The Cuckoo
The Cuckoo
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êêê ½ Stars. Rated PG-13.
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Reviewed by Shelley Cameron
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Directed by Alexander Rogozhkin
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Russian w/ English subtitles.
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104 Minutes.
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Misunderstandings are all too commonplace among those who speak a common language. Those who do not must sometimes rely on a much more primitive style of dialogue. This engaging anti-war tragi-comedy of human communication and miscommunication involving a trio of strange bedfellows during the waning months of World War Two, brings home the point with thoughtfulness and humor. Winner of a slew of awards at the Moscow and other festivals in its native Russia, the layering of multiple viewpoints gives it a sort of Roshomon-in-real-time aspect. The two men are soldiers, one Russian, one Finnish. The young woman is a war widow, surviving on her remote reindeer farm and whose husband was conscripted four years earlier. The film's pacifist message could easily be applied to any war and any nations. It is an airy fable about the triumphs and troubles borne by the foot soldiers and civilians who face the bizarre reality of war.
In the opening scene, the young Vieko is being firmly chained to the rocky terrain by his fellow soldiers. Scorning his peace monger sentiments, they abandon him in a desolate and beautiful region of Lapland. In a remarkable display of resourcefulness, he doggedly applies the few supplies with which he has been left to defy his bleak situation. Meanwhile, a nearby army transport is taking Russian officer Ivan to the brig after he's charged with disloyalty. Through a series of absurd and somewhat surreal circumstances, both men end up at the rustic home of Anni. The intriguing twist is that they speak three different languages and do not understand the words of the others. What they do understand are the more basic tools of human conflict and connection. Ivan is near dead when Anni finds him. She nurses him back to health. Vieko, dressed in the German uniform his compatriots have forced him to wear, soon wanders along. Ivan assumes he is the fascist enemy, and tells him so. Vieko, in turn, responds inappropriately by proclaiming his departure from the war, just as soon as he can get out of the shackles still clinging to his ankles. For Anni, with her nurturing and folk-healing ways, the assumptions are simpler. She has been without a man for four years and now she has two. As they keep talking and misinterpreting each other, one strand of the tale is a love triangle, but without the usual stale trappings.
The fable-like quality present throughout comes full circle at the tidy finish. The crisp cinematography, distinguished by striking views of unwar-like pristine landscapes, of gardens of stone and the contours of lichen, give the impression of pages in a storybook. The three performances are uniformly fine, balanced, and well cast. Restrained use of an eerie musical score punctuates the uncertain, unpredictable interactions between the three of them. Director Alexander Rogozhkin skillfully blends the lessons of history and war with an upbeat gaze at three specific people on the outside edge.