The Art of Ridicule: The Death of Stalin
Ianucci’s Soviet satire feels increasingly relevant.
Armando Iannucci’’s The Death of Stalin is deeply, uncomfortably funny. The director of In the Loop and creator of Veep is no stranger to scathing satires in which ego-driven politicos plot, scheme and lob vulgar insults at one another. But while the characters in those projects were largely indirectly responsible for others’ misery, Death of Stalin’s characters are cold-blooded, amoral killers, unmoved by whomever they have to trample in their pursuit of power. They’re also extremely petty, vindictive morons.
Iannucci captures the way fascism creates a culture of palpable fear, illustrated in the film’s first scene when a Moscow radio producer (Paddy Considine) learns that Stalin wants a recording of a symphony performance that has just ended – but one doesn’t exist. Terrified by the roving security squads that rip people from their families and shoot political enemies in the street, the producer locks the patrons in the auditorium (“Don’t worry! No one’s going to get killed; I promise you!”) and puts the orchestra back on stage – although he needs to rouse a nearby conductor from his sleep because, in his rush, the current one knocked himself out. It’s a very funny slapstick sequence, but it also captures the palpable fear that has gripped the country.
One of the orchestra members put back on stage is pianist Maria Veniaminova Yudina (Olga Kurylenko), who hates Stalin and only agrees to the repeat performance when she’s guaranteed a hefty payday. But that doesn’t stop her from writing a spiteful note to the Soviet leader, which she slips into the sleeve of the recording. Upon reading it after a night of carousing and watching American westerns with his cabinet members, Stalin has a stroke and drops to the ground. He’ll be dead within 24 hours.
The death of their leader prompts Soviet leadership into panic mode, with Nikita Khrushchev (Steve Buscemi) hoping to usher in reforms – but he’s stopped and relegated mainly to funeral planning when Georgy Malenkov (Jeffrey Tambor) is appointed to lead. Malenkov is a dunder-headed puppet of the reprehensible Lavrentiy Beria (Simon Russell Beale), who has his own designs and begins enacting many of Khrushchev’s ideals and taking the credit in an attempt to win over the people. The members of cabinet attempt a delicate balancing act of honoring Stalin and being seen as in line with the ideals of the Communist Party while also selling each other out and using each other – and even their spouses and friends – as pawns and patsies to get in leadership’s good graces. Their bickering and scheming can often have drastic consequences, such as when Khrushchev’s attempts to overrule Beria’s ban of mourners into Russia results in the army killing 1,500 civilians. And they’re not above finding ways to throw their frenemies into the paths of executioners’ bullets if it means hope for advancement.
Few people find the humor in depicting people at their most odious and venial than Iannucci, whose characters always have a sharp barb or poetically profane insult at the ready. And The Death of Stalin is constantly shocking and funny in depicting the outrageous pettiness and soulless ambition of the members of Soviet leadership. The film often skirts the edge of slapstick and farce, and Iannucci’s working with a fantastic cast for this material. Tambor plays clueless like few others, and his depiction of Malenkov as a spineless, brainless man ripe for manipulation is often very funny. Buscemi also handles Iannucci’s barbed dialogue extremely well. Michael Palin – as a Cabinet member who was on Stalin’s hit list until the stroke occurred and who is so knee-deep in party worship that he is willing to rationalize his wife’s long imprisonment – is also very funny.
The evil of Stalin and the cruelty of the Soviet Union doesn’t seem like an easy source for laughs. After all, the actions of In the Loop and Veep largely lead to consequences for people well out of the orbit for the politicians and military officials at their center — as well as out of sight for the audience — whereas the atrocities carried out by these characters means death for the general public and for many of their friends (and Iannucci doesn’t shy away from showing it). It seems too horrific to be funny. And yet, Iannucci deftly navigates this tricky tone, allowing the humor and horror to co-exist – and by the film’s final passages, they’re often one in the same. Yes, these characters are perpetrating evil. Yes, their calculations and ambitions result in the deaths of innocents. And yes, they’re often very craven, petty and outright dumb. All of this is true at the same time – which makes the laughs often dig a bit deeper and the horror ring a bit truer, as we see the way lust for power can eat away at a person’s soul – and, as the film’s bleakly funny final shot proves, will ultimately only result in more tragedy because there’s always someone a few rungs down looking to take your spot.
The Death of Stalin was released in 2017, and its depiction of powerful men betraying their allies and blindly accepting ridiculous lies as truth was seen as immediately resonant during the days of the first Trump administration. Watching it eight years later, in the beginning of an even more aggressive and appalling term, it feels even more vital. Every day, we get more news about elected and appointed officials towing the party line even when it means believing ridiculous lies. It’s hard not to see congressional representatives fawning over President Trump, to the point of proposing to carve his image onto Mount Rushmore, or excoriating our allies with demands of gratitude without thinking of this film. I sincerely believe that many of these people don’t believe the “alternative facts” with which they’re being presented or even really care for the Commander in Chief; but he’s in power and they want a bit of that, so they’ll continue toadying until they get what they want. And if that position were suddenly vacant? I have no doubt they’d stab each other in the back – or chest – and throw their own mothers under a bus to improve their positions.
This is not new, as Iannucci’’s film reminds us, nor is it relegated to one party or nation – although I’ll admit that the moral compromising and pure cruelty we see now is a steroidal, particularly noxious version of political jockeying. It’s not even exclusive to the world of civic service. I’ve seen the same veniality and scheming in businesses, schools, neighborhoods and even (especially?) churches; anywhere where people can be in a position of power, you’ll find people plotting and scheming to climb that ladder. It’s always gross – but, of course, when it’s in the world of politics, the lives of millions are at stake. And the truth of the matter is, the people clawing and fighting for authority and recognition often consider the welfare of the people they’re supposed to be serving a secondary or even tertiary concern. When we watch people like J.D. Vance, RFK Jr., Elon Musk, Stephen Miller and others manipulate the truth and steamroll the rights of others, their cruelty and desire to put their own ambition above the well-being of others is chilling – and they’re in such a high position of power, that it can often freeze us in our tracks.
Which is why bleak, sharp-tongued comedies like The Death of Stalin are necessary. Yes, the film says, these are horrible people capable of unthinkable atrocities. But they’re not supervillains. They’re just as clumsy, dumb and petty as anyone else. By presenting them as a bunch of scheming, jealous nitwits, Iannucci takes away their mystique and power. If they can be ridiculed, they can be beaten. And while we can’t lose our soberness over the consequences of their actions, we can point a finger and ridicule them so that they no longer have the power to make us afraid or powerless.
A pretty true reading of the film. Sadly, you can see each characters' soul die in the movie as they huddle around their own silos of nonsense.
I'm reminded of the recent movie "Mountainhead" as well -- both movies are about powerful people who concede that obtaining a considerable amount of more power involves lowering yourself to a certain level, and then you watch as they gleefully commit to said lowering, using their privilege to offer what they think are empty compromises in service of a worse world for others. It's disgusting. It's timeless.
Fromtheyardtothearthouse.substack.com