp through time, space, and memory. In a nondescript Russian town, a simple seasonal flu takes hold of a soft-spoken comic artist and his family, setting off a loosely connected chain of colorful vignettes exploring past and contemporary Russian society.
It’s roughly Christmastime in an industrial Russian town. Petrov (played by Semyon Serzin), clearly worse for wear, is slumped on a crowded bus, trying to get home. There’s an air of uneasiness to the scene as a number of individuals grumble and groan at one another, moving in and out of Petrov’s frame with tedious, ornery monologues about the current state of Russian affairs. It’s unclear who’s paying attention to whom; they seem to speak only for the sake of hearing their own voice.
Whether he’s used to the rabble by now, too sickly to care, or both, Petrov stares out the snowy window and ignores the chaos. Suddenly, the bus stops, and Petrov is yanked off by a group of militants who hand him an AK-47 and instruct him to join a firing squad in executing a group of sharply dressed Russians that plead uselessly for a fair trial. In the blink of an eye, we’re back on the bus as though nothing’s happened.
This is the first of a number of scenes in which the film’s tentative reality is disrupted by either fantasy or hallucination, almost always violent in nature. In fact, for the sake of the cinematic experience, one might want to completely discard the notion of the film having an objective reality, and instead try to engage in each scene as a separate reality in and of itself, loosely connected by memories or ideas: a patterned sweater, an expired aspirin pill, a piece of gossip.
Back on the bus, Petrov is once again pulled off, but this time by a colorful friend (or neighbor, or nuisance. The line here is blurry), Igor (played Yuri Kolokolnikov), who brings him to a drinking party in the back of a hearse. So commences Petrov’s Flu, which continues for about two more hours as a series of vignettes concerning Petrov, his estranged ex-wife (played by Chulpan Khamatova), their troubled son (played by Vladislav Semiletkov), and some of their friends, and family members. These include the planned suicide of a pretentious writer, alien conspiracy theories on the bus, a mysterious pair of moving dentures, the murderous exploits of Petrov’s ex-wife, childhood memories of family dysfunction, and interpersonal theater group drama.
Set around Russian New Year’s, the warm, inviting cultural imagery of the holiday season is juxtaposed by the emotional dysfunction of virtually everyone who appears onscreen. All these vignettes vary in style and tone, ranging from thrilling violence to deadpan humor, to deeply emotional love scenes. The film’s willingness to swing between these different tones at the drop of a hat is both its greatest strength and greatest weakness. It creates a kaleidoscope effect that’s lush and dynamic, but like a kaleidoscope, makes your head throb after staring long enough.
Certain transitions cause tonal whiplash, and certain scenes either overstay their welcome or fail to give the audience a satisfying payoff. Most obvious in this regard is the subplot concerning Petrov’s seemingly demonically possessed ex-wife, who lives a double life as a knife murderer, and has dark visions of killing her own young son. These ideas have a lot of potential, but the film ultimately flounders and forgets about the whole thing about halfway through, after spending a great deal of time setting it up in the first place.
When the film tries to transition from a demonic episode to a totally unrelated love story, it only creates confusion, not engagement. However, what Petrov’s Flu lacks in tonal consistency, it makes up for in heart and commitment. There isn’t a single mediocre performance to be seen, and Yuri Kolokolnikov is exceptionally memorable as the brash, selfish, undeniably funny, possibly mystical Igor. The cinematography is excellent, and Serebrennikov’s expertise in theater shines through the ingenious use of staging and set transitions.
Petrov’s Flu is a visually stunning (a feat made more impressive by its setting and subject matter generally so grim and droll) exploration of fear, hope, anxiety, love, and uncertainty in Russia’s past and present. Although some film educators and media librarians may feel hesitant about this film’s graphic violence and explicit sexual content, Petrov’s Flu would nonetheless be a valuable addition to any number of film collections.
Those interested in Contemporary Russian Cinema, Surrealism, Non-Linear Films, or Literary Adaptations should take particular note of this film. Due to the creative use of cinematography, editing, and set design, this film may also be of interest to Film Production and Theater Production educators. Petrov’s Flu can also easily be taught as a contemporary companion alongside more seminal Russian-language films such as Tarkovsky’s The Mirror (1975) or Parajanov’s The Color of Pomegranates (1969), both of which are similarly artistically driven, dreamlike, and nonlinear.
What kind of film collection would this title be suitable for?
Contemporary Russian Cinema, Non-Linear Film, Surrealist Film, Literary Adaptations
What type of college/university professors would find this title valuable?
Film Studies, Film Production, Theater Production, Contemporary Russian Studies. Due to the creative use of cinematography, editing, and set design, this film may be of particular interest to Film Production and Theater Production professors.
Would this film be suitable for an outdoor screening?
Due to the amount of graphic violence, death, and explicit sexual content, this film would likely not be suitable for outdoor screening. It would be more suitable for private or ticketed indoor 18+ events.
Petrov's Flu, directed by acclaimed Russian filmmaker Kirill Serebrennikov, (LETO) is a deadpan, hallucinatory romp through post-Soviet Russia. With the city in the throes of a flu epidemic, the Petrov family struggles through yet another day in a country where the past is never past, the present is a booze-fueled, icy fever dream of violence and tenderness, and where, beneath the layers of the ordinary, things turn out to be quite extraordinary. Part science fiction, mystery and dark comedy, this Cannes Film Festival entry is a unique hybrid of genres.
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Sergey Ponomarev
Russia Petrovy
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Sergey Ponomarev
Russia Poverty
in St. Petersburg, Russia, Tuesday December 10, 2019. (Photo Sergey Ponomarev for The New York Times)
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Sergey Ponomarev
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Sergey Ponomarev
Russia Poverty
in Moscow, Russia, Sunday November 3, 2019. (Photo {photog for The New York Times})
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Sergey Ponomarev
Russia Poverty
in , Russia, Wednesday November 27, 2019. (Photo Sergey Ponomarev for The New York Times)