If you have absolutely no idea of who Rudolf Nureyev (1938-1993) is, like as not, your immediate reaction after watching UK thespian Ralph Fiennes’ third directorial feature THE WHITE CROW would be what monstrosity of a man he is, whose arrogance is simply up to eleven, which appreciably dents audience’s empathy towards the subject, that could be a sticking point for a biopic.
Nureyev (played by dancer Oleg Ivenko in his star-making role) is one of the most distinguished male ballet dancers of his generation, as much well known for his balletic bent as his temperamental disposition, that often doesn’t shies away from the public’s eyes.
Narratively trifurcating into and (sometimes incoherently) alternating between three different time-lines - a bleak childhood living in the sticks, his formative dancing years in St. Petersburg and his daring Paris defection in 1961, THE WHITE CROW sedulously reconstructs richly tactile period atmospherics in the latter two time-lines, as for the first one, a rural USSR is shot in letterbox format with accentuated drabness and impassiveness, it might seems that Fiennes overdramatizes the contrast to flog to death the opinion that it is such an uninhabitable place to live in, who wants to return to that gelid land if one can afford to luxuriate on easy street in a metropolis like Paris? A tint of subtlety would make the connotation much more palatable and less superfluous.
While Nureyev’s earlier years are episodically put into examination under David Hare’s script of high fidelity, the defining moments of the accretion of Nureyev’s supercilious and egotistic personality seem scattershot, few are in the way of him becoming a star dancer, his presumption even leaves us feel sorry for the oppressing Soviet Union authorities, low self-esteem might be one causation, but apart from that, THE WHITE CROW doesn’t accomplish what it sets out to do (viz. the making of an unabashed egoist with unrivaled artistic talent), even the film rightfully finishes after his hyped tergiversation, which means it gives Fiennes enough screen time for a more analytical Bildungsroman.
A bug-eyed Ivenko is good when he goes for broke in amplifying Nureyev’s oceanic hubris, but less professional (understandably) in more intimate moments; Fiennes himself plays Nureyev’s mentor Alexander Pushkin with considerable resignation, and Russian actress Chulpan Khamatova is allotted a less savory character to play as Pushkin’s cougar wife; both Adèle Exarchopoulos and Raphaël Personnaz offer something more to discern on top of what is on the meritocratic surface as Nureyev’s French allies.While Nureyev’s notorious sexuality doesn’t make a heavy play in the game, it is anyhow, compensated by Louis Hofmann’s gratuitous nudity in a passing cameo.
Balletomanes may bemoan there aren’t ample virtuoso dancing sequences to slake one’s hankering, but for what it is worth, THE WHITE CROW is a maverick of its own, freewheeling on its own rhythm and agenda like its unsympathetic subject.
referential entries: Darren Aronofsky’s BLACK SWAN (2010, 8.7/10); Pawel Pawlikowski’s COLD WAR (2018, 8.4/10).
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