Ewan McGregor Almost Rescues ‘A Gentleman in Moscow’ Series

Echoing the stylish blandness of its modern-art credit sequence, A Gentleman in Moscow is a handsomely inert adaptation of Amor Towles’ 2016 best-selling novel about an early 20th-century aristocrat who, in a homeland reshaped by the Russian Revolution, is given a lifetime house-arrest sentence in a lavish capitol hotel. A stinging critique of the Bolshevik uprising that swept the nation, Ben Vanstone’s Showtime series (premiere March 29 online and March 31 on air) has its political heart in the right place, if little idea how to generate propulsive drama from its premise. The result is a period piece that frequently succumbs to torpor in its attempts to stretch its tale to eight hour-long episodes. Accomplished lead performances by Ewan McGregor and Mary Elizabeth Winstead, as well as an inevitably bittersweet finale, do what they can to offset the overarching sluggishness. Yet more often than not, it’s about as flavorful as Russian cuisine.

In a 1918 Moscow that doesn’t resemble the one he left four years earlier, Count Alexander Rostov (McGregor) returns from Paris and lands squarely in the crosshairs of a Leninist government intent on eradicating all vestiges of the Tsarist past. An elegant blue blood whose title, standing, and wealth mark him as an enemy of the freshly empowered proletariat, Rostov seems all but doomed until, at his hearing, his life is spared courtesy of a 1913 poem of his that’s become a rallying cry for the Revolution. This unlikely twist of fate results in his perpetual confinement at the Metropol hotel, where he already had a room. Under the watchful eye of cold-hearted Red Guard bigwig Osip Glebnikov (Johnny Harris), he’s stripped of his opulent creature comforts and moved from his luxury residence into a dingy attic apartment where he’s expected to live out the rest of his days in disgraced solitude.

There are plenty of people in the Metropol who now view Rostov with a wary eye, most notably waiter Leplevsky (John Heffernan), who’ll ascend the managerial ranks over the course of the ensuing decades. Nonetheless, the count is far from alone, thanks to a variety of staffers who appreciate his company, from seamstress Marina (Leah Harvey) to chef Emily (Björn Hlynur Haraldsson) to head waiter Andrey (Lyès Salem). Amidst considerable hardship, Rostov is embraced by a community of working-class folks who are sympathetic to his plight. However, by choosing to render them as merely peripheral ciphers, Vanstone fails to exploit his story’s central irony. Instead, much of the early going is focused on Rostov’s acclimation to his uncomfortable situation and, more generally, to a new world order that in theory champions ideals of equality and solidarity, and in practice seeks only to destroy everything that came before it—including intellectualism, education, culture, refinement, and honor—so Russia can become a cold, gray regressive nightmare.

Rostov survives by refusing to change in the face of this negation of his past, his way of life, and his very self, and he does his best to impart his values to Nina (Alexa Goodall), a young guest whom he befriends and who gives him a key that grants him access to the building’s numerous secret rooms and passageways, complete with a means of getting onto the roof for (disallowed) breaths of fresh air. During his stay, Rostov strikes up a relationship with famous actress Anna Urbanova (Winstead) that evolves from an intermittent fling to a deep romance, and he reunites time and again with Mishka (Fehinti Balogun), an old socialist friend whose amorous connection to Rostov’s now-dead sister is repeatedly teased via flashbacks during the series’ initial half. As time goes on, Rostov’s rapport with Glebnikov also develops from purely antagonistic to something more respectful, and years after Nina leaves the hotel—and becomes a true-believer, much to Rostov’s pained disappointment—she reappears at a moment of crisis to leave her daughter Sofia (Billie Gadsdon) in his care, thus transforming him into an unlikely father figure.

With a collection of dapper suits, a big bushy mustache and a cheery smile that’s as defiant as his frowns, McGregor’s Rostov is a charming relic in a country that views him as the embodiment of its greatest evils, and A Gentleman in Moscow’s sympathies are unequivocally with him, sometimes to a fault; though the Bolsheviks are convincingly depicted as cruel authoritarians, the aristocracy’s own negatives are notably brushed aside so Rostov can come across as a paragon of likable old-school virtue. The series’ color-blind casting is similarly conspicuous, calling undue attention to itself and undercutting the proceedings’ historical accuracy. At least the material’s directors go light on show-offy flourishes while trying to find new ways to visually enliven action that’s confined to a small series of interior locations.

A Gentleman in Moscow’s biggest shortcoming, however, is simply a dearth of compelling narrative incidents. For episodes on end, the story concerns itself with matters that afford few insights into its characters or the larger political tumult happening outside the Metropol’s stately lobby. McGregor and Winstead share sparks and Rostov and Anna’s gradually developing dynamic is the most captivating aspect of this lengthy affair. Still, it’s not enough to justify the myriad diversions devised by Vanstone, lowlighted by a potentially catastrophic accident that demands an equally perilous response from Rostov. As with so many modern prestige television ventures, the show distends itself so severely that it’s impossible not to think that it would have been better off as a two-hour feature film.

Despite dragging intensely on its journey to the post-Stalin era, A Gentleman in Moscow at least rises to the poignant occasion with its finale, when circumstances conspire to provide Rostov with a shot at achieving his dream of escape and freedom—both for himself and for those he loves. Considering when it takes place, the series appears destined, from the outset, for something other than the type of happy ending Sofa adores, and in his conclusion, Vanstone strikes a moving balance between suspense, despair and hope. That denouement may not be enough to vindicate the wheel-spinning that preceded it, but along with McGregor and Winstead’s adept turns and the show’s clear-eyed view of the legacy of Marxist-Leninist ideology, it prevents it from being a total wash.