Romance and Rhetoric

“The Russia House” is a romance—of rhetoric as much as relationship, with ideas as much as individuals. It’s about a scientist with the soul of a poet, a heroic drunk who finds it in himself to become a decent human being, and the bewitchingly beautiful woman who makes them both better men.

“The Russia House,” based on the John LeCarre novel, stars Sean Connery and Michelle Pfeiffer as two people caught in a web of spies and politics, whose love could prove fatal to them both. When Katya (Pfeiffer), a beautiful Russian book editor, attempts to send British publisher Barley Blair (Connery) a manuscript written by a noted Soviet scientist, she unwittingly draws them both into a world of international espionage. The manuscript, which contains information that could alter the balance of world power, is intercepted by the West’s spy-masters who then send Blair to Russia to gain more information on the mysterious document. But after Blair falls for Katya, he finds himself torn between his mission and the woman whose passion for her country and for Blair knows no bounds.

This is one of those rare films I return to time and again—twice a year on average—that continues to affect me deeply. I love its idealism. I love its romanticism. I love that it takes these two ways of being in the world and juxtaposes them with cynicism of the benighted, fearful men running the world.

“The Russia House” is a romance I can believe in, one that resonates with me, one that has credibility, one that is grounded in reality. It miraculously manages to be wise and profound, about real issues of honor and justice, of love and hate, of life and death, yet remains wondrously, wildly romantic.

The events of “The Russia House” are set into motion because of these words by Barley at a writers retreat in Russia during the Cold War:

Barley: I believe in the new Russia. You may not, but I do. Years ago, it was just a pipe dream. Today, it's our only hope. We thought we could bankrupt you by raising the stakes in the arms race. Gambling with the fate of the human race.

Russian writer: Barley, you won your gamble. Nuclear peace for years.

Barley: Oh, rubbish. What peace? Ask the Czechs, the Vietnamese, the Koreans. Ask the Afghans. No. If there is to be hope, we must all betray our countries. We have to save each other, because all victims are equal. And none is more equal than others. It’s everyone's duty to start the avalanche.

Russian writer: A heroic thought, Barley.

Barley: Listen, nowadays you have to think like a hero just to behave like a merely decent human being.

Later, a writer named Dante, who turns out to be a scientist as well as a poet, asks Barely to promise him if he ever manages to act heroically, Barley will respond as a decent human being. Barely does, but when Barely discovers what Dante wants his help with, he wavers. Dante tells Barley that his thoughts on world peace have inspired him, which causes Barley to be confronted with whether he is willing to die for what he claims to be his most beloved beliefs.

Barley: I'm not the man you thought I was.

Dante: You do not have to remind me that man is not equal to his rhetoric.

None of us are equal to our rhetoric, but both Dante and Barely manage to be when it really matters, making them decent and heroic, and reminding us that being brave isn’t the absence of fear, but remaining resolute in spite of it. This, for me, makes “The Russia House” a profoundly inspiring film. If Boozy Barely Blair can be a hero, so can I, so can you.

Sean Connery and Michelle Pfeiffer are absolutely brilliant in their roles as Barely and Katya, and though in general I hate the way Hollywood too often casts young women and old men, because of the characters and the casting, it works here. But as good as Connery is, Pfeiffer completely disappears into the role of Katya—something difficult for such an extremely beautiful woman to do. With her accent and mannerisms and the persona of the old Russian soul she’s become, Pfeiffer is Katya.

“The Russia House” vividly and convincingly shows how few people—mostly scared, paranoid, small-souled men—keep the world from peace. It also shows the power of love.

Love, as the most powerful and powerless force in existence, gives us the inspiration and the ability to change, to become.

Love is the ultimate act of faith, of trust, and Cold War espionage provides a perfect backdrop of distrust to test the resolve of Dante, Barley, and Katya—lovers of truth, lovers of life, lovers of ideas, lovers of literature and art, lovers of people more than countries, of love and peace more than might and power.

Even in the face of certain death, Dante, Barely, and Katya hold fast to love, risking all for it—including their very lives—for they know what the author of the biblical book of the Song of Songs knew: “Set me as a seal upon your heart. For love is as strong as death.”

Barley: I love you. All my failings were preparation for meeting you. It’s like nothing I have ever known. It’s unselfish love, grown up love. You know it is. It’s mature, absolute, thrilling love.

Katya: I hope you are not being frivolous, Barley. My life now only has room for truth.

Barley:You are my only country now.

Love conquers all. It changes us. It changes the world—toppling empires, removing regimes, lasting, remaining, enduring. Long after the Russian and American empires are ash-streaked heaps, love will still be changing hearts and minds, giving hope and strength, comforting, inspiring, transforming. Boozy Barley Blair acted heroically in the way only decent human beings can because of love. Love gently leads us to become our best selves, gives us the best hope of being equal to our romance and rhetoric. These three remain: faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love.