Tolstoy’s last stand

Often, when one thinks of actors dueling on screen, visions of hyper-masculine icons at the height of their fame attempting to steal scenes from the other come to mind. In The Last Station, however, it is a Canadian and British pairing of superstars in the twilight of their years, Christopher Plummer (The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus) and Helen Mirren (State of Play), who are conjuring up their legendary talents once again in a bravura display of pure talent. 

Fortunately, their characters, Leo and Sofya Tolstoy are immense enough to accommodate them both. He, in case it needs explaining, was a giant of Russian literature who wrote what some consider the greatest novel of all time, War and Peace. She was the dramatic, monumentally unstable force behind the man who bore him 13 children and copied out War and Peace six times by hand.

Thrust between the gravitational pull of the two is young virgin Tolstoyan Valentin Bulgakov (James McAvoy, Wanted), who is enlisted by Vladimir Chertkov (Paul Giamatti, Duplicity), the leader of the Tolstoyan movement, to keep an eye over the fraught familial politics of the Tolstoy clan at his estate.

The stakes are high: Chertkov wishes to engineer a legendary final act for Tolstoy in which he leaves his complete works to the Russian people, giving the work of his life back to the country whose soul he so expertly captured. Sofya Tolstoy, understandably, sees the conflict in far less poetic terms and will stop at no end to make sure her rival Chertkov does not swindle her and her children out of their rightful inheritance. 

One of the ironies of Mirren being awarded an Oscar for her performance in The Queen is that she was actually working outside of her usual range. As her filmography shows, Mirren is at her best when she's playing grand, destructive dames who have become experts at emotional warfare. It is a pleasure to watch her character slowly work her magic on the impressionable Bulgakov, reeling him in and making him blush by describing him as, "clear eyes, nice features, rather handsome in a peculiar sort of way." In an instant, Mirren can turn off the charm and turn up the pity, adding ruefully "but I don't matter anymore" at the end of long monologues.

Plummer works in a much more cerebral manner. If Mirren's primary mode of expression is Sofya Tolstoy's battle against the world for a piece of her husband, then Plummer's performance centers on how the reality of who Tolstoy really is clashes against what his millions of readers perceive him to be.

Bulgakov's sexual awakening at the hand of Masha (Kerry Condon, Anatomy of Hope) is a pleasant enough distraction, but there is no doubt the main festivities are Plummer and Mirren facing off.  Their performances exist within performances, really. Leo Tolstoy attempts to act like a distinguished aging novelist above the petty manipulations of his wife — even though he isn't. 

Far more obvious is Sofya Tolstoy's ability to play the victim, the aggressor and the seductress all at once. She acts sick, nearly drowns herself and shows no fear of her famous husband. When he states "our privilege revolts me," Sofya does not hesitate for a second before demolishing him for choosing to live a life of luxury. 

Outside of the performances, there isn't much to look at or much to distinguish The Last Station as a filmed work of art. Everything here just as easily could have been accomplished at the theater, and one can clearly see Plummer and Mirren relying on their stage backgrounds. Still, for those who would not have been able to afford a trip up to Broadway to see these legends, The Last Station is a fitting destination. 

vmain13@umdbk.com

RATING: 4 stars out of 5