Pussy Riot

As I gradually emerge from six months of self-imposed isolation, desperately trying to get work finished (two new books out in the autumn), I went to see a screening of the documentary movie Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer the other evening. And very fine it is too - well worth catching on a big screen before it turns up on BBC Four.

Its greatest strength is the absence of a voice-over, instead allowing a series of participants and interested parties to speak directly to the cameras. Principally, of course, this means that the voices are heard of the three members of Pussy Riot who were prosecuted for their actions in a cathedral. And they turn out to be not only courageous and intelligent women - as one would expect - but also very funny. As indeed are the members of the Russian Orthodox church, though in their case the humour is not quite so deliberate: some of the more militant members look like slightly deranged fans of Zodiac Mindwarp, wearing skull-festooned T-shirts bearing slogans like 'Orthodoxy or Death'. (A little reminiscent of the old 17th/21st Lancers cap-badge.)

It's not perfect as a documentary - it accepts too readily the self-aggrandising of performance artists, it leaves hanging the question of class, and it makes a frankly silly comparison with the Show Trials of the late-1930s - but it's a fascinating piece that provides an intriguing sidelight into modern Russia. And it's confident enough in its argument that it leaves scope for those offended by Pussy Riot's actions to have their say.

There's an interview with the directors (from the always excellent Roast Beef Productions) on the Guardian website.