'The Death of Stalin' a dark, timely satire on power and politics

“The Death of Stalin” - ★ ★ ★

Just as history enshrines its heroes, it aggrandizes its villains.

The most fearsome perpetrators of evil can become calcified in the horror of their atrocities. It becomes easy to imagine them as stern, foreboding figures who could have only earned their impunity through obsessive, bloodthirsty rigor.

But of course, as Armando Iannucci's “The Death of Stalin” illustrates, many of history's monsters weren't nearly as imposing as their reputations. They were idiots. They were vulgar, uncouth, hapless fools whose grip on power was as absurd as it was punishing.

In “The Death of Stalin,” Iannucci, having already thoroughly satirized modern-day Washington on “Veep,” travels back to 1953 Soviet Union and the days following Stalin's collapse. That leap may seem greater than it is. Though the stakes are considerably higher in Stalinist Russia, the herd mentality of the power hungry to keep pace with political momentum is just as desperate. Here, a wrong move won't relegate you to morning television, but it will send you to Siberia, or worse.

Adapted by Iannucci, David Schneider, Ian Martin and Peter Fellows from Fabien Nury and Theirry Robin's graphic novel, “The Death of Stalin” may be both Iannucci's darkest and most timely satire yet. More than anything he's done before, Iannucci has narrowed the distance between slapstick and savagery, prompting us to contemplate — even as we're cackling — their uncomfortable proximity.

The movie begins with a scene that captures the expansive fear of life under Stalin. An orchestra, having just played for a radio broadcast, receives a request from their dictator — he's a fan — for a recording of the performance. Since none was made, the orchestra and all in the audience are forced to recreate the broadcast, working well in the night. Just as the record is rushed off, a pianist (Olga Kurylenko) slips a personal note for Stalin into the sleeve. Stalin (Adrian Mcloughlin) is reading the message when he keels over.

The news of his imminent death sets off a melee among the ministers of Stalin's Politburo, who come running. Khrushchev (Steve Buscemi) arrives still dressed in his pajamas. The latest list of names to be rounded up for the Gulag is recalled.

Most of “The Death of Stalin” captures, fairly realistically, the scheming and wrestling for power among Stalin's cabinet — the motliest of crews. The race, at first, is to be the heir to Stalin's policies and then, once the winds shift, to win the mantle of reformer, a feat requiring extreme political contortion. It's a rich ensemble with varying accents and uniform comic brilliance, including Michael Palin as Molotov, Jeffrey Tambor as Malenkov and Jason Isaacs as Zhukov.

But the primary drama is waged between Buscemi's terrific Khrushchev and the exquisite Simon Russell Beale as Lavrentiy Beria, the secret police chief, who, when not ordering murders, dabbles in rape and pedophilia. That Beale creates such a character with even a hint of sympathy is a remarkable accomplishment.

There are hints and allusions throughout of the staggering horror just outside Kremlin walls. This is Iannucci's first time working with real-life characters and it changes the tone of the film. “The Death of Stalin,” which was banned from release in Russia, grows increasingly grim. The laughs dry up and painful truths settle in.

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Starring: Steve Buscemi, Simon Russell Beale, Michael Palin, Jeffrey Tambor, Jason Isaacs, Adrian McLoughlin

Directed by: Armando Iannucci

Other: An IFC Films release. Rated R for language, violence and sexual situations. At Chicago's River East 21 and Century Centre and Evanston's Cinearts 6. 107 minutes