Paul Dano and Jude Law deliver powerhouse performances in The Wizard of the Kremlin, directed by Olivier Assayas. They are, without a doubt, the best part of an uneven film that at times feels more like a recap of a Wikipedia article than a full-fledged feature.

When it strikes the perfect pitch between its fabrication, history, and pointed satire, The Wizard of the Kremlin has elements of a timely masterwork. Sadly, those moments are few and far between, instead held together by sequences ranging from merely passable to interminable. As if the filmmaker could not decide if he was building a satire, historic biopic, or something else entirely.

The framework is the film's downfall. In it, we see an American journalist, Rowland, (a wasted Jeffrey Wright) meet with Dano's fictional Vadim Baranov in his self-imposed exile. It is present day. Russia's bloody and monstrous invasion of Ukraine continues. Baranov has recused himself of politics some time earlier, now hiding in the woods in an opulent mansion, pretending to be a Solzenicyn of sorts.

As the two spend time together, Baranov unburdens his soul to Rowland, describing his rise to power and the creation myth of one Vladimir Putin (Jude Law). Only, most of it isn't real, and what is real is drawn thin in caricature and simplification. But, strangely, Russia is such a beast of unknowable trickery that in such a telling, Assayas and his cast actually find emotional truth that would have perhaps otherwise eluded them.

For example, look at the scene where Law's Putin is first introduced. At first, it looks like Law is stuck in a Saturday Night Live skit, where he kind of looks who he's lampooning, but only just. Then, as Putin hears the proposition to depose Boris Yeltsin and become effectively a new Tsar, everything changes. His posture becomes that of a prey animal. He bobs his head back and forth between the two men who believe they're toying with him. We see a plan form in real time, told entirely through shifty glances and a furrowed brow.

It is a brilliant performance, one that only gets better as the film goes on. Eventually, we no longer see Law. Just Putin in all his monstrosity.

Likewise, Dano is impeccable as the fictional Baranov, a man so soft-spoken it sounds like he's whispering half the time. It is a practiced form, a mask put on since childhood, that only cracks in miniscule pieces. When they do, Dano noticably shifts in place, as if realizing he's naked, and works to build himself back up again. He's an aggravating presence because we know nothing about him is real, yet it's precisely in that horse and pony show that we discover Baranov's true face.

Sadly, the pacing and weird transitions let down both actors, forcing them into an aggressively episodic format, as if this was never intended to be a film in the first place. At two hours, it's too short to bite into the mammoth history it presents, and too long to have the kind of sharpness an incisive critique requires. I can't help but wonder if, later in the year, we're due for an extended mini-series that will allow for the material to breathe better.

But this is not a bad film in the least, despite its issues. If you can look past the pacing and occasional odd bit of casting (some of the British performances recall the Carry On series), you'll discover a wealth of fascinating truths about where we are, and how we got here. Even more terrifying is the understated realization that whatever this is, the chaos and destruction, it's not even the final stage of anything. It's just noise in the ether, an endless power play for the sake of a power play.

The Wizard of the Kremlin won't provide any easy answers, if there are any answers to be had. But it does give an important and timely primer for western audiences to understand at least a part of the bigger picture. If that doesn't leave you scared, nothing will.