Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s evergreen symphonies, operas and ballets make him an icon of Russian musical culture. They thrum with a swoonsome romantic melancholy which seemingly expresses the Russian soul. His homosexuality, however, remains a contentious part of the picture. While his predilections were undoubtedly an open secret, this gristly historical drama shows us how an attempted cover marriage proved a disaster – not least for the woman who professed to love him dearly, and was callously excluded from his life.
By choosing to tell the disturbing story of the discarded Antonina Miliukova rather than celebrate the great genius Tchaikovsky, writer-director Kirill Serebrennikov stands with the troubled outsider ahead of the cultural establishment. Clearly, it’s a film about the late 19th century when homophobia pushed gay men into dreadful circumstances, and women’s lowly legal status gave them virtually no civil rights. Yet in the figure of Antonina, who would not submit to myriad demands to relinquish her status as Tchaikovsky’s wife, we surely note echoes of the refuseniks in 2020s Russia facing suffocating state oppression.
Serebrennikov, a noted Moscow-based director of film, theatre and opera – long mired in conflict with the Russian authorities – had not yet departed for exile in Germany when he shot the film at Mosfilm studios. Still, it plays like a determined effort to resist the expectations of cultural gatekeepers and audiences alike. We hear very little of Tchaikovsky’s classical favourites on the soundtrack, for instance, while the narrative rejects standard movie psychology by eschewing much explanation of (or empathy for) Antonina’s spontaneously declared passion for the composer. Nor is it a reliable guide to the documented facts, signalled by an opening sequence which has the recently deceased Tchaikovsky springing back to life to bemoan Antonina’s presence at his funeral. Even in death, he can’t stand the sight of her…
Theren are echoes of the refuseniks in 2020s Russia facing suffocating state oppression
Those seeking a relatively conventional telling of the story can always seek out Ken Russell’s florid 1970 offering The Music Lovers, where Glenda Jackson’s full-on performance as the ill-fated spouse outshines Richard Chamberlain's creditable turn as Tchaikovsky. For Serebrennikov, there’s a more laser-like intensity to Alyona Mikhailova’s fraying Antonina, contrasting with Odin Lund Biron as her pompous, self-involved ‘husband’ with his coterie of handsome young men. Over an expansive, 140-minute running-time, the drama simmers like a pressure-cooker. Wide-eyed Mikhailova is continuously circled by a roving camera. Increasingly, it’s uncertain whether we’re seeing reality or hallucinatory psychosis. Will she disintegrate entirely in the face of all the men, power and legal expertise seeking to deny her? Or will she persevere, albeit in a permanently damaged state?
Yes, we’re watching history, but the sense of being trapped in an overwhelming labyrinth, surely relates to the experience of ideological naysayers in today’s Russia. Perhaps slightly more approachable than Serebrennikov’s previous phantasmagoric contemporary fable Petrov’s Flu, it’s still a lot to take on board. But with its intensely-felt performances, haunting winter lighting, and seemingly inescapable claustrophobia, it leaves a mark.
In UK cinemas Dec 29.