A film that might once have seemed too big for its breeches — slow, cryptic, overly enamored of complicated camera movements and crepuscular compositions — probably looks better than it did then, a necessary step in the evolution of a major filmmaker. . . . The first two-thirds are an extraordinary slow burn that provides ample time to admire Mr. Zvyagintsev’s talent with the wide frame. The movie is marred by an unsatisfying resolution, which has a coyness better suited to literature.