The new biographical drama The Idiot(s) arrived at the BFI London Film festival on 14 October 2026, helmed by director-writer duo Małgorzata Szumowska and Michał Englert. Clocking in at 118 minutes, the film casts Johnny Flynn as Fyodor Dostoevsky and Aimee Lou Wood as his second wife, Anna, while Englert also serves as the cinematographer. Although distribution dates for the United States and United Kingdom remain unannounced, the festival screening has already sparked conversation about the film’s ambitions and its execution.
Biographical drama meets rollicking period piece as the story follows the tumultuous years Dostoevsky spent drafting his 1869 masterpiece The Idiot. The narrative threads through his gambling addictions, strained marriage, and the frantic search for inspiration, all while the couple criss-crosses European salons in a haze of debt and creative pressure. The premise promises a vivid glimpse into the author’s chaotic life, yet the film’s tonal swings make that promise feel half-realised.
Performances and visual style shine amid the chaos
Johnny Flynn embraces the role of a wildly impulsive Fyodor with a blend of bravado and vulnerability. His portrayal oscillates between bombastic outbursts—particularly during the gambling scenes—and quieter moments that reveal a man haunted by self-doubt. Flynn’s commitment to the character grants the film its most entertaining fever-dream moments, even when the script pushes him toward caricature.
Aimee Lou Wood, as Anna, supplies the necessary counterweight. She conveys quiet determination, sharp wit, and a weary patience that anchors the story whenever Flynn’s Dostoevsky erupts. Wood’s performance is nuanced; a single glance can convey the exhaustion of managing finances, caring for a restless husband, and preserving her own dignity. The chemistry between Wood and Flynn feels authentic, allowing occasional tenderness to peek through the surrounding pandemonium.
Visually, the film is a triumph thanks to Michał Englert’s cinematography. Every frame feels meticulously composed, from the opulent drawing-rooms of St. Petersburg to the grimy back-alley gambling dens. The colour palette alternates between warm, gilded tones during moments of artistic inspiration and cooler, desaturated hues when debt and desperation loom. Production design and costume work further immerse the viewer in a stylised 19th-century world that feels both authentic and deliberately theatrical.
Narrative and tonal mismatches keep the film adrift
While the visual feast is undeniable, the screenplay struggles to balance comedy, romance, and historical gravitas. All dialogue is delivered in English—a pragmatic decision for accessibility—but it occasionally strips the characters of linguistic authenticity, making Dostoevsky’s lines feel scripted rather than lived. The inclusion of anachronistic pop-culture beats, such as a sudden A-Ha “Take On Me” cue, underscores a willingness to prioritize whimsy over period accuracy.
Anna’s perspective, which dominates the source material—a biography titled The Gambler Wife—receives far less narrative space than her on-screen husband’s antics. Many scenes reduce her to a reactionary figure, reacting to Fyodor’s latest debacle rather than pursuing her own arc. This omission leaves a thematic gap: the film hints at Anna’s pivotal role in stabilising Dostoevsky’s life, yet never fully explores her agency.
Furthermore, the film’s attempt to echo the philosophical core of Dostoevsky’s novel falters. In the novel, Prince Myshkin’s naive goodness serves as a mirror for society’s moral bankruptcy. The Idiot(s) touches on this idea by portraying Fyodor’s unfiltered generosity as both a virtue and a source of conflict, but it never delves deep enough to make the audience contemplate the original novel’s existential query. Instead, the story settles for a series of episodic mishaps, which, after the third repetition, feel predictable rather than revealing.
In the end, The Idiot(s) offers a dazzling visual experience buoyed by two compelling performances yet its uneven narrative structure prevents it from fully honoring the literary weight of its source. Viewers who appreciate stylistic flair and brisk, character-driven comedy will find moments of delight, while purists seeking a faithful, introspective exploration of Dostoevsky’s genius may walk away feeling the film fell short of its promise.
