Honestly, adapting Dostoevsky is a nightmare. It’s a mess of internal monologues and existential dread that doesn't always translate well to a screen. But when people talk about the Crime and Punishment 2002 film, they are usually talking about one of two very different projects that dropped that same year. Most likely, it’s the BBC version directed by Julian Jarrold. It’s gritty. It’s damp. It feels like 19th-century Russia actually smells bad.
John Simm plays Raskolnikov. You might know him as The Master from Doctor Who, but here, he’s a starving student in St. Petersburg who thinks he’s a genius. He kills an old pawnbroker with an axe. He does it because he thinks he’s "extraordinary." Then, predictably, his brain breaks under the weight of his own guilt.
Some people hate this version. They think it moves too fast. Others love it because it treats the source material like a psychological thriller rather than a dusty museum piece.
What Actually Happens in the Crime and Punishment 2002 Film?
The 2002 BBC adaptation doesn't waste time. It’s a two-part miniseries that clocks in around three hours. That’s enough time to breathe, unlike the 2002 American version starring Crispin Glover—which is a totally different, surrealist beast set in a weird, modern-ish dreamscape.
In the Jarrold version, the focus is squarely on the cat-and-mouse game between Raskolnikov and Porfiry Petrovich. Ian McDiarmid (yes, Emperor Palpatine himself) plays Porfiry. He is incredible. He doesn't yell. He just sits there, drinking tea and peeling away Raskolnikov's sanity layer by layer. It’s uncomfortable to watch.
The plot stays pretty faithful to the 1866 novel. Rodion Raskolnikov is broke. He lives in a room the size of a coffin. He sells his father’s silver watch to a "vile" pawnbroker and decides that the world would be better off if she were dead. More importantly, he wants to prove he’s a "Napoleon"—someone who can break the law for a higher purpose. He kills her. He accidentally kills her sister, too. The rest of the movie is just him vibrating with anxiety while the police circle closer.
The Problem With Modernizing Dostoevsky
Adapting this book is basically a suicide mission for a director. Dostoevsky wrote pages and pages of just... thoughts. How do you film a thought? The Crime and Punishment 2002 film tries to do it through atmosphere. The lighting is sickly yellow. The streets are crowded and loud.
A lot of critics at the time, including those writing for The Guardian, noted that Simm’s Raskolnikov feels more like a modern delinquent than a Victorian philosopher. Is that a bad thing? Maybe not. It makes the "Ubermensch" theory feel dangerous again. It’s not just some old book; it’s the story of a guy who read too many internet forums and decided he was a god.
The Rivalry: John Simm vs. Crispin Glover
We have to address the elephant in the room. 2002 was a weirdly specific year for this story.
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While the BBC was doing their period-accurate drama, Menahem Golan released his own version. It’s often confused with the BBC one because of the shared release year. Crispin Glover plays Raskolnikov. It is bizarre. It’s set in a version of Russia that looks like a cheap stage play, and Glover is, well, Crispin Glover. He’s twitchy and strange.
If you’re looking for the "definitive" Crime and Punishment 2002 film, you’re almost certainly looking for the John Simm version. The Glover version is a cult curiosity, but the BBC production is the one that actually captures the soul of the book.
Simm brings a vulnerability that's often missing. Usually, Raskolnikov is played as a cold intellectual. Simm plays him like a kid who is about to throw up. It’s more human. It makes his eventual relationship with Sonya, the prostitute with a heart of gold (played by Lara Belmont), feel less like a metaphor and more like two broken people trying not to drown.
Why Porfiry Petrovich Steals the Show
Ian McDiarmid’s performance is the secret weapon here. In the novel, Porfiry is a psychological mastermind. He knows Raskolnikov did it from the first five minutes they meet. He just wants Raskolnikov to admit it to himself.
McDiarmid plays this with a terrifying politeness. He’s the "kindly uncle" who is actually a shark. When he tells Raskolnikov, "It was you, Rodion Romanovich; you and no one else," it’s one of the best moments in TV history. No shouting. Just a factual statement. That’s where the 2002 film beats almost every other version, including the 1970 Soviet one or the 1935 Peter Lorre version.
Is it Worth Watching Today?
Let's be real. It’s over twenty years old. The video quality isn't 4K. It looks like it was shot on early 2000s digital or 16mm film, which gives it a grainy, slightly "cheap" feel. But that actually works in its favor. St. Petersburg in the book isn't supposed to be pretty. It’s supposed to be a fever dream.
The themes haven't aged a day. We still have people who think they are above the law because they're "disruptors" or "special." Raskolnikov is the original "main character syndrome" sufferer.
One thing that might bug you: the ending. Dostoevsky’s ending in the book is famously polarizing. It’s a religious redemption arc that some people find unearned. The Crime and Punishment 2002 film handles the epilogue quickly. It focuses more on the psychological collapse than the spiritual rebirth. If you’re a hardcore theologian, you might find it a bit light. If you’re a fan of psychological thrillers, it’s perfect.
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Technical Breakdown: The Nitty Gritty
- Director: Julian Jarrold
- Screenplay: Tony Marchant
- Key Cast: John Simm, Ian McDiarmid, Shaun Dooley, Geraldine James
- Runtime: Approximately 200 minutes
- Original Air Date: February 2002 on BBC Two
The pacing is surprisingly brisk. You don't feel the three hours. Marchant’s script cuts out a lot of the side plots—like the excessive details about Marmeladov’s drinking—to keep the focus on the murder and the guilt. It’s a streamlined version of a very bloated book.
Common Misconceptions About the Movie
People often get things mixed up when they search for this.
First, they think it’s a horror movie. It isn't. It’s a drama, though the murder scene is pretty brutal. It’s messy and clumsy, which is accurate to the book. Raskolnikov isn't a professional hitman; he's a terrified amateur.
Second, viewers sometimes expect a big "CSI" style trial. Nope. The "punishment" in the title isn't really about prison. It’s about what happens in his head before he even gets caught. The 2002 film gets this right. The prison scenes are a footnote.
Third, people assume it's boring because it's "educational." It’s actually kind of a banger. The tension during the police station scenes is higher than in most modern action movies.
How to Get the Most Out of Your Rewatch
If you’re going to dive into the Crime and Punishment 2002 film, do it right.
Watch it in the dark. It’s a moody film. Don't try to multitask. The dialogue between Raskolnikov and Porfiry is dense. If you miss a sentence, you miss the psychological trap being set.
Compare it to the book if you’ve read it, but don't be a jerk about the changes. Yes, Svidrigailov (played by the late, great John Nettles) is scaled back a bit. But what’s there is chilling. Nettles plays him with a predatory stillness that makes your skin crawl.
Actionable Next Steps for Film Buffs
- Locate the Correct Version: Ensure you are watching the BBC/Julian Jarrold version (John Simm) rather than the Menahem Golan version (Crispin Glover) unless you want a very "experimental" evening.
- Contextualize the "Extraordinary Man" Theory: Before watching, spend five minutes reading about Raskolnikov's essay on the "Napoleon" complex. It makes his motivations much clearer.
- Watch for the Sound Design: Pay attention to the background noise in the St. Petersburg scenes. The clatter and screaming are intentional—they represent Raskolnikov’s internal chaos.
- Double Feature: If you want to see how this story evolved, watch the 2002 film and then watch Match Point by Woody Allen. It’s basically a modern, unofficial remake that explores what happens if Raskolnikov doesn't feel guilty.
The 2002 adaptation remains the most accessible way to experience Dostoevsky's masterpiece without slogged through 500 pages of Russian patronymics. It’s visceral, well-acted, and honestly, a bit depressing—in the best way possible.