I just saw Sokurov’s Russian Ark, the film that was made in a single, 96-minute continuous take. However, that’s not the amazing part of the film. What’s amazing is the fact that this 96-minute continuous take was filmed in St. Petersburg’s famous Hermitage Museum, which used to be the Russian monarchy’s winter palace, and is today the largest museum in the world (bigger even than the Louvre or Smithsonian), using a narrative technique where the camera itself is a character (voiced by Sokurov himself) that is wandering around the museum, accompanied by a French Marquis, debating all things Russian and all things cultural, while, all around them, a cast of 1,000 actors and 1,000 extras in various costumes play out all of the important events of the life of Russia and of the Hermitage.

Imagine that: 2,000 people, a crew of hundreds, lights and sets and everything else, and, of course, the Hermitage itself and its priceless collection of art and artifacts, all captured on film in a single take, following a rather complicated narrative that spans 300 years of history–and not a single blown line or broken vase or burnt-out light. How did they do it? Well, get the DVD and you’ll find the answer in the form of a 45 minute documentary about the film’s creation. The documentary is almost as interesting as the film itself.

Of course, that’s a big problem, isn’t it. The “making of” is not supposed to be better than the film. One of the problems with Russian Ark is that the act of making the film–of following this insane idea of creating such a complicated work in one shot–overwhelms the actual film, to the point that I spent much of the film looking for mistakes, like moments when a reflection would reveal the camera crew or when a cast member or extra will accidentally look at the camera (no reflections–but there were some camera looks in the big ballroom scene at the end). In other words, I spent too much time thinking about the concept of the film, not immersing myself in the film experience.

I’m guessing others probably watched the film the same way I did. However, I can tell you that, on my second viewing, the novelty of the long take had withered, and I did find myself focusing more on the story, on the character of the Marquis, on the various processions of characters that wander in and out of the camera’s frame: in short, focusing on the film itself. Hence, I think this is one of those films that improves with repeated viewings. That’s true of the other Sokurov film I’ve seen, Mother and Son, and it’s also true of the films of Andrei Tarkovsky, the great Russian filmmaker and Sokurov’s greatest influence. So, if you are interested in seeing this film, I heartily recommend two viewings, at least.

Ah, but there’s something else I want to say about this film. The work was created in conjunction with the 300th anniversary of St. Petersburg, the town built by Peter the Great in 1703. The film was paid for by the Hermitage itself (the opening credits begin “The Hermitage Foundation Presents…” [or something like that]) and by the Russian government (and with funds from other European film and art groups). It is intended, first and foremost, to be a tour of the Hermitage–hence, there are long stretches here where the camera simply moves around the museum looking at various details in the paintings, in the architecture, in the sculptures, and so on.

Consequently, the film is, quite literally, a state-sponsored art project, like the silent films Sergei Eisenstein created for the Soviet government or Leni Reifenstal’s Triumph of the Will or Woody Guthrie’s works project songs from the 1930s. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t have any problem with state-sponsored art. Even Triumph of the Will served (and still serves) an important purpose (namely, to make us aware of the power of Nazism). But I find it interesting that no one has really brought up this point in regards to Sokurov’s film. Perhaps it’s because the film, while made with (basically) public funds, seems more independent than so many of the flag-waving B-films made (ostensibly) with private funds in the United States. Perhaps, in our capitalist world (one where Russia is a fledgling member), the only truly independent film is the film made by the government.