The second Russian Film Festival bunkered down in the Apollo Cinema on Regent Street in London's West End for a week at the end of September. A mixture of award-winning films, documentaries, shorts, master classes and Q&A sessions, the festival focused on the last year in Russian cinema, with some distinguished nods to a rich and varied cinematographic past.

On the feature film front, ten were presented, covering a broad spectrum of topics but all with a humanistic edge. From the sci-fi of Terra Nova to Nirvana's focus on love and betrayal, the films were presented in a lush environment. The Apollo Theatre initially feels like something of a James Bond affair, subterranean levels offering brightly blue-lit stairs, faux crushed ice in the urinals, a swank bar, and cinema seats that swallow you up like a red felt hug.

The pick of the features was Wild Field, a sumptuous entity, in which the landscape constantly threatens to engulf all players and kidnap the narrative. Such is the power of place, and its inherent spacing, that it automatically adds an edge to each individual character. Set in a mirror-world version of America's wild west, the film centres on Dmitry (Oleg Dolin), a young doctor stationed in solitude on a dilapidated medical centre. As the locals turn to him for help, not only as a doctor but as something of a guiding light, we are shown the workings of such a barren, isolated space and the humans which inhabit it.

A clearly tragic place, the vistas used in Wild Field are unfathomable in size; stark and threatening, but at their core beautiful. Pacing the film to offset the massive expanses, director Mikhail Kalatozishvili leads us through the cases Dmitry has to deal with, and shows behaviours within such a community, widely separated but strong. The doctor is an enviable character, full of compassion and concern in such harsh environments. Through his encounters we discover much of the way the locals behave, and the state of this countryside setting—he has no medicine, and all around him seems to be in decay.

During the post-film Q&A with Kalatozishvili, the audience seemed slightly unsettled by his answers in reference to Wild Field being a Russian film. In his opinion, the film does not reflect a post-soviet Russia, nor does it reflect a Putin-era neglect of rural areas. "Even filmed another ten years from now," he says, "it would have been the same film. It's not about a change in time, but about how a man can change the time around him." So it is a film about people; not necessarily Russian people. But the audience, largely Russian, seemed to be crying out for a Russian comment, be it fiercely patriotic or a vitriolic self-damming. What brought this film to this particular festival, considering Mikhail Kalatozishvili hasn't lived in Russia for over a decade?

Location clearly plays a part, although shot in Kazakhstan, the location is intended to be the Kazakh steppe—a massive area covering northern Kazakhstan and adjacent areas of Russia. Between in-film dialogue references to the Kremlin to Mikhail Kalatozishvili's own assertion that 300km out from big Russian cities, you can find hospitals just like the one Dmitry works in, the movie is soaked in Soviet indicators. Above location, however, is the director's voice, clearly heard through the characters and events. This is a Russian tone in the way a Western audience expect and love, Dostoyevskian in its acceptance and spirit; a battered existence either punctuated by laughter or alcoholism's pugilistic exclamation marks. Wild Field is a beautiful film, both well thought out and executed.

Similarly beautiful is Best of Times, another great feature of the festival. Slow in pace and pretty much free from characters you can comfortably relate to, this is the kind of film that can stretch time. At a relatively short 93-minutes, the film feels at least an hour longer than that—not due to viewer boredom, but simply attributable to that fact that director Svetlana Proskurina has managed to cram in so much character development in that time.

The film revolves almost exclusively around the characters of Valentin (Mikhail Evlanov), Katia (Jana Yesipovich) and Valia (Dana Agisheva), alternating between contemporary scenes and advancing flashbacks. The cliché of a love triangle doesn't begin to describe the mess these three get into; the unfolding narrative creates more of a love 'straight line' between both women, with Valentin rebounding between both points. As a young love sparks off between Valentin and Valia, the younger still Katia is already reaching almost feverish levels of infatuation. Before long, a violent altercation with a disturbed neighbor sends love's young male off to prison, only for Katia to pounce on her chance as he is released. It all has a faint whiff of Atonement, only with more passion and less pouting.

The film follows this progression as the weird non-behaviors of love come to the fore, and bonds between each character bend and strain, until only the two women remain, living side by side. The casting for flashbacks is astounding, as both actresses progress almost seamlessly from young women. Valia's particular progression indicates significant change in the film, while the progressive actresses share similar qualities; her face becomes slightly more twisted and drawn as she reacts to the events the other two deal her. These dark moments—as Valia's actions are themselves dark—see the audience frequently switching allegiances.

Those with a predisposition for supporting the underdog will find it easy to take sides with Katia, as her clumsy accordion practice contrasts with her rival's expert operatic singing, highlighting the qualities inherent in each. People who find jealousy repulsive will warm more easily to Valia, as her opposite number moves in after Valentin's incarceration interrupts the initial, truer love. Overall, Best of Times is an intriguing film, displaying the monsters we become when love is involved.

Elsewhere in the festival, the documentary section offered up A Melody for German, focusing on Russian filmmaker Alexei German. Renowned for his films including Moy drug Ivan Lapshin and Khrustalyov, mashinu!, and noted for a lack of musical scores in his films, German's approaches are explored, while simultaneously his home of St Petersburg reveals itself. Keeping in the documentary department, crowd favourite Rock Monologue followed Yuri Morozov, who defined the Eastern rock sound during the Brezhnev era.

Following the humanistic films explored in such detail in Wild Field and Best of Times, one of the discussions during the festival, The Filmmaker and Humanitarian Values, focused largely within the bounds of how the filmmaker, as author, can humanise society through their films. The round-table discussion featured international experts from Russia, Italy, Germany and USA.

Overall the Russian Film Festival was a breath of fresh air, punctuated by flourishes of naturalistic human moments, a focus on the individual and a great feeling of soul. Definitely a nation to keep an eye on if you are looking for quality and heartfelt cinema with no cheesy cop outs.

For more information see Russian Film Festival.