Mongol

The leader, Genghis Khan, aware of his destiny, with uncompromising faith, purity of intent, and divine cognition, against all.

Sergei Bodrov's Mongol chronicles the early life of the legend of Genghis Khan, known as Temudgin, who united the disparate peoples of Mongolia and conquered half the known world in the 13th century. The maintenance of his rule was supported by the strict adherence to an unwritten set of principles orally upheld by the just within his domain, with only one exception. Temudjin (Tadanobu Asano) pursues his childhood love Börte (Khulan Chuluun) forever and for always, recognizing the value of her companionship and the unflinching resolution of her courage. In order to be together they face war, slavery, betrayal and vengeance, but in the end, when Temudjin demonstrates that he has conquered his people's most revered natural fear, their union finds the stability to endure.

Through the ages.

Like many epic films attempting to portray the conflicting legendary accounts of the identity of a conquerer, Mongol is divided into a series of concise, precise episodes, rich in symbolism and terse in dialogue, each movement supporting and challenging the next, the successful epic, like the successful conquerer, synthesizing their balance with an analytical purpose. Bodrov's purpose is to lay siege to the historical traditions that have portrayed Genghis as a monster, and throughout this enticing fairy tale, and within its filmic domain, he assuredly succeeds.

Temudgin's best friend is Jamukha (Honglei Sun), who rescued him as a child after his father, the Khan of his people, was poisoned by an enemy (the rebellious Targutai [Amadu Mamadakov] taking the Khanship by force afterwards while humiliating the usurped Temudgin). Jamukha and Temudgin become blood brothers but eventually find themselves at odds, having amassed the two largest armies in Mongolia. Temudgin's forces are victorious and his moral fibre will not permit him to slay his defeated brother. While Jamukha would have certainly killed Temudgin, and has no respect for feminine strength, Temudgin has found peace by maintaining childhood pacts, the confident man whose persisting progress is dependent upon consciously breathing the past in the present. Temudgin's forgiveness is heralded in an earlier scene where he and Jamukha lay on the ground beside one another, their position suggesting that in order for these two giants to remain brothers, they must be dreaming. In the concluding moments, his dominance solidified, his hardships endured, Temudgin's character perfectly aligns wisdom, courage, and moderation, never doubting the legitimacy of his actions, wherein the justice of his ethical dreams finds its political realization.

Much to the dismay of his neighbouring kingdoms.

Mongol is certainly far-fetched and ludicrously implausible, Genghis Khan, the war-like proto-feminist messiah building a civilization from the wastes of his cultural dune. The legends of Genghis's brutality may be exaggerated, but how often do individual's attain positions such as his without recourse to brutality? By presenting a perfect leader with the wizened and fair soul of a child (in a thoroughly entertaining fashion), a filmmaker can make everyone who follows the rules feel as if they too are a leader. Assuredly, it's a great feeling, and Bodrov subtly crafts this subliminal layer while frankly displaying enough heroic hyperbole to disengage its realistic relationship, thereby formally portraying the objective reality of democratic freedom.

Was Genghis Khan brutal? Probably. Kind? To his followers and family, most likely. Almost anyone in a position of power leaves themselves open to constant charges of being either good or evil, and attempting to attach a definitive judgment to their character is as historically fleeting as any world empire. Mongol effectively yet outrageously presents an extreme refutation of those who would platonically vilify the great leader, while engaging in the same tactics used by its propagandistic opponents. Is Bordov's narrative Temudgin and his combatant's Jamukha, the two separating into various ideological camps and polemically waging their conceptions to support their intellectual/popular markets? Because if this is the case, Bordov's potential usurpers have a significant battle to fight if they are to deconstruct his design in a commensurately tantalizing fashion.