THE THIEF

• Starring Vladimir Mashkov, Ekaterina Rednikova and Misha Philipchuk
• Directed by Pavel Chukhrai
• Rated R, with nudity; running time 101 minutes
• With 10 as a must-see, we give this film a 9

By Eleanor O'Sullivan
Gannett News Service

(Sept. 18, 1998) -- Despite being made in the self-promoting '90s, The Thief possesses the great humanistic traditions of an earlier screen era.

It's a joint French and Russian production and the sobering fact is that it was made for TV, which just goes to show you that the tube needn't be a repository of mediocrity.

Lyrical, bright, funny and imaginative, The Thief tells a simple tale well. We witness the story through the eyes of 6-year-old Sanya, who is brought to luminous life by newcomer Misha Philipchuk. The boy has the sweet nature and easy screen presence of all memorable child actors.

It's 1952. Sanya and his beautiful widowed mother Katya (Ekaterina Rednikova) wander aimlessly through Russia by train, seeking food and shelter. In the cruel grip of Stalin, Russia is a shattered nation unable to provide even basic staples for its people.

A beguiling, handsome officer Tolyan (Vladimir Mashkov) deliberately bumps into sexy Katya on a train and quickly works himself into her life. Her fatherless son is alarmed by Tolyan's forceful personality but intrigued by his magnetism.

The threesome become a family, but with a twist: Despite his uniform, Tolyan is no soldier. He's a scam artist and thief. His modus operandi is to move the family into collective apartments, charm the landlord and tenants, then rob them blind. With the stolen goods jammed into a table cloth, Tolyan and his new family hop a quick train out of town and then celebrate in the dining car with good food and wine.

It's an exhilarating life, freed of money worries and boredom. Naturally, it can't last.

Of the movie's many riches, there is the genuine comradeship that Tolyan inspires among his new neighbors. For a time, they are lifted out of their grim lives by his bonhomie.

Director Pavel Chukhrai's flawless touch hits a nerve in a haunting seaside scene: After a particularly fruitful burglary, Tolyan takes the boy and his mother to a resort at the Black Sea. Until this moment, Chukhrai has shot the film, appropriately, in murky, hushed tones.

But he shakes us up by bathing the following scene in dazzling light. You can practically feel the warmth of the day: Pointing all the way, a grinning Sanya rushes through a sumptuous hotel down a flower-strewn lane to a mass of blue. The adult Sanya tells us in voice-over that it was his first view of the sea.

At this moment, we understand why Sanya and his mother are so grateful to this strange man.

The relationship that develops between Tolyan and the boy is crucial to the story's coda. Tolyan can be a bad influence -- he teaches the boy how to fight dirty -- and he can be a helpful guide through life's brambles. Vladimir Mashkov is an actor of enormous appeal, so it's easy to understand why everyone is duped by Tolyan.

And Chukhrai is so masterful, he can even steal from Shane and make the scene stand on its own. It's as beautiful and sad as the U.S. original, directed by George Stevens. Chukhrai's movie has echoes of another Stevens' film, The More the Merrier, a wartime comedy about strangers sharing living quarters.

The Thief is actually a celebration of a grim era's difficult but more convivial way of life. Tolyan couldn't possibly exist in today's world, with its paranoia and distrust of strangers. Director-writer Chukhrai knows that, which is why his film's powerful ending has such elegiac overtones. It signals the end of an era, but the good news is that The Thief shows that not all great human dramas are a thing of our film past.