Steve Rosenberg is a man walking a tightrope over a minefield. As the BBC’s last remaining correspondent in Russia, he is the West’s final pair of eyes in a nation that has sealed itself behind an Iron Curtain of propaganda, paranoia, and repression.

His new documentary, Our Man in Moscow, is not just a film; it is a survival guide. Released this week, it charts a year in the life of a bureau under siege, where reporting the truth is now a revolutionary act punishable by prison. Rosenberg faces daily vilification from the Kremlin’s attack dogs, including top propagandist Vladimir Solovyov, who has branded him "scum" and a "defecating squirrel" on national television.

The Piano and the Propaganda

The psychological toll of such isolation is immense. Rosenberg reveals that he survives the toxicity of Putin’s Moscow through a "holy trinity" of his wife, his dog, and his piano.

His viral piano medleys—blending Eurovision hits with a sense of melancholic hope—are more than just content; they are a coping mechanism, a way to find harmony in a city drowning in the discord of war. "We haven’t kicked out the goddamned BBC yet," Solovyov rages, but Rosenberg remains, reporting on the Kafkaesque reality of a country where "war" is a forbidden word and dissent is treason.

• Enemy of the State: The documentary exposes the visceral hatred directed at Western journalists, who are now treated as enemy combatants in the information war.
• The Witness: Rosenberg’s presence ensures that the world cannot claim ignorance of Russia’s internal descent into totalitarianism.

A Lonely Watch

Rosenberg’s resilience is heroic, but it highlights a terrifying void. He is the last of a dying breed, holding the line as other networks flee or are forced out.

His reporting is a lifeline to reality, piercing the Kremlin’s bubble to show us not just the politics of Putin, but the soul of a Russia that is being suffocated. As he sits at his piano in a white room in Moscow, Steve Rosenberg is playing the soundtrack to the end of an era.