AFI Fest Review: Red Army

One of the many magical things film can do is putting us in the shoes (or the skates, as it were) of the other side.  Villains' humanity can be revealed, mysterious motivations can be clarified, and dark secrets can be brought to life.  These terms are perhaps hyperbolic in the case of Gabe Polsky's phenomenal Red Army, about the Soviet hockey team of the same name, but when the events of the docuemtnary are considered in their historical context, Polsky's film becomes an illuminating historical commentary.

The setting, of course, is the Cold War era, when Western anxiety about the Soviet threat was pervasive, and hockey was one of the unlikely weapons in the Soviet arsenal.  Hockey wasn't just a sport; it was laden with symbolic meanings.  Hockey was art, propaganda, politics, and proof of the superity of the Soviet system.  Children began vying for the honor of representing their country on the ice at a young age, taking part in bizarre drills and, if they were lucky, making the cut, which meant living with the team in a secluded compound eleven months a year.  The view from the other side of the Iron Curtain is anything but rosy.

However, that's not to say that Red Army won't make you smile.  To the contrary, this is one of the funniest documentaries I've ever seen, thanks to Polsky's candid direction and the perfect subject he found in Vyacheslav Fetisov, one of the most decorated hockey players in the country's (or sport's) history.  Fetisov's first moments on screen involve him ignoring Polsky's questions as he stares at his phone, then giving the finger to the camera.  Throughout, he is hilarious, blunt, and so very Russian.  Many of his teammates also appear in interviews, but none are so riotous or contemplative as Fetisov.

Though the film is a bit of (recent) history, and also an entertaining romp, there's more on its mind than telling the other side of a story.  The film paints a picture of a world always at war, if not with threats and action, than with human capital.  Then, hockey players were pawns on a massive board where couries vied for glory, much as they do at the Olympics every two years.  Xenophobia is taken to task, as Fetisov remembers being unwelcome when he finally made the jump to the NHL; they didn't know the horrors he had faced in getting there.

A former KGB officer is among Polsky's interview subjects, speaking plainly about the way their organization controlled the hockey players and contributed to the aura of fear that shrouded the country during those years (and, we know, still does for certain groups).  All the while, his granddauughter interrupts and plays in the backgroud, completely unaware of what has come before.  Perhaps there is a brighter future that can shake the remnants of the Soviet way, which still operates in the country's leaders, raised in those decades.  Perhaps hockey can be enjoyed purely, without any other motives bubbling beneath the surface of sport.

Hopefully, Polsky will continue making documentaries, because Red Army is everything a documentary should be.