Leviathan (Левиафан) - Spoiler Free Movie Review

Director Zvyagintsev delivers a powerful depiction of justice & despair, capturing the struggle of one man against a broken system.

Original Title: Левиафан

Genre: Crime / Drama 

Director: Andrey Zvyagintsev

Cast: Aleksei Serebryakov, Vladimir Vdovichenkov, Elena Lyadova, Vladimir Vdovichenkov, Sergey Pokhodaev, Valery Grishko, Dmitry Bykovsky, Aleksey Rozin, Igor Sergeyev & Margarita Shubina.

Run Time: 141 min.

Russian Release: 05 February 2015

US Release: N/A

UK Release: 07 November 2014 (limited) German Release: 12 March 2015

Directed by Andrey Zvyagintsev and co-written with Oleg Negin, Leviathan is a monumental achievement in Russian cinema, an unflinching portrayal of human fragility amidst political corruption, religious hypocrisy, and moral decay. It’s the kind of film that lingers long after the credits roll, forcing you to sit in silence and reflect on the world it mirrors so disturbingly accurately.

What a movie! I left the cinema completely speechless and found myself meditating on it during the quiet journey home. Zvyagintsev has crafted a film that is at once intimate and universal, capturing the essence of despair that arises when an ordinary man confronts an unapologetic system. Leviathan tells the story of Kolya (Aleksei Serebryakov), a car mechanic living in a remote coastal town in northern Russia. His peaceful life with his wife Lilya (Elena Lyadova) and teenage son (Sergey Pokhodaev) is torn apart when the local mayor (Vladimir Vdovichenkov) decides to seize his land for personal gain. From there, the film spirals into a study of trust, friendship, and faith, three pillars that begin to crumble as corruption and betrayal creep in from every corner.

Zvyagintsev’s direction is deliberate, patient, and deeply poetic. Each frame feels meticulously composed, often contrasting the majestic vastness of the Barents Sea with the smallness of human struggle. The cinematography, done by Mikhail Krichman, captures this balance between beauty and despair perfectly. The wide shots of decaying fishing boats, endless grey skies, and crumbling Orthodox churches serve as metaphors for a society eroded by power. The landscape itself becomes a character, mimicking Kolya's isolation and hopelessness.

One of the film’s strongest aspects lies in its ability to weave together the personal and the political. What begins as a simple property dispute gradually unfolds into a scathing critique of modern Russia; a nation where authority and religion often walk hand in hand, silencing those who dare to resist. The scenes involving the local priest are particularly disturbing, offering little comfort and instead reinforcing the idea that faith, in this world, is simply another instrument of control. Yet, Zvyagintsev never fully condemns spirituality; rather, he laments how it has been corrupted by those in power.

The performances across the board are amazing. Aleksei Serebryakov delivers a heartbreaking portrayal of Kolya, a man who still believes in fairness even as the world erodes around him. His bursts of rage and quiet moments of despair feel authentic. Elena Lyadova, as Koyla’s wife, provides a subdued, though emotionally charged performance that slowly unwraps as the runtime progresses. Her silent suffering reflects the fate of so many who are crushed between love, poverty, and injustice. Roman Madyanov’s portrayal of the corrupt mayor is equally compelling. He is brutal, vulgar, and chillingly realistic. He represents the hideous side of bureaucracy, one that devours individuals without remorse.

Despite its heavy subject matter, Leviathan never feels exaggerated. The tension builds naturally, through dialogue and gesture, not through shock value. Zvyagintsev relies on atmosphere and moral conflict rather than explicit violence to convey intensity. The film’s power lies in its refusal to offer easy conclusions or cinematic “happy endings”.

The soundtrack, composed by Philip Glass, perfectly complements the film’s meditative rhythm. His minimalist score underlines the impending tragedy, flowing quietly beneath the story like a tide. The music never dominates the narrative but enhances its emotional resonance, adding to the sense of inevitability that defines the film’s tragic arc.

If there’s one word to describe Leviathan, it’s honest. Brutally, painfully honest. It’s a film that doesn’t simply depict corruption but dissects it, showing how it seeps into the most personal corners of human life, family, friendship, and faith. Every character, no matter how flawed, feels real and human. There are no heroes here, only victims of a system that has long since lost its conscience.

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Verdict: Leviathan is a cinematic masterpiece that demands patience and reflection. It’s not an easy film to watch, but it’s a necessary watch. Zvyagintsev’s ability to blend political commentary with vulnerable human drama makes it one of the most powerful films of the decade. Its message is timeless and universal, echoing far beyond its Russian setting. I give it an 8.5 out of 10. A film that challenges, disturbs, and ultimately moves you in ways few others do.

I recommend watching this Russian flick in cinemas, it is captivating & absolutely worth it!