‘The Wizard of the Kremlin’ Review: Inside Putin’s Spin Machine, Minus the Magic

Given the reputation of the novel and the caliber of the people behind it, The Wizard of the Kremlin feels like it should amount to much more. This adaptation of Giuliano da Empoli’s bestseller, directed by the ever-reliable Olivier Assayas, a filmmaker well versed in political thrillers, never quite gets off the ground. Its episodic structure, the long delay in establishing any real central conflict, and a lead performance by Paul Dano that hovers somewhere between understated and inert, leave the film more compelling for what it talks about than for how it works as drama.

The novel has been widely discussed of late for how its central figure echoes the kind of shadow operators orbiting controversial world leaders. Donald Trump has his “wizard,” Argentina’s Javier Milei seems to have one too, and plenty of leaders flirting with autocracy rely on similar figures. Here, that man is Vadim Baranov, modeled on Vladislav Surkov, longtime advisor to Vladimir Putin and a master of political manipulation—engineering fake enemies, staging conflicts, stoking division, and weaponizing media and the internet to keep power firmly in place. The film also suggests how these tactics—hardly new, but newly refined—would go on to spread globally through the now-familiar machinery of online disinformation.

There’s an initial awkwardness in hearing all of this play out in English with Western actors, but that’s not the core issue. The story unfolds through a series of extended flashbacks framed by an interview: an American writer (Jeffrey Wright) tracks down Baranov, now retired but still relatively young, living in isolation in a remote Russian dacha. Hoping to write a book about him, he invites Baranov to retrace his path—one that runs from the collapse of the Soviet Union to the consolidation of power in modern Russia.

The film moves briskly through major historical beats: the fall of Mikhail Gorbachev, the chaotic presidency of Boris Yeltsin (which provides some of the film’s lighter moments), and the rise of the oligarch class during Russia’s most aggressively capitalist phase. Baranov begins as a playwright embedded in the rebellious cultural scene of the time before drifting into television, where he works on reality shows and other formats built around manipulating “reality” for mass consumption. Somewhere along the way, he falls for a singer and fixture of Moscow nightlife (Alicia Vikander), though that relationship barely registers beyond offering a faint emotional throughline.

The real trouble starts once Baranov enters Putin’s orbit—played by Jude Law with an icy, tightly controlled menace. What should be the film’s most compelling stretch instead turns flat and repetitive. The schemes, betrayals, and political maneuvers—former allies turned enemies, carefully orchestrated crises, the steady consolidation of power—are all there, but they’re presented with a surprising lack of urgency or dramatic weight. Assayas and co-writer Emmanuel Carrère seem to be checking off key moments rather than building momentum, as if the narrative were a list to be completed rather than a story to be shaped.

None of this is helped by Dano’s performance. While Baranov is meant to be brilliant and elusive, the character comes across as curiously blank—a man whose intellect never translates into presence. He feels less like a puppet master than a mid-level bureaucrat who happens to be in the room where decisions get made. Whether that’s faithful to the real-life inspiration or not, it drains the film of energy, pulling everything toward the same muted, airless tone.

That’s ultimately where The Wizard of the Kremlin falters most. A 160-minute film dealing with some of the defining geopolitical developments of the past quarter-century shouldn’t feel this inert. Especially coming from Assayas, who brought such urgency and propulsion to Carlos, and who has infused even his more fictional work—like Boarding Gate—with a sense of kinetic tension. Here, that spark is missing. The film insists on the existence of this so-called “magic,” even shows its effects, but rarely makes it palpable. That may well reflect how power operates in the real world. On screen, though, it never quite convinces.