'A Gentleman in Moscow' Misses the Point
It’s a rare feat for any movie or TV series to whitewash some of the most brutal moments in history to such an extent that it actually makes it positively desirable.
And yet, the new television series on Paramount+, A Gentleman in Moscow, somehow accomplishes this. The story takes place during the decades following the Bolshevik Revolution, as the protagonist, the “gentleman” Alexander Petrov, is sentenced to life-long house arrest. As such, he spends his life in a kind of Potemkin luxury hotel in Moscow, insulated from the horrors of the Lenin, Stalin, and Kruschev regimes. Consequently, the show is primarily about him making the most of his time at the hotel and remaining blissfully ignorant of the world beyond.
To be fair, there are a few advantages to this setup. First, it keeps the story focused and dispenses with the burden of world-building. Russia is a large country with a rich culture and a long and complicated history. To adequately capture this reality is close to impossible on the screen and only marginally more feasible in books—there’s a reason that most classic Russian novels are notoriously long. By contrast, the limited setting in A Gentleman in Moscow allows for more character development and tidier plot lines.
It also has the effect of universalizing the show’s themes. One doesn’t have to be Russian or know Russian history to appreciate the points being made by the show—in fact, it might be better if one forgets everything he knows about the Soviet Union. Generally speaking, all countries have periods of unrest, and communities are often formed as a response to this. Moreover, it’s in the formation of these communities that people come to know themselves. Anyone from any time could relate to Rostov and the challenges he faces.
However, all this comes at a heavy cost, mainly in making the whole thing feel incredibly superficial and fake. Somehow, a man who has everything taken away from him and is labeled an enemy of the state can maintain his bourgeois lifestyle, find love and family, and make friends with the people who are essentially his jail keepers. True, there are a few bumps along the way, but these are smoothed over without much of a struggle. It’s more a story of thriving than one of survival.
Because Petrov is so sheltered, his conflicts are laughably light. Essentially, he is a privileged man-child who needs to grow up and take more responsibility for himself and others. In some ways he does this, learning to care for others, be of use to the hotel, and come to terms with his past. In other ways, he still enjoys enormous privilege, safely ensconced in a secret living room of a luxury hotel that itself is ensconced in the nation’s capital. While his friends and old acquaintances are either killed or sent to Siberia, he is quibbling about wines and hosting dinner parties.
As such, even though Ewan McGregor delivers an amazing performance and carries the show, his character doesn’t seem to have much dimension, nor does he exhibit much growth. Over the course of the season, he’s just a likable toff who does what he can with his particular skill set. Aside from this, he doesn’t have any internal life—religion is notably absent in this series—or any guiding philosophy, nor does he have any real character flaws. At the very least, the writers could have made him a prig, a snob, a narcissist, or even a crotchety misanthrope, but instead he is compassionate, charming, and magnanimous at every turn. An all-around Mr. Nice Guy.
Unfortunately, the characters around him suffer from similar deficiencies. Petrov’s female counterpart, the film actress Anna Urbanova (played masterfully by Mary Elizabeth Winstead), is obviously supposed to be a foil to Petrov. While he remains stuck at the hotel to wallow in obscurity, she’s a liberated woman who tours the country and lives on her own terms. Even as she ages out of stardom and increasingly prefers a quiet life, her personality, like Petrov’s, is nothing but sympathetic and admirable. Their shared agreeable nature seems to be the basis of their agreeable yet dull romance: no one is jealous of the other, consensus is easily reached, and no sacrifice is really made by either side.
This leaves it to Petrov’s nemesis Osip Glebnikov to exhibit at least a few character flaws, which he does, thus making him the interesting character of the series—it helps that Johnny Harris matches his costars in putting in an excellent performance. Circumstances have forced him to do the unenviable job of surveilling, torturing, and executing dissidents. He takes an interest in Petrov and eventually becomes a secret ally. Nevertheless, his situation eats away at his conscience, making him perpetually gloomy and menacing. In many ways, the viewer feels sorrier for him than Petrov who has no such guilt. This contrast is caught perfectly when the two of them watch It’s a Wonderful Life. Glebnikov is clearly bothered by the film’s message and stomps off before it’s over while Petrov happily watches the rest of it.
Nevertheless, Glebnikov is not the hero of this story, nor is the viewer really encouraged to feel sorry for him or know much about him. He is there to be pitied, another dehumanized victim of communism. Rather, the show devotes more attention to the supporting characters—Rostov’s friends, family, and coworkers. With the exception of the weaselly tattle-tale Bishop, everyone at the hotel is one big happy family. While famine grips the nation, they are feasting like kings, listening to Russian folk music, and regaling each other with amusing anecdotes.
Added to this level of fantasy is the artificially diverse cast. Nearly every race is represented, and a gay couple is featured as well. As with every other instance where this kind of choice is made, the problem isn’t necessarily that this isn’t historically accurate or remotely believable (although these are problems); it’s that these characters aren’t allowed to have real personalities. They are tokens with which to virtue signal and service the plot, not actual human beings with stories or motives of their own. Fortunately, this tokenism becomes less brazen as the series progresses and these characters fade into the background.
Altogether, A Gentleman in Moscow is a mixed bag. On the whole, the performances are superb, and the production is well done, but the writing lacks substance, leading to hollow characters and an uneventful storyline that drags in many places. Most of these issues could have been fixed if the novel was adapted to one full-length film instead of a television series with eight hour-long episodes. As it is, it’s inoffensive and mostly watchable (sometimes excessively so), but ultimately falls well short of what it could have been.
Auguste Meyrat is an English teacher in the Dallas area. He holds an MA in humanities and an MEd in educational leadership. He is the senior editor of The Everyman and has written essays for The Federalist, The American Conservative, and The Imaginative Conservative, as well as the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture. Follow him on Twitter.
