written by: Olivier Assayas and Emmanuel Carrère
produced by: Olivier Delbosc and Sidonie Dumas
directed by: Olivier Assayas
rated: R (for language, some sexual material, graphic nudity, violence and a grisly image)
runtime: 136 min.
U.S. release date: May 15, 2026

“The Wizard of the Kremlin” is a film adaptation of a 2022 book of the same name from Italian writer Giuliano da Empoli, which explores the fictional tale of a young man’s rise in Russia after the fall of the Soviet Union. Before the story begins, there’s an emphasis on the “fiction” aspect of real-life characters and events, thereby distancing it from any claims of accuracy. While the story touches on how Vladimir Putin became such a power player, going from government spy to the new “Tsar,” the focus of director Olivier Assayas’s film is the titular character, who helped groom and guide Putin. Like his other works of historical fiction, Assayas clearly shows a passion for this era in Russia’s history, offering insight into power plays and relationships that helped shape the country as we know it today. “The Wizard of the Kremlin” is interesting in politics, exploring shifts in control and information as Putin grew accustomed to running things his way. But it also drags on for a long time, which makes you really feel the runtime, while Assayas focuses on character tensions that don’t really add up to much.

As the film opens, we meet our gateway character to the story: American journalist Rowland (Jeffrey Wright), who travels to Moscow in 2019 to work on a biography. He’s summoned to the remote home of Vadim Baranov (Paul Dano), a character inspired by Russian politician and businessman Vladislav Surkov, and asked to spend time with a man who carries intimate knowledge of Russia’s current ways, and he’s eager to share his experiences. Rowland is a curious intellectual who studies the Bolshevik writer Yevgeny Zamyatin, author of the 1924 dystopian novel We, which was banned by the Soviet Union’s censorship board and eventually inspired George Orwell’s 1984. Of course, that latter work was a harbinger of modern times, but now it seems prophetic as democracies have collapsed under surveillance-operated totalitarian rule.

Rowland arrives during a typically cold Russian winter, when the snow looks blue, and is greeted by a welcoming Baranov, who has defected from Putin’s regime when we first meet him. He is now ready to tell his story of how he became Putin’s spin doctor, or kingmaker, and Rowland accepts the challenge of chronicler, while also serving as the audience’s narrator at times. Much of the story, written by Assayas and Emmanuel Carrère, is told in flashbacks spanning 30 years and narrated by Dano’s Baranov, who recounts how he went from something of an artist (directing avant-garde plays) to the guy who plucked Putin out of supposed obscurity. Much of the narration in this history course is leaden, wordy exposition that may lull some viewers into boredom.

What’s interesting, though, is how Assayas captures this “freedom” period of the 1990s. The early part of Baranov’s recollection is his exploratory period, which is when he begins some formative relationships. He meets a smug banker-turned-capitalist named Dimitri (Tom Sturridge), who’s taking advantage of the country’s financial chaos. Dimitri is also taking advantage of the attraction he’s receiving from Ksenia (an underutilized Alicia Vikander, who reunites with Assayas after “Irma Vep” mini-series), a punk-rock performer who first caught Baranov’s attention. During this time, Baranov takes a liking to what is, in essence, the early stages of reality television and aligns with network owner and oligarch Boris Berezovsky (Will Keen), who is struggling to promote and support an ailing President Yeltsin. As he learns the power of influence from his television work, Baranov is soon introduced to Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin (Jude Law), an FSB leader thrust into leadership, who eventually develops an affinity for such authority as he takes control of Russia, pushing Baranov to support his controversial positions.

We know where Putin winds up, but this “The Wizard of the Kremlin” has a clear focus on Baranov and the roles he played as the Russian regime shifted. While Dano is good in the role and has a lot of room for interpretation, Baranov, as a character, just isn’t all that engaging to watch, lacking charisma and/or charm. He’s something of a conundrum: smart and confident, yet also shy and insecure, yet somehow good at influencing others. Baranov lays out his story for the cordial Rowland with sardonic candor, albeit in a low register that matches his affect. He’s essentially in exile, having defected from Putin’s regime, and recalls that “the Soviet system was based on privilege, not cash.” He reflects on Gorbachev and laughs, seeing the so-called “New Russians” in that ruler’s wake as coked-out sycophants.

The film is at its most interesting when the storyline returns to the bustling 1990s, showing Baranov enjoying something of a liberation. As he explores his interests in the arts with other young people, the conservative government tries to remain stable under Yeltsin, which is no easy task. The lure of possibility in Russia is apparent at this time, and “The Wizard of the Kremlin” introduces Ksenia and her hedonistic ways, with this relationship woven throughout the screenplay to humanize the titular character and give him an emotional arc.

While Ksenia is alluring and winds up being Baranov’s first and only romantic love, she initially comes across as someone who can’t be pinned down. Dano and Vikander have little chemistry romantically, which we learn is kind of the point since they’re such an odd match, but the actors are fun to watch together. Vikander doesn’t have much of a role in the film, and the inexplicable relationship Ksenia has with Vadim is more of a romantic sidenote in a feature that primarily presents a cold political world. Ksenia appears a couple of times in ways that will make you think that either Assayas or Carrère has a soft spot for Deborah Kerr’s character in Powell and Pressburger’s “The Life And Death of Colonel Blimp”, in that she finds herself unconvinced with the roles that are cast upon her, save for the role of Baranov’s wife.

By the time Putin enters the film at the 45-minute mark, “The Wizard of the Kremlin,” it’s clear that he’ll have a supporting role in this story. Law has a similar look to the blonde combover he had in “Young Pope,” and inhabits Putin here as an unremarkable businessman, contorted by his own narcissism and ambition. The problem is the decision to let Law do whatever accent he’s comfortable with – which is to say, anything other than Russian. It’s an odd choice, but since no one in the movie is nailing a Russian accent, you get used to it. Still, it definitely hinders full immersion in the era and culture.

Mostly, the character of Putin is painted in broad strokes. It’s a mostly subtle performance from Law, who impressively replicates the politician’s facial tic. He also gradually indicates Putin’s sinister intentions and violent potential with just a few glances, but an undeniable example of his callousness can be seen in his response to the tragic Kursk nuclear submarine disaster in August 2000. Later on, we’ll see how some people who either disagree with Putin or somehow oppose him will wind up dead; it’s his lack of empathy or concern for the men trapped in the Barents Sea and their desperate family members on land that shows how incapable he is of being human.

In “The Wizard of the Kremlin,” Putin is reluctant to join the movement that Baranov and Berezovsky have created, preferring secret spy work over extroverted activity. Nevertheless, he’s eventually drawn into the fold, growing to enjoy the perks of absolute power and using his FSB past to maintain authority. Still, when it comes to Putin, there aren’t any standout scenes, though, that give his presence much weight. That serves as a reminder of who this feature is truly about.

Dano’s Vadim Baranov puts in long hours to help “restore integrity” to the country, working with Boris on “inventing reality.” Assayas notes historical events (including the Kursk submarine disaster in 2000), even mixing in real television footage to maintain realism, and the picture settles into a groove of Putin claiming power and Vadim gradually understanding the danger he’s in as perceived enemies of the state are eliminated.

“The Wizard of the Kremlin” has the setup for a more dangerous understanding of Vadim’s position, but Assayas moves slowly throughout the lengthy picture, more interested in the formation of Russian influence as we understand it today, as Putin turns to disinformation and assassinations in a bid to disrupt rivals.

Ultimately, the film’s only value is as an appreciation of motivations. Even though it remains fictional, the story still seems to draw on many facts, providing insight into Putin’s rise and his love of power. Sadly, it’s just not as riveting as it wants to be. Still, it’s tastefully made and capably performed, combining a few dramatic moments in a slow-burning compression of recent Russian history.

RATING: **