Welcome to the carnival of the damned. There are no words sufficient enough to describe this film, a film which I cannot even say for sure I liked or disliked. It was something, an experience for sure, albeit a maddeningly frustrating experience. Intentionally shot in a murky and grainy black and white, like an early sound film (with equally murky audio to boot), Khrustalyov, My Car! is one of the supreme cinematic allegories of hell, a personal nightmare, or rather nightmare diarrhea, shit out late at night on a rusty toilet seat. The plot is pretty simple, the narrator's dad is a renowned general and medical doctor who is sent to the Gulag after being framed for taking part in a conspiracy to kill Stalin. But when Stalin's medical condition begins to deteriorate to a point of no return, the father is rehabilitated and sent to save the dying comrade. The actual plot takes up maybe fifteen minutes total, and provides an excuse to have a scene where doctors try to make Stalin fart. German's direction in here can superficially be called Felliniesque, especially in regards to its carnivalesque atmosphere, but it is a lot more debased and scatological at times. I wonder if this movie would make more "sense" were I to live in Russia for a while. Or maybe I am no longer so easily seduced by overtly stylistic films like I used to be. But at the same time, I am easily seduced by films like this. Would it have clicked more for me had I seen German's prior films? In the end, this is a lot like reading Russian literature; it is long, dense, absurd, and drawn-out, but ultimately rewarding.
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