Unravelling Myths: The Fall of Historical Giants in Fairytale (2022)

Guest Writer Khushi Pai reviews Fairytale (2022), the experimental fantasy film by Alexander Sokurov. Fairytale (2022) was screened at the Perspectives Film Festival 2024.

Fairytale (2022) is a glimpse at the world’s most peculiar afterlife lounge: Stalin, Churchill, Mussolini, and Hitler find themselves in a dim, endless purgatory, trading jabs rather than blows. What unfolds isn’t a punchline but Alexander Sokurov’s surreal meditation on power and mortality. In this eerie, eternal therapy session, history’s so-called giants, resurrected through a mix of archival footage and deepfake wizardry, are stripped of their armies and grand speeches, left only with their insecurities— and each other. Fairytale thus offers a haunting glimpse into what’s left of greatness, or infamy, when their thrones vanish and their ghosts remain. 

Yet, instead of facing any grand revelations, these titans of history devolve into petty bickering, with Hitler moaning over lost dreams of burning London and even ironically calling his peers “idiots.” Sokurov brilliantly punctures the mythic portraits of these men, revealing not the legendary figures of textbooks, but overgrown children locked in a surreal sandbox, eternally swapping empty boasts and bitter grievances.

Sokurov is widely celebrated for his magnum opus, Russian Ark (2002), not just because it's a crown jewel of arthouse cinema, but for pulling off the cinematic equivalent of a tightrope walk: a single, unbroken take that leaves you wondering if anyone dared to blink during filming. Then there's Faust (2011), another step into the artistic deep-end. But I dare say Fairytale is venturing even further down the whimsical rabbit hole of true arthouse territory. It’s unapologetically out there, yet it’s also, surprisingly, a bit silly. Imagine sweeping, grandiose landscapes straight out of Gustav Doré’s Dante’s Inferno, layered with a voice cast capturing each dictator’s native tongue and eccentricities, giving archival footage a strangely theatrical flair. Still, Sokurov doesn’t mind toying with ridiculousness here, even mixing in a running gag about urinals, as if to remind us that history’s giants are no more immune to bodily functions than anyone else. Or maybe the cheeky nod to a fourth wall break, where these legendary figures become film critics in their own right (how meta!). It’s both, a humanising touch, and a wry wink at their egos—Sokurov’s own way of bringing these towering figures down a notch, even in purgatory.

Ultimately, while the novelty of the archival footage in Fairytale offers an intriguing layer, I believe it also serves as its biggest pitfall. At times, what could be interpreted as a Dadaist triumph comes off more like a fan-made montage stitched together from random clips of dictators. This collage effectively underscores the film’s limitations, creating a sense of stasis that stifles the narrative momentum. Nonetheless, when the story finally gathers steam in the midsection, it confronts a chorus of spectators— some filled with disdain, others brimming with awe. This moment erupts into a stunning audiovisual crescendo, where waves of spectral figures cry out for salvation, enveloping the viewer in a sensory onslaught that conjures a haunting sense of longing, lingering long after the credits roll.

At the Locarno festival, where he initially presented Fairytale, Sokurov reflected on the poignant full-circle moment of returning to the same venue that premiered his debut film, The Lonely Voice of Man in 1987. Ironically, Fairytale is banned in Russia and was denied a screening licence at the Moscow Film Festival by the Russian Ministry of Culture, making its international exposure all the more moving. If there’s one key takeaway, it’s that Sokurov is a rare gem in the filmmaking world, with his last release dating back to 2015. He has hinted that this might be his swan song, so don’t miss your chance to experience his unique blend of wit and arthouse flair— especially since his films are often elusive on streaming platforms.

Khushi Pai

Khushi is a Guest Writer for Exposure.

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