Making any kind of music documentary is fraught with difficulty, never mind when the subject is a pillar of the Soviet establishment, whose every statement in his lifetime has to be weighed in the balance, who did not live long enough to be able to set the record straight, and who is not short of others eager to do that on his behalf. If this film falls between several stools, that very fact is an interesting symptom of the post-Soviet era.

Perhaps the strongest points are some beautiful images of Tbilisi and Yerevan, a complete filmed performance of the Concerto-Rhapsody under the composer’s baton with Rostropovich as soloist, and some thoughtful comments from composer Tigran Mansurian. From the side of the apparat, Khrennikov is seen explaining the anti-formalist campaign in 1948 (a ‘personal tragedy’ for him, he claims; and not that much fun, one might add, for those he publicly castigated such as Khachaturian – one of the least formalistic composers ever). From the side of the ‘secret dissident’, Vladimir Vasilyev, the original dancer of Spartacus, explains how the ballet can be read allegorically as a protest against the system (as could almost anything, but never mind). Other points along this spectrum are covered by the composer’s son and nephew, Solomon Volkov, other Armenian composers and the ever-effusive Rostropovich.

The end result could hardly be called probing, much less conclusive. But at least it is not as bad as the accompanying booklet essay – wisely uncredited – which raises all sorts of questions (such as ‘were the modern sounds of his Third Symphony an encoded expression of Stalinist terror?’) which the film itself – also wisely – does not attempt to address, even though the essay says it will.

Khachaturian remains, then, as enigmatic at the core as he was easy to comprehend on the surface; and it is hard to see who is going to be any the wiser for watching this film. On the other hand, it is hard to see anyone lining up to do better.