The Nuremberg movie already seems to demand its own chronicler. One realises this the moment one steps onto the set. Like the historic trial at its heart, the project is monumental. Director Nikolai Lebedev is currently shooting his adaptation of Alexander Zvyagintsev’s novel Forever and Ever at Mosfilm, following location work in the Czech Republic and ahead of further filming in Germany and Belgium. For now, one of Mosfilm’s sound stages houses a meticulous reconstruction of the legendary Courtroom 600 of the Nuremberg Palace of Justice, where the International Military Tribunal sat between 1945 and 1946.
On set, the atmosphere is almost Babylonian — a polyphony of languages and nations. Even the carved Gorgon above the heavy doors might seem struck into silence by the sheer cosmopolitan energy of the production. This is cinema of a new order. Lebedev shifts seamlessly between Russian and English, as if conducting a tour, a reminder that after a long hiatus, Russia once again has filmmakers capable of leading large-scale international ventures. And this is nothing if not international: Nuremberg brings together actors from the United States, the United Kingdom, Germany, the Czech Republic, France, Belgium, Austria and Denmark. Russian performers include Evgeny Mironov, Alexey Bardukov and Igor Petrenko.
Sergey Bezrukov plays Roman Rudenko, the Soviet Union’s chief prosecutor at Nuremberg:
“My role is significant, given who Rudenko was. His erudition and oratory were instrumental in ensuring the Nazi criminals were justly condemned. For me, raised in the Soviet tradition, the Great Patriotic War, the scourge of fascism — these are in my blood. I watched countless films, from Soviet features to the famous documentary series The Great Patriotic War narrated by Vasily Lanovoy. Victory Day is sacred because of my grandfather, whom I grew up with, who told me everything. He is gone now, but I belong to that generation which still remembers. Playing Rudenko, the hardest thing is not to be overwhelmed by emotion. Nikolai keeps reminding me: ‘Hold it back.’ It is difficult, especially in scenes where evidence is presented — human skin turned into handbags… your hands tremble, you have to call ‘Stop.’ The cold clarity of the prosecutor is the hardest to embody. His speeches had to chill the spine. They were not merely condemnations, not simply hatred, but words spoken from the heart — words that transformed the air around him.”
The project’s complexity lies not only in its scale as an international co-production but also in the challenge of historical cinema itself, with its multitude of characters, intersecting storylines and weight of fact.
One day’s work sees the interrogation of Hermann Göring. He is played by Danish actor Carsten Norgaard (CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Alien vs. Predator, Resident Evil: The Final Chapter, Grimm). He avoids interviews, conserving energy for the role. In one scene, he speaks not a word, conveying instead the inner turbulence of the defendant. The performance is riveting, concentrated, formidable. Later, Göring speaks in German, while his prosecutor — played by Georges Devdariani (Red River, Grigory R., Mata Hari, Catherine the Great: The Rise) — replies in English. The linguistic authenticity matches the reality of the courtroom. Devdariani explains in the break that he worked to reproduce the precise mid-20th-century American English spoken at the time, right down to accent and cadence.
Launching such an international production amid a pandemic has been no small trial. On this day alone, the set holds 400 extras. Their casting is impeccable — were it not for the masks and the occasional mobile phone glimpsed between takes, one might truly believe these men and women had stepped out of 1946. Costumes, lighting, detail: every department contributes to an illusion so complete it beggars belief.
Lebedev’s command of this sprawling machinery is a spectacle in itself. He once told students, via Zoom during lockdown, that preparation is everything — storyboards, sketches, notebooks. True enough: beneath his director’s desk lies a canvas bag stuffed with thick, handwritten volumes. In them, every scene of Nuremberg is laid out. On his laptop, the same, mirrored in digital files. He has even fully drafted a previous unrealised project, an adaptation of Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita.
Nuremberg was not easily won. Lebedev laboured over the screenplay for nearly two years. The first day of filming had been set for 18 March 2020; two days earlier, lockdowns were declared across Europe. Preparations collapsed, only to begin anew months later. When shooting finally resumed, Lebedev himself contracted Covid. For three weeks, isolated and working remotely, he kept the production alive. He returned to set still recovering from pneumonia.
He is quick to deflect credit, speaking instead of his team, whose dedication gives the project its scale and spirit. The film is backed by Russia’s Ministry of Culture and has already drawn visits from senior officials, including Sergey Naryshkin of the Russian Historical Society.
What will the final film be? Lebedev is careful not to oversell. Yes, the courtroom scenes will anchor the story — but the action will range far wider. “In forests, apartments, cellars,” he laughs. “And on the streets, not only of Nuremberg but of Berlin. We have great adventures in store. The question is how to tell the story so that today’s audiences will watch. Stanley Kramer made his Judgment at Nuremberg as a courtroom drama, but our focus is different. His film was essentially about the ‘Judges’ Trial,’ a smaller proceeding. Ours tackles the main Nuremberg Trial — but at its core, it too is about people, about human relationships.”
Why does justice need to be reaffirmed? Lebedev answers without hesitation: “Human history itself tells us why. We encounter injustice and malice time and again. Yet in the end, moral truth prevails. However dark the hour, what triumphs in mankind is not the bestial but the human. The Nuremberg Tribunal showed that people unite not simply to punish, but to forge new moral foundations.”
Asked whether he realises he is making history, Lebedev demurs. “Every project is about people. Ambition is well and good, but it is foolish to boast before the work is done. When Eldar Ryazanov made The Irony of Fate, no one imagined it would be remembered by hundreds of millions. It was a modest story.”
Nuremberg, however, is anything but modest. It is from the outset an ambitious undertaking. Lebedev’s hope is simple, and not immodest: “That it will be living cinema — strong, vivid, powerful. The rest we can speak of afterwards.”