Minotaur – Sydney Film Festival Review
Few filmmakers understand the fractures within modern Russia quite like Andrey Zvyagintsev. Across films such as Leviathan and Loveless, the acclaimed director has consistently explored how corruption, pride, and institutional decay seep into ordinary lives. With Minotaur, an adaptation of The Unfaithful Wife by Claude Chabrol, the now exiled director delivers another masterpiece, beginning as a complex relationship drama before sharply transforming into a nerve-racking crime thriller. The result is a deeply unsettling portrait of power, control, and reputation, and the first Russian-language film set against the shadow of the Russo-Ukrainian War.
Sharply directed and immaculately shot, Minotaur immediately immerses audiences in a world where personal and political tensions are impossible to separate. While the war looms in the background, Zvyagintsev wisely avoids making a conventional geopolitical drama. Instead, he focuses on the ways state-sanctioned violence infects personal relationships and communities. Public narratives and private lives become intertwined, and the desire to maintain appearances proves every bit as destructive as the violence taking place beyond the frame.
In our immediate foreground are married couple Gleb (Dmitriy Mazurov) and Galina (Iris Lebedeva). Galina is increasingly frustrated by her domestic existence whilst Gleb is facing increasing challenges as a business oligarch faced with the callous decision of whom he shall volunteer from his workforce to be conscripted and sent to the warfront. Gleb’s seemingly moral dilemma is one he seems unfazed by, whilst their loveless marriage has given way to Galina starting an affair, which she similarly seemingly has no moral qualms about.
But as the film progresses, the atmosphere shifts. The domestic drama gradually gives way to something darker and more suspenseful, with the story sharply pivoting into a gripping crime thriller. Yet the transition feels entirely natural. Simmering tensions eventually give way to violent results and the suspense comes not from wondering why the crime was committed, but from watching individuals make compromises that seem small at first, only to discover the devastating consequences they unleash.
Visually, the film is breathtaking. Every frame is meticulously composed, with cold interiors and bleak landscapes reflecting the emotional isolation of its characters. There is a haunting stillness to much of the cinematography, interrupted only by moments of shocking intensity. Even the film’s quieter scenes possess an extraordinary tension, demonstrating a director completely in control of his craft.
Perhaps the greatest achievement of Minotaur is the way it examines the corrupting nature of power. Whether exercised by governments, institutions, or individuals within relationships, power becomes something capable of distorting truth and destroying intimacy. Reputation matters more than honesty. Control replaces love. Pride triumphs over compassion. In that sense, the title itself becomes profoundly symbolic. Like the mythical beast hidden within the labyrinth, the monsters in Minotaur are not supernatural creatures but the darkness lurking within the human heart that lures and ensnares its victims within an inescapable maze.
By the time the credits roll, Minotaur leaves viewers spellbound. It is a film that demands patience and rewards it richly, combining the emotional devastation of Loveless with the moral complexity of Leviathan and the mounting tension of a great thriller. In an age of increasingly simplistic political cinema, Andrey Zvyagintsev has crafted something far more challenging and far more profound. Bleak, beautiful, and utterly captivating, Minotaur stands among the finest films of the year and yet another remarkable achievement from one of contemporary international cinema’s greatest directors.
Minotaur screened at the 2026 Sydney Film Festival.
