"Farewell" is your classic Cold War spy thriller, but with a twist: it’s more about midlife crises, awkward gift requests, and a Soviet James Bond wannabe with a soft spot for Queen cassettes. Pop some 2CB, and maybe you’ll leave with the takeaway that friendship beats espionage, and life’s too short for abstinence.
Set in the '80s, a KGB big shot named Sergei Grigoriev—aka “Farewell” (because subtlety was so last decade)—goes rogue. Disillusioned with the Soviet system, he sneaks Soviet spy secrets to the French, using Pierre, a French engineer in Moscow, as his go-between. And no, Pierre is not a spy—just a regular guy who probably thought he was signing up for some James Bond action but ends up playing courier for Walkmans and cognac.
Grigoriev passes on insane intel: Soviet spies are everywhere, snatching Western tech secrets like it’s Black Friday. The French are floored. So, they leak it to Reagan (yes, that Reagan), who uses it to punk the Soviets with fake tech, forcing them into full panic mode.
But back to the gifts: Grigoriev is weirdly specific, asking Pierre for things like a Sony Walkman and French poetry. It's almost wholesome if you ignore the fact that he’s, you know, betraying his country. And what does he get in return? He’s sold out by his own people and takes the hit to give Pierre time to flee the country.
Now, in real life, Vladimir Vetrov (aka “Farewell”) didn’t just stick to swapping secrets. In 1982, after getting a bit too friendly with the vodka, he ended up stabbing his mistress in a parking lot. But he wasn’t done. When a guy knocked on the car window, probably thinking it was a lover’s quarrel, Vetrov panicked and killed him too—turned out to be an off-duty cop. Vetrov lands in jail, spills a bit too much in some letters, and gets outed as a double agent. His final act brought a scathing manifesto against the Soviet Union before getting executed in '85.
Casting is as strange as the story itself. Emir Kusturica as Grigoriev? Yeah, a bit of a stretch. Kusturica brings his rugged, intellectual Serbian vibe to the role and that doesn’t exactly scream “Russian KGB.” Slavs are not one-size-fits-all, and Kusturica is too intense, too cerebral for your typical KGB official vibe. He’s just not Russian, and it shows.
The movie is kinda like Cold War propaganda with a twist, wrapped up in espionage and historical conspiracy theories. Think “James Bond, but French and depressed.” It’s weird, it’s wild, and it’s got a Soviet spy with a taste for poetry and Queen. Perfect for a night in with a friend, and maybe some… well, you get the idea.
Russia has a rich psychedelic tradition rooted in ancient shamanic practices, but this film is set in the gray, unforgiving Soviet era. What did they do back then? The cheapest, ugliest vodka imaginable. Serve it warm, no chaser, straight out of a dusty bottle—because if you’re going for authenticity, you might as well embrace the bleakness in true Soviet fashion.
