Set in 2014, a group of former classmates reunites to celebrate two decades since their graduation. They all studied at one of the village schools in Varmaley, a town in the Nizhny Novgorod region. Fate scattered them along different paths after graduation, but a shared celebration pulls them back together into one unpredictable story.
The reunion feels almost scripted by fate itself. Vasya, a police officer who speaks with the dry cadence of a criminal law textbook; Milka, once his school crush who now moves through life with her husband, a reckless streetwise figure named Anton; and Nina, Anton’s secret lover and Vasya’s wife in name only, are all present under the same roof. Also woven into the web are a deputy who bears a Napoleon complex, the deputy governor’s driver, and a sexually restless teacher named Agronomova, among others. The cast is large, and each person carries a fragment of the town’s shaded past.
If the sheer number of characters already feels tangled, the plot makes it even more confusing. The first two chapters orbit a maze where clarity slips away and the connections between people stay murky as a fog in dawn light.
When the group returns to their hometown, a sudden accident unfolds. Vasya and Milka stumble into danger together as an official car plunges off a bridge into the river. A miraculous moment follows: a single car from an earlier era surfaces from the depths, its secret cargo saved by good fortune. Inside the submerged vehicle lies a thermos that conceals a skeleton and, as the story reluctantly reveals, a meteorite that landed on Earth two decades ago.
The questions multiply quickly. Who is the deceased, and what is this meteorite really? The crew imagines the meteorite’s potential value on the black market, and the plot widens to a dangerous hunt for the mysterious cosmic relic. One by one, the characters begin to fall as a menacing traveler named Mushin—an over-the-top caricature of a certain kind of security officer—appears on the scene, also chasing a piece of space from years past.
Before rushing to condemn the show for its title, Raycenter, it is worth noting the initial spark. The concept blends a rural comedy with adventure on multiple timelines, flipping between 2014 and 1994 as the characters confront adulthood after school. The premise holds potential for clever contrasts and a fresh take on nostalgia, if the material can stay true to its own energy rather than bending under cleverness for its own sake.
However, Raycenter falters in its structure, where present and past collide with a dizzying gravity. The episodes pile on, one after another, like a layered cake that you can see but can hardly dissect. The hope that the narrative will settle into a coherent rhythm gives way to the impression of a fast-moving train that blurs scenery rather than revealing it in detail.
The ensemble is large, and the lack of distinctive thread among the characters amplifies the confusion. If any of them felt more alive or original, the questions about their motives and loyalties would have less weight. Kristina Asmus returns as a confident, boundary-pushing figure whose makeup and demeanor seem overdone yet remain captivating. Dmitry Chebotarev embodies the roguish thrill-seeker of the main road, while Ivan Dobronravov plays a kindly but underestimated soul who adapts poorly to the world around him. Alexei Zolotovitsky once again offers the quiet, stuttering shadow that lingers at the edge of the frame.
When the filmography repeats familiar masks, the danger lies in producing a sense of déjà vu. The jokes and character patterns feel reused rather than reimagined, and the humor often leans on a formula that can feel tired. In a comedy, a character’s oddities should serve as a spark, but here they sometimes exist to force laughter rather than arise from genuine observation.
Lubok’s writing leans into occasional jokes that echo the bygone era of quick, punchy classroom humor. The energy is aimed at a broader satire, but the punchlines can land heavy and feel rehearsed. The portrayal of a teacher who blends discipline with unexpected provocations lands with an odd mix of shock value and familiar caricature, which diminishes the impact rather than sharpening it.
What remains compelling is the caliber of the cast, a group of strong performers who deserve sharper material. The ensemble, more than the script itself, suggests there could be a sharper, more inventive comedy behind the scenes. With a bit more restraint and a tighter sense of purpose, the ideas could align with the energy the cast brings to the screen. As it stands, the humor often travels a path that circles back to familiar tropes rather than breaking new ground. The result is entertainment that feels like a rehearsal without the payoff of a fully realized performance, a touch of satire that never fully lands, and a rhythm that doesn’t quite match the story’s more ambitious moments.