The Wizard of the Kremlin had its North American Premiere at the 2025 Toronto International Film Festival. It is currently seeking US distribution.

Zigging and zagging between an international remake of Les Vampires in Irma Vep, the exploits of the most wanted man in the world, Carlos the Jackal, in Carlos, and a Cuban espionage ring in Wasp Network, writer/director Olivier Assayas’ fascination with the theme of globalization knows no bounds. After taking some time off from the subject during the COVID-19 pandemic to look inward with Suspended Time, Assayas has saddled himself with his biggest subject yet in The Wizard of the Kremlin, a decades-spanning look at the rise of modern Russia and Vladimir Putin. 

However, Putin is not the central or most important figure in this tale, which comes with a forewarning about how none of this should be misconstrued as pure fact. Our titular “hero” in this story is Vadim Baranov (Paul Dano), a soft-spoken and unassuming spin doctor who secretly held the world in his grasp. He’s now retired to his wintry chalet, giving him plenty of time to host and recount his career to an American foreign correspondent named Rowland (Jeffrey Wright). Their initial meeting is spurred by a mutual admiration for Bolshevik writer Yevgeny Zamyatin, who laid the groundwork for George Orwell’s 1984.

Baranov’s tale starts in the early 1990s when counter-culturalists ran amok, the Soviet Union was dismantled, and Moscow citizens were able to breathe a little easier. But politics and cultural movements hang by a pendulum. Time has allowed some people to look back on Stalin’s tenure through rosier glasses, a time when Russia was at the forefront of geopolitics and thought of as a superpower on par with the United States. Jude Law appears halfway through the 156-minute mini-slog as Putin, the iron fist to Dano’s reserved wit. 

As exciting as the revitalization of a modern empire might sound (at least to me), Assayas’ film lacks the energy required to keep this engaging and memorable. The central structure of Baranov’s monologue to Rowland lacks any sense of discovery, mostly because Rowland seems to already know all of this. They chat for a while in one room, and then walk to another place on the estate to talk some more. Dano’s narration is long and laborious, taking us through thinly defined episodes that have as much dramatic weight and insight as the chapters in a high school history textbook.

The cast sometimes brings up the energy, such as Tom Sturridge as the flashy Dmitri Sidorov, who steals Baranov’s first love, Ksenia (a woefully underused Alicia Vikander), with promises of endless revelry. The weight and presence that Law instills within his portrayal of Putin is just as impressively convincing as the makeup. We may never get to see him bare-chested like the real Russian president, but he does go water skiing and prepares a delectable barbecue dinner. None of the famous faces speaks with a Russian accent, with a vague British tone being used as shorthand.

Baranov is persuaded to join Putin’s rising regime when he’s told to “stop making up stories, and start inventing reality.” Assayas clearly sees a link between Putin’s rise to power and Donald Trump’s, with Baranov being his Roy Cohn. Unfortunately, The Wizard of the Kremlin doesn’t have the same level of entertainment and enlightenment as last year’s The Apprentice, leaving its credible points of comparison to land with a thud.