Ivan is angry. He's a twelve year old boy, and his father has returned from nowhere to whisk him and his elder brother Andrey off on a 'bonding weekend.' However, this seems to involve nothing but punishment, arduous tasks and well-meaning but flawed exercises designed to make men of them.
So Ivan is furious, spitting mad with this absentee father, whose cruel ministrations seem to cause them nothing but pain. So he rebels. His mulish face contorted into a permanent grimace, Ivan bucks his father's control, refusing to co-operate, shouting back, stropping off. His obstinate behaviour combined with his gentler brother Andrey's acceptance of this mysterious figure, ends in tragedy on a deserted island in the Russian countryside.
And there you have it. The Return's simple, linear plot is just that. But this is a thoughtful film, which require more from its viewers than a basic remembrance of 'what happened'. Winner of the Golden Lion award at last year's Venice Film Festival, it explores transitory notions of boyhood, becoming men, family, relationships and even religious iconography, all to a mesmerising backdrop of mounting tension and fear.
Throughout the film, questions flood through you. Why has the father been away for so long? What has he been doing? Why did the mother let them go when she seemed upset? Why won't they tell the children the reasons for his absence? Ivan and Andrey are also in need of these answers, but go about solving them in very different ways. Young actors Ivan Dobronravov and the late Vladimir Garin are astounding: natural, raw, unfeigned. But like them, you are left without the nice, straightfoward answers that would tie up the film if it were made in Hollywood.
One of the strongest motifs you leave The Return with is silence and space. Lots of it. The film is suffused with great swathes of quiet and long, lingering shots of harsh Russian landscapes, beautiful in its bleakness. It's a meditative, rewarding film that requires a contemplative drink afterwards.
The Return
Cert: 15
