The Last Station
Love, both blissfully youthful and crustily cantankerous, is the central theme of Tolstoy biopic The Last Station, but thanks to Michael Hoffman's dull direction, the movie never strikes a single endearingly romantic note. Hoffman has commendably gathered a dutifully dedicated cast to tell the story of Tolstoy's last days and the presence of the talented actors prevents the movie from completely vanishing into the colourless mire. But Hoffman's direction is without the necessary confidence and imagination to allow the actors to truly expand the dramatic boundaries of this flatly forgettable movie.
Christopher Plummer is very good in the role of the famed Russian author, while Helen Mirren shines in the thankless role of Tolstoy's fiery wife Sofya. Countess Sofya is vehemently opposed to what her husband has become, since she feels that his commitment to the Tolstoyan movement that he helped create will soon rob the wealthy couple of their luxurious lifestyle. Tolstoy wants to release his works to the Russian people and allow his words to linger on in the public domain, but Sofya sees such an act as a threat to their privileged lifestyle.
As an entry point to the lives of the Count and Countess, as well as to the simmering political and social debate heating up beneath their feet, the narrative focuses on Valentin Bulgakov (James McAvoy), a young man who worships Tolstoy and the Tolstoyan ideals of love, truth, and freedom. Valentin is hired by Tolstoyan leader Vladimir Chertkov (Paul Giamatti) to act as both secretary and spy in the presence of Tolstoy and his wife. While languishing in the Russian countryside, Valentin finds love with a free-spirited woman (Kerry Condon) and finds himself in the middle of a marital war between the Count and Countess, both of whom refuse to abandon their ideals.
The conflict is potentially juicy and the actors are certainly up for a challenge, but Hoffman oversees the production in a coldly vampiric state, sucking the lifeblood out of every scene. Instead of providing an intriguing look at a marriage crumbling in the midst of a poisonous power struggle, The Last Station weakly devolves into a series of screaming matches between actors who deserve better. Plummer and Mirren give it their all, but Hoffman's direction can never match the calibre of his cast.
Lifeless photography courtesy of Sebastian Edschmid and clumsy editing by Patricia Rommel are further harbingers of cinematic failure. The Last Station looks dull and it moves at a stilted pace that feels choppy and devoid of any narrative flow. Scenes feel cobbled together, scotch-taped in crude fashion, as opposed to connecting in a structurally sound manner. The flat frames of footage and messy chopping of celluloid conspire to rob the movie of any narrative energy that could lead to genuine drama.
The screenplay, adapted by Hoffman from a 1990 novel by Jay Parini, suffers from the same lack of passionate power that plagues the photography, editing, and directing, but it does manage to occasionally travel to an unexpected place, mainly due to the mournful events of Tolstoy's last days. The actors continue to glow bright with steady dedication throughout all of the mildly engaging ups and downs that permeate the narrative, but not even their considerable talent can rescue the movie from its unmoving, ineffectual fate.
Michael Hoffman refuses to communicate the dramatic language of his movie in cinematic terms and so The Last Station never makes a particularly satisfying impression. It merely fades into nothingness without a discernable identity or even the desire to become something unique and memorable. Hoffman fails to give the movie a tone or flavour that would allow the story of Leo Tolstoy's final days to resonate. Without a director willing to do any heavy lifting, The Last Station becomes a woeful example of a group of actors left to their own devices. The result could be worse and the actors are undoubtedly trustworthy, but the seams of the narrative are cracked and worn, allowing the movie to spill emptily from memory in a forgettable free fall.
