The Wizard of the Kremlin (2026) is not a standard docudrama about the rise of Russia as the world’s most enigmatic and dangerous superpower, and it might never have been capable of that. Even though Russian cinema was perhaps the most groundbreaking in the history of filmmaking, the nation has been viewed from an outsider’s perspective for decades, thanks to the iron will imposed on its cultural output.
That “The Wizard of the Kremlin” is drawn from real history, historical assumptions, and pitch-black satire makes it an even more defining statement about the growth of a mysterious empire that seemed to operate as one unified world player. While the material would be rich enough in its own right, “The Wizard of the Kremlin” is pitched in the slightly unusual, self-effacing tone of Olivier Assayas, who is both a generous filmmaker and an astute social critic.
While it is loosely based on the award-winning novel of the same name, which itself only alluded to real figures and events, “The Wizard of the Kremlin” is ostensibly the story of Vladislav Surkov, even if the character is technically named Vadim Baranov and played by Paul Dano without a distinct Russian accent.
Told in flashback, the film begins with an older Baranov being interviewed by the American writer Rowland (Jeffrey Wright), who has taken it upon himself to determine how a soft-voiced, unassuming young spinster could build the infrastructure of an unassailable tyranny while keeping himself away from public life without anyone noticing. It’s through their conversations that “The Wizard of the Kremlin” offers a slick, fascinating unpacking of Russian history through the eyes of the man who helped to shape it.
What’s fascinating about both Dano’s performance and the characterization of Baranov is that his philosophies often supersede his political affiliations. While Baranov watched as his father lost everything after the fall of the Communist party, he also managed to intermix with the community of liberal-minded artists, including the seductive actress Ksenia (Alicia Vikander), who is herself involved with the dangerous oligarch Dmitri Sidorov (Tom Sturridge).
Baranov’s interests lie in unlocking the unique power of a nation that is so vast and unorganized that it has never been able to fulfill its potential, despite having the means to silo itself off from the rest of the world. The irony is that Baranov himself leaves little of an impression and would never be mistaken for a charismatic politician. This is Assayas’ point — the traditional practice of democracy would require a “man of the people” to become ascendant to leadership positions, whereas Baranov conceived of the notion that Russia’s President should seemingly exist on his own plane of reality.
Baranov’s political brilliance is carefully distanced from the ramifications of his actions, at least at first. Dano has a disarming creepiness in how muted his reactions seem, even in times of crisis, but what becomes apparent is that he is a great anticipator. In order to determine the best way to direct the will of the Russian people, Baranov looked to make the nation unassailable on the world stage.
His conversations with other Russian leaders seem to treat other superpowers as rival players in a board game, with no distinction given to their diverse and humane populations. This isn’t just a clever way of showing how Baranov was able to game out a political minefield, but an indication of the disparaging terms in which he thinks of entire bodies of citizens. There’s rarely a moment he raises his voice or becomes agitated, as Baranov wouldn’t engage with someone so lacking in status.
The presentation of Russia’s rise to power as something enacted by its assessment by other nations could have made “The Wizard of the Kremlin” feel skewed towards a Western perspective. But Assayas enlisted the help of the French political thinker Emmanuel Carrère to co-write the script. Carrère’s insights are valuable because of his understanding of the uncertain terms that are used in lower-register meetings, matched with the blatancy of Baranov’s real communications.
Lower levels of government, military, law enforcement, and media are prone to using euphemisms and vague allusions when discussing potentially radical and dangerous actions, but there is no ambiguity whenever Baranov holds court with the inner circle of the Presidential administration. It’s here where the film plays its most powerful card, as Jude Law appears as a young KGB agent known as “the tsar,” who is unambiguously intended to be Vladimir Putin.
Like Dano, Law doesn’t seem to be interested in emulating the version of Putin who appears on propaganda networks, as this is clearly a manufactured creation that has little in common with the man who actually runs the government. It’s another case in which Assayas has something compelling to say about what gives a leader power if they don’t have to worry about elections. Putin is a blunt force of nature who built his expertise in espionage, and his lack of charisma is not a barrier to power when Baranov is pulling the strings.
Law’s performance is effectively utilized, especially because of the terms in which Assayas is interested in portraying him. Putin is himself the culmination of the culture of exacting strategy perpetrated by men like Baranov, and exists as a blank slate of fulfilled potential. There aren’t many actors who would choose to play a role like that, which is why Law is one of the best of his generation.
“The Wizard of the Kremlin” is likely to polarize because of its subdued approach. Rather than going into each atrocity committed under Putin’s reign, the film condenses Russia’s overbearing expansion to a series of conversations in which Baranov holds all the cards; perhaps the film’s most disturbing scene is one where he orchestrates the oppression of Ukraine by meeting with the leadership of several resistance groups.
At the same time, Assayas frequently punctures the reality he has constructed by inserting news footage that reminds us of how quickly and silently this regime has reached a status unseen in human history. It’s frightening, intellectual, and absolutely a film that will gain more appreciation over time.
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