The White Crow

The White Crow, directed by Academy Award nominee Ralph Fiennes, is gorgeous and frustrating. It’s like a sumptuous buffet of perfectly presented but unseasoned food.

Fiennes also co-stars in the film, based on the true story of Rudolf “Rudi” Nureyev (newcomer Oleg Ivenko), a Soviet ballet star who gets a taste of freedom while on the road and undertakes a dramatic defection in a Paris airport. Fiennes’ direction is solid and finessed, and the story flows smoothly, considering the multiple languages spoken, frequent time shifts and use of subtitles.

Ivenko is a real ballet dancer who, of course, dances wonderfully and is serviceable in his first acting role. He takes us from Nureyev starting ballet school at the “old” age of 17 to his groundbreaking style of dancing as he saw ballerinas traditionally do: with emotion, sensitivity and expressiveness intertwined with their power. He doesn’t want to serve merely as a platform who lifts his partners into the air. He also wants to soar.

This dream seems an outlandish one for a person born into near-starvation poverty — on a Trans-Siberian train in 1938, no less. We see Rudi’s harsh early life in black-and-white flashbacks as the main story is presented in muted jewel tones during in the late 1950s. It culminates in 1961, when he becomes the first Soviet artist to defect.

Fiennes plays the role of Nureyev’s adored mentor and ballet teacher, Alexander Pushkin. With notable ease and calm, he embodies the role of a man considered a saint in the ballet world.  (As young Rudi puts it, Pushkin’s class is “two holy hours.”) He was known to have incredible patience with his dancers, which is starkly put to the test by Nureyev, even before he’s proved himself in any real way.

Pushkin and his wife, Xenia (Chulpan Khamatova, Good Bye Lenin!), feed and board Rudi without hesitation, even though they live in a one-room apartment and his dance skills are frequently noted as clumsy, inadequate and lacking control. But people are nonetheless drawn to Rudi because of his “perfect spirit.”

And this is, unfortunately, where the movie hits the skids — because Rudi is a jerk. He’s a jerk to nearly every person he comes into contact with: lovers, waiters, office workers and teachers. Though seemingly true to history, it’s as if Ivenko’s only notes for the role were, “sneer, scowl and yell.” George Lucas gave us more reason to empathize with Darth Vader.

The tension of The White Crow hinges on Nureyev’s desperation to escape the dictatorial control of the Soviet government for the bright lights and freedom of France and the Western world. It should have been easy enough for this compelling, true story to make the audience share that desperation along with him.

Instead, despite Nureyev’s beauty, skills and potential, you may be left wondering why the French even bothered.

Now playing at the Fine Arts Theatre