The Wizard of the Kremlin is an adaptation of Giuliano da Empoli’s political novel, a fictionalised account of the rise of Vladimir Putin (portrayed by Jude Law) through the eyes of his political strategist, Vadim Baranov (played by Paul Dano), who is based on the real-life Kremlin adviser Vladislav Surkov.

Rather than presenting a traditional political biography, the film is framed as Baranov’s biography. The narrative structure of the movie uses a meta framing device, in which a writer documents Baranov’s life: from his early career in television and theatre to becoming the political strategist who helped shape Putin’s public image and consolidate his power. As this film is based on da Empoli's fictional interpretation of the rise of Putin and the emergence of modern Russia, The Wizard of the Kremlin is less concerned with the specifics of the historical events themselves than how and why political myths are created and spread across a nation.

This focus on the creation of political narratives is particularly evident through the film’s unusual beginning. The film’s initial focus on theatre and television did strike me as quite odd, but in a very refreshing way, as too often I see that historical political dramas focus solely on the politics that happen within the corridors of government, and not how these values are disseminated to audiences via propaganda. The film cleverly establishes performance as the core foundation of politics, and, in the post-Soviet society, suggests that modern power is exercised through image-making and media manipulation.

However, this understated approach to politics also defines the film’s broader style. Through the offhand delivery of bad news, I believe this film is intentionally understated, further enforced by Dano’s soft speech, which mirrors the tone of the film. Whilst I appreciate that this is a stylistic choice, both through the script and acting performances, I do find that, at times, at times, its satirical and intellectual engagement falters and becomes too emotionally distant?

 As a result, I found it difficult to form a meaningful emotional connection with the key characters, despite their compelling political significance. The exposition is another aspect that I believe to be appropriate for the biographical nature of the film, though the prioritisation of explanation and long conversations weakens dramatic tension and visual storytelling.

Despite these limitations, the performances remain one of the film’s strongest elements. As mentioned, Dano delivers a restrained performance with underplayed emotions that reflects the film’s tone; he is reflective rather than bold. Similarly, Jude Law’s portrayal of Putin captures his mannerisms and speech quite aptly without slipping into caricature, something historical and political dramas often struggle to avoid.

This sense of restraint is also reflected visually through the film’s cinematography. The cinematography features a muted colour palette, with cold blues and greys that evoke stereotypical images of post-Soviet Russia that reinforce the film’s emotional distance and institutional coldness. Ultimately, these creative choices contribute to the film’s wider exploration of power and political performance.

The Wizard of the Kremlin offers an intelligent and thought-provoking examination of the manufacturing of political power through the cast’s strong performances and the film's exploration of propaganda, performance and authoritarianism. Whilst it is stylishly restrained to reinforce the emotional detachment of the characters, this often causes the story to emotionally fall flat. Though this slows the dramatic momentum, it is nonetheless a refreshingly unconventional political character study that immerses any fans of political history in the imagined behind-the-scenes of the Kremlin.