How exactly did a kid named Temujin, from the sticks in Mongolia grow up to become Ghengis Khan and control the largest empire in the history of the world? Russian director Sergei Bodrov plans to tackle that question in a trilogy of historical epics and Mongol is the first. It was no easy task for Bodrov to create such a grand-scaled film on a less-than-modest budget of 20 million dollars (donated by the country of Kazakhstan among others) and a crew of people speaking roughly 30 different languages. Somehow it all works.
One of the greatest delights of Mongol is the striking landscape captured so well by Bodrov and cinematographers Rogier Stoffers and Sergey Trofimov. The film manages to find a striking palette even when focusing on the dull browns of Mongolia’s arid steppe, contrasted beautifully against the gold of a panoramic twilight. The Mongolian landscape seems to shift tones in harmony with the fortune of Temujin; from the frozen white of his childhood exile, to the lush green fields of his reunion with his bride.
Temujin’s biography can only be understood as myth crossed with history. Born in a mostly illiterate culture in the late 12th century, records of his wheelings and dealings can be shaky at best. Bodrov settles on the idea that little Genghis Khan suffered, became wise for it, grew older and continued to suffer some more. Kicking the film off Temujin is born into political turmoil as his father the Khan (roughly- clan leader) is assassinated and Temujin’s birth rite as head of his clan is usurped.
As Bodrov depicts it, historic Mongolian’s were a stoic bunch and the movie is stocked with men of few words. Blood-brother and rival Khan, Jamukha is a much needed source of comedy as he merrily sits and drinks at the campfire despite suffering great losses in his battles. The deepest psychological tract in the film is Temujin’s rift with Jamukha, and his eventual recognition of the shortcomings of his people. In doing so he unites them, offers new laws and begins his conquering.
The movie’s action tendencies inevitably take over during its few battle scenes. For the most part they are achieved well, in spite of the film’s meager budget. A couple moments of hand-to-hand combat seem awkwardly stylized in an unexpectedly Ang Lee fashion. While that, and a couple more heavy-handed CGI strokes tend to conflict with the film’s earnest grit, overall the battles are visceral despite their predictable outcomes.
Compared to much clumsier historical epics like Oliver Stone’s Alexander and Ridley Scott’s Kingdom of Heaven, Mongol is a somber triumph. Taken on its own it is a film that is artful and amusing despite its self-importance.
***1/2
