Wildlife biologist with a passion for sloth conservation and sustainable ecosystems.
Last year, actor Jude Law remarked he “didn’t fear any repercussions” for playing Vladimir Putin in a new film. This production, though, could coincide so closely with the carefully constructed version circulated by official channels that, within Russia, it reads as a endorsement rather than a challenge.
For years, the Russian political apparatus and its entertainment industry have worked together to forge a made-to-measure version of the president. This character is a political superhero without age or mistakes, an ex-intelligence officer reframed as a local 007 who consistently understands more than he reveals.
“In Russia, the manufactured Putin has long eclipsed the real one.”
One recent example is a TV series released last October, directed by a pro-government filmmaker. Its main character is a fictional security officer selected by fate to “save” Russia from chaos. While the character's name Mikhail, the message is clear: the hero must be a familiar security officer.
Western portrayals frequently result in reinforcing this same narrative rather than undercutting it. A new film based on a popular book sets out to subvert the leader's mythology by presenting him as a symptom but as a symptom, shifting the narrative weight to the spin doctors surrounding him.
On screen, the president is shown as having been chosen by influential figures to stabilise the nation because he is “young, athletic and a spy”. The oligarchs approach him and all but beg him to become president. His response is that he would prefer to rule from the shadows, seeking permanent power.
This narrative is a key piece of state propaganda: the cool, reluctant strategist shaped by destiny. In reality, none of this ever happened.
Nobody ever begged Putin to accept the role. The position was in essence a casting call with no shortage of contenders. Central to this process stood an influential oligarch from the Yeltsin era who expected to run the state de facto.
“They didn’t need a powerful leader, they needed someone malleable, someone who would obey orders.”
Analysts concur that the notion of him as a master operative was constructed retrospectively. Stories about his clandestine activities in East Germany do not stand up to scrutiny. Fundamentally, he handled paperwork and technical tasks, a mid-level functionary not involved with field operations.
Interestingly, the shift to depicting him as a “007” could partly have been inspired by Daniel Craig’s debut as 007. His harder interpretation led Russian media and online audiences to make comparisons with Putin. Mashup posters swapping Craig’s face with his appeared on Moscow streets, fueling the growing tendency to see him as a Russian 007.
Given the casting, an actor well-liked by viewers there, the Kremlin are likely to seize the chance to portray this choice as a minor diplomatic triumph. Its exclusion of public dissent, the opposition, or prominent activists from its narrative, despite covering the past decade, is a pleasant bonus for state propaganda.
Domestically, Putin is frequently an all-powerful presence who never appears directly. He is hinted at through photographs or calls “from above”. Now, he finally acquires a recognizable face—one that could unintentionally echo the very myths it perhaps aims to examine.
Wildlife biologist with a passion for sloth conservation and sustainable ecosystems.