Rock and rebellion share identical DNA. From adolescent angst to organized resistance, the music genre has sung backup vocals to more than a few social uprisings in its time. Accompanied by its promises of fame, recklessness, and freedom, rock embodies a lifestyle many seek to lead, and as such, the dream of becoming the prototypical “rockstar” endures to this day.
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However, for Mike Naumenko (Roman Bilyk) and Viktor Tsoy (Teo Yoo), the lifestyle of a Russian musician was far from the fantasy of sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll. Forced into the confines of underground clubs and apartment living rooms by a tyrannical government, the rock scene of 1980s Russia was strangled by political oppression.
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As the career of the nation’s musical posterchild—Mike—enters a creative drought, the former superstar meets the unruly up-and-comer Viktor, who embodies everything that Mike used to be: young, creative, and alive. As the two musicians settle into a master-apprentice relationship, Viktor not only threatens to steal the spotlight away from Mike but also threatens to capture the affections of Natasha (Irina Starshenbaum), Mike’s wife.
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Love triangles and lo-fi ballads abound in “Leto,” a perplexing assortment of elements that ultimately coalesce into a sorta-musical, kinda-based-on-a-true story romantic drama. Directed by Kirill Serebrennikov, the controversial filmmaker implemented the finishing touches on the film while under house arrest after being charged with embezzling $2 million in government funds, although he has since been released. Even though Serebrennikov is renowned for crafting bold, socially conscious works both in theater and on film, separated from its intriguing behind-the-scenes spectacle, “Leto” does not possess any worthwhile merits of its own.
Clocking in at approximately two-hours, “Leto” finds a comfortable tempo early on in its bloated runtime, and regrettably fails to deviate from this tedious sense of pacing for the remainder of its duration, which permits the film to maintain a tranquil control of narrative fluidity, but woefully disregards any internal or external character conflict whatsoever. Moreover, as a proposed biography on the lives of real-life musicians Mike Naumenko and Viktor Tsoy, albeit loosely based, “Leto” plays too freely with the facts to inform foreign audiences of either individuals’ importance or impact on the Russian rock scene, and thus, creates an impenetrable wall of cultural disconnect.
On the whole, Serebrennikov’s rock biopic is plotless. If “Leto” focused solely on creating a sensory experience or flaunted wild stylistic embellishments, this transgression could easily be forgiven. But, unfortunately, this is not the case. Apart from a handful of super eight interludes, offkey sing-along sequences and fourth wall breaks—a nameless character occasionally pops in to comedically inform the audience that certain scenes are blatantly fictionalized—the movie seems perfectly content with keeping its subject matter abnormally drab.
Beneath the surface, “Leto” functions as an examination of artists, with transition operating as the overarching theme of the work. As Mike’s relationship with Natasha begins to stale, as does the Russian rock scene with its overreliance on imitation and lack of creativity. However, once Viktor appears, with his New Wave influence and boyish swagger, the stage reignites, allowing Mike to rediscover his creative spirit and remember why he fell in love with Natasha and music in the first place.
Combined with an intoxicating soundtrack, any praises that “Leto” earns are strictly technical. The fantastic black-and-white cinematography, combined with the film’s laid-back attitude, crafts a noticeably moody atmosphere, and despite its frustrating lack of plot development or dramatic tension, “Leto” boasts a seductive charisma. With a pair of sunglasses perched on the end of its nose and a cigarette hanging from its bottom lip, the movie seemingly exists only for itself, showcasing little concern for outside opinions.
In English, “Leto” translates to “summer,” which for many, is a time of year preoccupied with anything but work, where play reigns over all. And perhaps, this is precisely what Serebrennikov intended with his laidback portrait of two Russian rock icons—a film that isn’t designed to enthrall or inform, but simply entertain. Unfortunately, “Leto” sadly feels more like the conclusion of summer than the start of the year’s brightest season, and is too devoid of energy to warrant a recommendation to anyone other than diehard fans of Serebrennikov’s prior work. [C-]
 returns to the big-screen with a tribute to the early years of Russian rock.){kind=link}