Red Sparrow feels a bit like a movie out of time. It has the sensibility of a Cold War spy thriller, pitting Russians against Americans. It has the feel of a John le Carré novel, more interested in moles and spy signals than generals and nukes. And yet it is undeniably modern: set in the present day, redolent of the current tensions between America's national security apparatus and Vladimir Putin's kleptocracy.
Director Francis Lawrence expertly sets the stage for us with his opening montage, crosscutting between Bolshoi prima ballerina Dominika Egorova (Jennifer Lawrence) making one last performance in front of an adoring crowd and CIA operative Nate Nash (Joel Edgerton) meeting a source. Her performance ends horribly; his transaction culminates in gunfire and a sprint to the embassy. Director Lawrence moves us from moment to moment, letting the music that plays during Dominika's final recital provide a rhythm that paces the cutting and the action.
This is delicate filmmaking; the rest is far blunter and more brutal. Unable to perform and saddled with a sickly mother, Dominika's uncle Vanya (Matthias Schoenaerts) offers her a new life. She shall become a Red Sparrow, one of a cadre of sexy spies who go around the world seducing their targets and stealing their secrets. "You sent me to whore school," she spits at Vanya as the film reaches its climax, and it's a fair description of life under the Matron (Charlotte Rampling). Sex and sexiness are little more than weapons in a new war, and the school's students must learn to use their bodies for the good of the state.
Speaking of the state: I had gone into the film expecting an actual Cold War thriller, a film set during the USSR's heyday. Instead it is very much in our present, with much chatter by Russian operatives about the dangers of disappointing "our president" (Putin goes unnamed, technically) and machinations against business tycoons who have wronged the Kremlin in some way. And yet, there are scenes involving floppy disks and the whole thing is a rather straightforward great-powers-doing-secret-things sort of movie.
It is not the purpose of Red Sparrow to do this—films with a capital-p Purpose are generally worth avoiding—but the two Lawrences have created a timely reminder that, for the Russians, the Cold War never really ended. It just went on hiatus. Perhaps it means this the perfect movie for our times: retro in its sensibilities, modern in its aesthetics, with a healthy dose of sex and violence to keep your interest from waning in a ripped-from-the-headlines subject that's already inducing yawns in many.
Red Sparrow is definitely not for the squeamish, given that it features one-and-a-half rapes and the repurposing of a skin-grafting tool as a torturing device. Bodies are reduced to their component parts and sentimentality is treated as an unforgivable weakness. Two hours and twenty minutes of this sort of thing is probably 20 minutes too much, especially given the rather mundane nature of the conspiratorial plotting at the film's heart.
Despite being a bit overlong, I was never bored with Red Sparrow, thanks in large part to the stellar cast. Jennifer Lawrence is both charming and hard-edged, swinging between brutal violence and pushy seduction. Joel Edgerton's appearance—once a rare treat, now what feels like an every-other-week occurrence between Bright, Red Sparrow, and next week's Gringo—is always welcome. But the supporting cast is filled with gems: Ciaran Hinds and Jeremy Irons as Russian officials; Rampling as a slit-eyed, psychotic sex-ed teacher; Mary Louise Parker as a drunk American turncoat. There's always something worth watching in each of their faces, a little eye twitch here, a mouth curl there.
Red Sparrow is a harsh film, one that toes up to the line of prurience without quite tripping over it. Of course, your tolerance for this sort of sex and violence will vary. Consider yourself warned.