The Death of Stalin

A few years the Conservative government pushed hard for an Anglicised version of history. Former Education Secretary Michael Gove argued that the history of the British Empire wasn’t widely taught in school, and when it was its portrayal negative. Gove is right in some respects: the British Empire was hidden away in the school curriculum. Like sex, it simply wasn't British to talk about it. We knew it existed, but it wasn't something for young ears to know about. I differ to Gove though: the reason we don't learn about it is out of shame, not modesty.

The empire that we were taught most about in school was the Soviet one- a brutal epoch that saw rights curbed; freedoms curtailed. Nothing like the British Empire, we thought: Britain gave the world its railways. If it wasn’t for us, the closest they’d have got to rail travel is doing the locomotion. But those crazy Commies. They used their train tracks malevolently. Sending opponents to Siberia to work the labour camps. If we’re judging the Empires by rail-lines alone, it’s clear the British were much kinder. This was my secondary school logic. Now I’m a bit older I just realise the British were better than the Soviets at controlling the narrative: people think the British Empire was benign because its consequences didn’t befall its people, the hardships happened to others in distant lands; the Soviets, on the other hand, killed their own. If you shit on your neighbour's doorstep, you won't smell the stink. If you shit in your own living room, your housemates will ask questions. Whether you recognise it or not though, a turd remains a turd. An empire isn't a great thing whomever is operating it.

Thankfully, this man is no longer in charge of British history.

The Soviet Empire was formed following the Second World War when Georgian born, Joseph Stalin, set about establishing an Iron Curtain. With the British Empire dwindling, Churchill saw the threat in Stalin accruing more and more power. (As with Hitler, Churchill was good at recognising despots). During his thirty years in power, historians put Stalin’s death toll at 50-60 million. His Iron Curtain an iron fist that pummelled one to the ground. Some died from starvation, victims of his economic policies. Some died from gunfire, victims of his maniacal purges. With his brainwashing and political cleansing, Stalin was impossible to topple. Only death, that great equaliser, could overthrow him. When he died, the citizens of the Union did not know what to do. Living under a tyrant for so long gives you two choices: live in love or live in fear. Many chose Stockholm Syndrome. So- quite perversely - they mourned the passing of a nightmare. Those, on the other hand, who hadn’t fallen for the captor were too frightened to rejoice: the Grim Reaper, after all, isn’t a revolutionary leader- just because Stalin died didn’t mean his replacements didn’t share his vision. After Stalin's death, no one knew how to react. This uncertainty is the backdrop to the film, The Death of Stalin.

The film begins in a concert hall. There is the sound of wondrous classical music. Then, there is the sound of a telephone. The producer picks it up and is told that Stalin wants a recording of the concert. The only problem is they haven’t been recording it. Now, to any strong and stable leader you could say, “Sorry, Theresa. This is a live production. It's ephemera that can’t be packaged and distributed. It’s beauty exists only in memory.” And Theresa would probably say, “Don’t worry. I’ve come to accept disappointment.” She would then put the phone down and move on to her next failure. However, Joseph Stalin wasn’t a man you said ‘no’ to. Joseph Stalin was a man you said ‘yes’ to, regardless of whether ‘yes’ was possible or not. So the producer tells the Kremlin that they have the recording ready for them; all they need to do is pick it up. Having dug his own grave, the producer must now set about saving his skin by demanding the orchestra play again. With tensions high, the conductor collapses, throwing the whole recording into chaos. Officials are sent on a life and death mission to find a conductor before it’s too late. With a conductor now in place, the recording can be done again. Everyone breathes a huge sigh of relief. They’ve been granted a reprieve: Stalin won’t kill them … today.

'Play like your life depends on it.'

This first scene establishes the terror that Stalin wielded. Everyone was terrified that one wrong word, gesture or action could signal the end of them. I appreciate that this doesn’t sound like the basis for great comedy, but in Iannucci’s hands he shows how brittle Stalin’s ego was; how farcical his trusted lieutenants. Indeed, the scene I described above was actually more ludicrous in real life: officials actually had to recruit a third conductor: the first fainted (as above), the replacement was drunk, thence the third and why the concert goes ahead. Iannucci then had to edit history to make the Soviet Empire’s wildest excesses seem less absurd. You get the feeling in fifty years time, when a film is released on Donald Trump filmmakers will have to do the same.

After the concert hall, it isn’t long until we see the titular happen: the death of Stalin. When a giant oak falls in a forest, a thud soon follows. The same was with Stalin. Away at his residence, he collapsed to the floor. The guards outside the room heard the sound, but feared entering the room without permission would be the death of them. Instead it was the death of Stalin. Not found until the next day, doctors were too late to revive him. Despite one final sign of life, he died. With Stalin dead, his Committee were plunged into active inertia. The communist chicken had been cut, but his political body remained: their running to and fro, caught in a landslide of prevarication and hysteria is the backbeat of this satire.

The curtain comes down.

A band playing on without their lead vocalist inevitably causes problems. Having backed Stalin for so long, it’s understandable that some want to honour his legacy and perform the same tunes; it’s also understandable that some want a volte-face, an opportunity to change focus and sing a different song. This power struggle is the hilarious centre-point of a film where grown men make seismic decisions on the hoof, and political alliances are formed in the toilet. If you enjoyed The Thick Of It, you will find much to love here.

Despite the political gambles Stalin’s cronies make, Iannucci never forgets the stakes at play. He shows how Beria, Stalin’s spymaster, used complete power to abuse women. He reveals how Molotov’s flip-flopping hurt the people closest to him. He depicts how Khrushchev’s climb to power came off the back of dead civilians. These are horrible men all guilty of terrible crimes. By laughing at them we take away their power.

Putting the 'ire' into satire, Armando Iannucci

Through The Death of Stalin, Iannucci has defaced Soviet history. Instead of staring wide-eyed at this rogue’s gallery, we leave the cinema thinking what infantile buffoons these men are, whose tantrums though caused the loss of innocent lives. 

At a time when Trump and Kim Jong trade insults over Twitter, the film is a warning to stay alert and pay attention.

Death of Stalin is still open in select cinemas.