Songs of Slow Burning Earth, on OVID.tv

What do you do when you suddenly find yourself in a war, not of your country’s making? If you are like the Ukrainians, you carry on. You also document the atrocities around you. There have been many documentaries preserving a visual record of the carnage and destruction wrought by Putin’s invasion. Yet, just about each and every one of them finds new and revealing material to mine. From the nation’s perspective, that is probably more of a curse than a blessing. Regardless, Olha Zhurba shows the world what war means to average Ukrainians in her documentary Songs of Slow Burning Earth, which premieres tomorrow on OVID.tv.

Perhaps the most striking sequences incorporate real emergency service calls recorded on the night of the invasion, reporting massive explosions. Imagine what you would do if that happened to your neighborhood. If you were a 911 operator in such a situation, how would you respond?

Although Zhurba employs almost no traditional interview techniques, there are segments that are so moving, they should shame decent viewers. The sight of dozens, maybe even hundreds of provincial Ukrainians kneeling along a winding highway as a fallen soldier is carried to his final resting place, is nothing less than devastating. Did the Queens soldier who recently died from an Iranian attack receive a similar show of respect in New York City?

Submitted by Lithuania: How to Divorce During the War

Typically, destruction wrought by acts of war are not covered by insurance policies. Could they also invalidate divorce agreements? Marija chooses to end her marriage to her stay-at-home (to put it euphemistically) filmmaker husband Vytas the night before Putin launches his criminal invasion of Ukraine. Suddenly, the world looks entirely different to them both. Can their divorce stand the strain of wartime? Tensions run high for many reasons in director-screenwriter Andrius Blazevicius’s How to Divorce During the War, Lithuania’s official International Oscar submission, which opens Friday in New York.

Technically, Lithuania is not at war, but Putin’s invasion hits way too close to home for most Lithuanians, most definitely including both Marija and Vytas. Unfortunately, his Russian-propaganda-consuming parents are among the few exceptions, but he must move back in with them anyway.

War also makes life difficult for Marija, because her “Funny or Die”-like media company refuses to close its Russian division. That, as protesters regularly remind her, means the company’s taxes help fund Putin’s war atrocities. The former spouses each try to act on their convictions. Vytas starts attracting media attention for his volunteer work and activism on behalf of Ukraine, due to his ultra-modest celebrity as an arthouse filmmaker. Marija agrees to shelter a refugee mother and her two teenaged sons in her spare room, which turns out to be much more complicated and demanding than volunteering at a food bank.

The style of How to Divorce feels very much like one of Vytas’s slow arty films, which might lead some viewers to erroneously assume it is autobiographical or even a hybrid documentary. Of course, it is based on very real events, particularly the way most of Lithuania woke up on February 24^th and collectively said “oh 5h1t!”

With good reason. Blazevicius forthrightly depicts the ludicrous propaganda poisoning the minds of older former Communists like Vytas’s parents, as well as the thuggishness of Russians living in Lithuania. Yet, he also chronicles he Kramer vs. Kramer-ish rupturing of the ex-couple’s marriage and the toll it takes on their daughter, Doville, However, to some extent, they each develop buyer’s remorse, when Mariija’s new lesbian lover and Vytas’s parents fail to live up to their principles.

Man of War: A Former SEAL’s Ukrainian Rescue Mission

Remember in the days leading up to Putin’s unprovoked invasion of Ukraine when certain pundits assured us he would never do it? Then, once he did it, they blamed the U.S., because we didn’t sufficiently strenuously object to Ukraine joining NATO. Of course, they wanted to join NATO, because they knew Putin wanted to conquer their nation. Michael Connor is pretty cynical when it comes to geopolitics, but he finds himself fighting Russian shock troops to save his [adopted] niece in William Kaufman’s Man of War, which releases tomorrow on VOD.

Connor was deep into a dark night of the soul when Riley (the daughter of a fallen Ukrainian-American comrade) calls with an S.O.S. Sadistic criminal turned-commando Stanismir Koniev keeps the line open just long enough to taunt Connor. Big mistake. Immediately, Connor calls his former CIA handler, Charlie Lewis, who reluctantly arranges his transport into Ukraine with a group of British operators hoping to extract a high-paying oligarch.

Lewis also connects Connor with a fixer, Dany Sundakov, who has done business with both the CIA and the local underworld. In exchange for helping Connor, Lewis arranges an extraction for Sundakov’s family as well. However, Connor’s cynical “war happens” attitude obviously annoys Sundakov, who is quite understandably offended by the constant shelling and bombing of civilian targets in his country. The more he begrudgingly defends women and children from Putin’s Z-thugs, the more Connor sees Sundakov’s point.

You have to give Kaufman credit, because he actually sets his action films in the real world, which gives them much greater stakes, because the audience understands (or at least they should) the kind of brutality the Taliban is capable of in Warhorse One, and likewise that of Putin’s Wagner mercenaries in Man of War.

Both films also boast super-gritty, skillfully executed action sequences (shot on-location at convincingly realistic sites in Bulgaria). In the case of Man of War, the urban warfare is viscerally believable. Of course, it helps that LaMonica Garrett is a highly credible and physically imposing action lead, while martial arts-specialist Daniel Bernhardt makes Koniev a truly slimy and sadistic villain. He is also true to life, because Putin and the late but not great Wagner leader Prigozhin deliberately recruited violent criminals of his caliber for their dirty war.

Animals in War: The Animals are Ukrainian, the Savages are Russian

They might be animals, but at least they are not vicious savages, like Putin and his Z-emblazoned war-criminals. Through their reckless invasion, millions of animals in Ukraine, both wild and domestic, have been slaughtered needlessly. Seven Ukrainian filmmakers examine the idea of what it means to be a humane human during a time of national crisis in Animals in War, the anthology film conceived by producer Oleg Kokhan, which just released on VOD and Film Movement Plus.

Perhaps logically, Animals in War begins with its biggest star, appearing in a relatively weaker installment. Director-screenwriter Myroslav Slaboshpytskyi’s “Eagle” follows the remote collaboration between an American producer (or some such role), working on a documentary project in the spirit of Animals in War with a Ukrainian cameraman-documentarian in the field, but some sort of interference plagues his audio feed. It is a lot of Sean Penn (yes, him) showing us he cares, but the conclusion still hits hard.

Yuliia Shashkova’s “Cow in the Fog” also hits hard, but right from the start. Unfortunately, the Russian marauders reached a teenaged boy’s village just as they started evacuating, so his mother sends him off to a friend’s home through the forest. Underdressed for the cold weather, the boy’s only source of warmth is a wayward cow. There should be no mincing words. “Cow in the Fog” depicts war crimes. Yes, it is fictional, but, like all the constituent stories, it is based on cold hard reality.

In fact, Maksym Tuzov’s “Rabbit: There and Back Again” is directly based on the filmmaker’s separation from his pet bunny. However, it is largely seen from the bunny’s POV, which certainly distinguishes it. It might also build to one of the more “feel good” conclusions, but sadly, there is not much competition in that respect—again, thanks to Putin.

Indeed, Oleksii Mamedov’s “Sonny” basically takes a two-by-four to your soul, bashing it over and over again. Of course, the psychological circumstances are probably a bit more complicated, but essentially a mother suffered a severe psychological break after the murder of her young son. Consequently, when she hears a wounded wolf pup, her mind transforms the animal into her late Sonny. This is a film that could have easily gone wrong, but instead it really packs a wallop. Oleksii Zubkov also deserves tremendous credit for his portrayal of the military doctor who is so tired of seeing death, he agrees to operate on an “animal.”

Set in an aquarium, Sviatoslav Kostiak’s “Underwater Adventure” initially appears to be an allegory, but it isn’t. Arguably, it and “Eagle” have the weakest thematic links to Kokhan’s overall theme. However, it will certainly resonate with parents who might imagine the difficulties of raising children amongst such danger and horror. Frankly, it is quite powerful, even if it stands out as a bit of a ringer within Animals in War.

Ivan Sautkin’s “Torpedo” also uses misdirection with brutal effectiveness. Yet, it ultimately best represents the realities of war. As it happens, Torpedo is a goat and his owner is a granny, working as a highway spotter for her grandson in the Ukrainian defense force. Tragically, she will see a lot.

A Poem for Little People, on OVID.tv

Not every Ukrainian who serves their country wears a uniform. However, the volunteer evacuation teams still very definitely risk their lives. They travel into neighborhoods under bombardment to rescue the elderly and infirm—and their pets too. Filmmaker Ivan Sautkin was one of them. He made this documentary while desperately shuttling his most vulnerable countrymen to relative safety. American paramedic Pete Reed was also part of the team, but he didn’t live to see Sautkin’s film, A Poem for Little People, which is now streaming on OVID.tv.

This is a terrible title, but it comes from a terrific scene, focusing on the elderly Taisia as she reads the blistering poem she wrote (in Russian) for the Russian soldiers committing Putin’s war crimes. She allows them no illusions regarding their illegal dirty business in Ukraine.

Taisia probably isn’t going anywhere because her downstairs crony Zinaida is definitely staying put. She watches the motorway outside her window, calling in every Russian vehicle that passes to the Ukrainian defense force. They are the exceptions to the rule. In most cases, Anton, the team leader, uses grimly accurate language to convince the elderly to leave their homes.

Regardless of the title, Sautkin’s film puts a human face on Putin’s war crimes, over and over and over again. Frankly, the suffering and destruction it documents ought to be more shocking, yet such images have been disseminated quite widely—but people of bad faith keep ignoring them.

After the Rain: Putin’s Stolen Children Come Home

Putin uses Russia’s youth as cannon fodder, so it should hardly surprise anyone that he treats Ukrainian children as pawns and spoils of war. Over 200,000 Ukrainian juveniles have been abducted into Russia. So far, only a fraction have been recovered. Not shockingly, those who return suffer from considerable trauma. Understanding the need for counseling, as well as a break from the constant Russian shelling, a lake-front animal therapy clinic in Latvia offers healing retreats to rescued Ukrainian children and a parent-guardian. There will be no panaceas, but at least they get a break from the war and start the healing process, as Sarah McCarthy documents in After the Rain: Putin’s Stolen Children Come Home, which starts streaming today on IndiePix Unlimited.

Putin and his Wagner lackeys probably wouldn’t give a working-class Ukrainian fellow like Yvgeny a second look. Likewise, they would likely scoff at a simple Grandma like Vera. Yet, they both ventured into Russia to bring home his daughter Sasha (and Sasha’s siblings) and her daughter Veronika. It was especially dangerous for Yvgeny, because he had been held for over a month in a civilian prison camp, but it was a choice most parents surely understand.

Few abducted children could simply shrug off the experience. That is especially true for Sasha and Veronika, so they have been invited to the retreat. There will be swimming and hiking, but the real attractions are the therapy horses and the therapy dogs. The latter are pretty darn charming and eternally patient.

Nobody thinks the kids will be all better by the time they leave (except maybe regular viewers of daytime talk shows). However, the staff seems to make some progress. They have been through these sorts of sessions before, yet they seem surprised by how deeply their latest cases affect them on an emotional level.

CPH: DOX: Mariinka

The Zolotkos are a fractured family from a fractured land. The brothers grew up in the Donetsk region of Ukraine—and it really is part of Ukraine, recognized so by every reputable nation, despite Putin’s astro-turfed “insurrection.” Abandoned by their mother early in life, the brothers always faced a rough go from life. Putin’s dirty war added artillery and rocket strikes into the mix. At this point, they literally have no home to return to, thanks to Russia’s ruthless shelling. Yet, they and some of their former classmates still feel an attachment to the leveled titular city, as viewers might pick up during the course of Pieter-Jan De Pue’s documentary, Mariinka, which world premiered at this year’s CPH: DOX film festival.

One brother is only seen early in the film, presumably because he eventually sought extended treatment in Belgium for injuries he sustained in the Ukrainian defense force. Similarly, Mark Zolotko also fights for Ukraine, while his brother Ruslan fights for the Russian-dominated “separatist” militia. Their youngest brother Daniil will fight for neither side, because his brothers all agreed to his American adoption.

Frankly, that might the last point the brothers will agree on. Mark and Ruslan still occasionally keep in touch, but the former clearly considers the latter a traitor. In contrast, Ruslan seems to blame Ukraine for their mother’s failures and the lean, mean circumstances of their orphanage lives. Daniil, now known as Samuel, might be far removed physically, but he feels trapped between them emotionally. Awkwardly, his very Mississippi parents regularly pray for both Mark and Ruslan, and also help resupply each brother with new Ukrainian or Russian uniforms.

In addition to the Zolotko Brothers, De Pue also follows two of their contemporaries, Natasha, a former boxer now serving as a reserve medic and Angela, whose services as a shlepper into and out of Donetsk are in high demand. Viewers truly see the devastating consequences of Putin’s illegal war through Natasha eyes. De Pue contrasts nostalgic home movies of her graduation with more recent footage of her return to the bombed out school, as part of her deployment.

She also visits her late mother’s home, which appears ransacked and vandalized. At least she can salvage some of her belongings. In contrast, the city of Mariinka has been bombed into a ghost town of skeletal housing projects. Yet, Russian propaganda still loudly trumpets its “liberation” of the hulking ruins.

Like Samuel/Daniil’s family, De Pue tries not to take sides. His approach also extends to Samuel’s’ adoptive parents, who get fair treatment, even though they are exactly the kind of Southern, gun-owning Evangelicals that many filmmakers hold very strong biases against. However, De Pue often contrasts the gun safety and marksmanship training Samuel enjoys, with the life-and-death firefights his brothers frequently endure. The irony is clear, but De Pue wisely leaves it at that.

Indeed, there is only so much wreckage and destruction viewers can observe without casting damning judgement against Putin and Wagner (under whose standard Ruslan sometimes marches). In addition to his intimate access to Mariinka’s embattled youth, he provides a boots-on-the-ground perspective on the state of Donetsk, which isn’t pretty.

Capital Irish ’26: Sanatorium

To quote Jobim’s “Waters of March:” “It’s the mud, it’s the mud.” For decades, Ukrainians visited the Kuyalnyk Sanatorium because the mud from the surrounding beaches is thought to have medical value. Traditionally, it served as a combination rehab center and luxury resort. During the Communist Era, only the well-connected could book a room, even though the hulking towers had several thousands. Today, occupancy is below 20%. Understandably, the Russian shelling greatly hurt their business, but even before that, the property had seen better days. Irish filmmaker Gar O’Rourke observes the staff as they try to hold the Kuyalnyk together for another season in the documentary Sanatorium, which screens Sunday during the Capital Irish Film Festival.

When it was constructed, all big Soviet-era buildings were supposed to look like the Kuyalnyk, but time is harsh on this kind of Brutalist architecture. The Soviet construction materials haven’t exactly aged well either. Consequently, Dmitriy, the burly general manager (who seems to hold at least a partial ownership stake), must constantly oversee repairs, which more often involve short-term patches rather than long-term fixes.

The guest rooms are spartan and the common areas look threadbare. Yet, its faded grandeur clearly appeals to some clients. Once you acclimate to the Kuyalnyk, it starts to look and feel like the sort of place where Chekhov characters would settle in for extended residences.

O’Rourke takes a scrupulously observational approach, but he breaks up his shots and seeks out colorful staff conversations. Sanatorium might be comparatively quiet, but it never qualifies as static “slow cinema.”

Although not entirely preoccupied with Putin’s dirty war, inevitably the war periodically intrudes on the Kuyalnyk and their guests. Anyone who stays for more than a day or two is bound to visit the sanatorium’s bomb shelter. Since the invasion, they have also hosted many rehabbing soldiers.

It seems like the medical director, Dr. Olena, practices legit medicine, but the mud treatments look like big messy placebos. Much of the equipment also appears retro in the wrong kind of way. However, the Kuyalnyk’s repeat customers swear by the mud.

A Brief History of a Long War: A Graphic (Novel) History

It didn't start in 2022. It just got a heck of a lot worse. Russia has been attempting to conquer, subjugate, and obliterate Ukraine for centuries, even though the democratic nation considerably predates its frequently belligerent neighbor. Educator Mariam Naiem takes a wide-angle perspective on Putin’s illegal war, tracing its historical roots in A Brief History of a Long War: Ukraine’s Fight Against Russian Domination, illustrated by Yulia Vus and Ivan Kypibid, which goes on-sale today.

What is now referred to as Kyivan Rus formed in the 9^th Century, ultimately evolving into modern day Ukraine. Do not let the “Rus” part fool you. Russia came much later, but they adopted much from Kyivan Rus, including Cyrillic letters. However, instead of gratitude, Russia responded with war and cultural appropriation.

Indeed, Naiem’s “brief history” is often illuminating, as when she explains, through character proxies, how Soviet propaganda successfully demonized Ukraine’s traditional folk heroes: the Cossacks. She spends considerable time on the Holodomor, the Soviet-engineered Ukraine genocide-by-famine. Frankly, she maybe gives the Soviet state too much credit for their ambitions of industrialization and the “foreign hostility” they allegedly faced. However, the horrific consequences for Ukraine are inescapable.

Educated readers should be familiar to some extent with the Holodomor—even though it is doubtful many students learn about it in American public schools. In addition, Naiem also offers nutshell lessons in less-publicized Soviet assaults on Ukrainian nationhood and identity, like “The Executed Renaissance,” the systemic purge and execution of Ukraine’s leading artists and intellectuals during the 1920s. History subsequently repeated itself in the 1960s, when the dissident activists known as the “Sixtiers” faced similar treatment from Khrushchev, the “reformer.”

Klondike: Donbas 2014

The so-called “Russian Separatists” who terrorized Donbass Ukrainians really weren’t separatists. They wanted to become a Russian vassal territory. In 2014, Russian-backed “separatists” used Russian-supplied arms to shootdown Malaysian Airlines flight MH17 from territory completely controlled by Russia. Yet, Putin’s regime never faced any serious consequences. What kind of behavior did that incentivize? We’re seeing it now. Donbas was seeing then, even including a local Russian sympathizer, who suffers like Job from his allies and the wrath of his Ukrainian-loyalist wife in director-screenwriter-editor Maryna Er Gorbach’s Klondike, which has a special screening tonight at Anthology Film Archives.

Russia and its “separatists” tried to deny responsibility for MH17, but they had already claimed responsibility, thinking it was a Ukrainian troop transport. Tolik ought to be able to empathize with the grieving families, because the itchy-trigger-fingered Russian mercenaries also blew off the front wall of his house. His wife Irka is less understanding. Not only is she Ukrainian, but she is also 7-months-pregnant—and now literally living in rubble. Tolik wants to take her somewhere safer, but his neighbor, Sanya, a local fixer for the Russian mercs, “borrowed” his car.

Tolik’s marriage might be strained, but his relationship with his Ukrainian-loyalist brother-in-law Yaryk practically constitutes a cold war. Both are pigheaded and passive-aggressive in ways that   do Irka no favors. Yet, it is hard for outsiders to see why her husband shifted his loyalties to the rogue separatists. They regularly hold him at gun-point, stole his car, bombed his house, and then demand he kill his cow to feed them. To paraphrase The Producers, where did the separatists “go right?”

Indeed, that absurdity is at the heart of Klondike. The title itself might baffle initially, but it is a veiled reference to the scavenging of luggage—a gold rush—that commences after Flight MH17 crashes near Tolik’s farmhouse. There is much of Samuel Beckett and a lot of The Honeymooners in the three main characters, but it will be lost on many people, because the wartime circumstances are so grim.

Er Gorbach’s approach is also art-house all the way, which will further serve to keep some viewers at arm’s length. Yet, there is often a chilling point to her quiet, long-takes, which often reveal ominous movement on the far horizon. Make no mistake, her shots are composed, in close artistic collaboration with cinematographer Svytoslav Bulakovskiy. The fearful truth is that whatever you see in the distant background will inevitably arrive in the foreground—almost surely portending bad things.

CIFF ’25: My Dear Theo

Russia has deliberately targeted Ukrainian artists and filmmakers, like Oleg Sentsov, but maybe that strategy backfired in the case of filmmaker Alisa Kovalenko. After the Russians arrested, interrogated, and detained Kovalenko while she was filming the illegal Donbas invasion in 2014, she resolved to enlist and defend her country if Putin were to invade the rest of Ukraine, which he did. At that point, considered herself a soldier rather than a filmmaker, but she inadvertently made a film anyway, thanks to her video diaries and video letters to her son. Ultimately, she incorporated that footage into her latest documentary. Their separation is difficult for her as a mother, but she fights for his future, as she explains in her documentary, My Dear Theo, which screens this Friday at the 2025 Camden International Film Festival.

In a way, this film started back in 2014, just like the war, but everyone outside of Ukraine simply hoped it would go away if they ignored it. Of course, that only made things worse. Through family connections, her husband took Theo and his mother to safety in France, leaving Kovalenko to fight—but that is exactly what she wanted.

Initially, Kovalenko and her comrades are on the march outside Kharkiv—until they suddenly stop. Clearly, her unit is accustomed to the constant shelling. There certainly seems to be good chemistry between them all, which makes the final rollcall of the fallen soldiers seen in the film such a slap in the face.

Kovalenko incorporates some battle scenes, but it really isn’t an embedded combat documentary like 2,000 Meters to Andriivka. This is a very personal statement from Kovalenko that often eloquently explains why she took up to defend her country. Sometimes, the extremely personal POV limits its effectiveness as a film to rally global public opinion. Nevertheless, it starkly establishes the stakes for Kovalenko and her fellow soldiers.

Checkpoint Zoo: Putin’s War on Animals

It was like Dunkirk for animals. There were 5,000 beasts, of nearly every variety, at the Ferman Ecopark, all of whom had to be evacuated after Putin’s invasion. Nobody was prepared to pack up their own lives and flee, but transporting the zoo’s entire population would even more challenging. Yet, finding a place to take them all would be even trickier. The resulting rescue mission was a logistical nightmare and a humanitarian imperative the surviving ecopark employees revisit in Joshua Zeman’s documentary, Checkpoint Zoo, which opens this Friday in theaters.

Initially, Oleksandr Feldman thought the ecopark’s location outside Kharkiv, near the Russian border, was a perfect location. That was before Putin launched his war. Conceived as a combination wildlife shelter, zoo, animal rehabilitation center (both wild and domestic), and therapy animal clinic, the ecopark was home for wide variety of species. Unfortunately, it landed right in the middle of no man’s land during the Battle of Kharkiv, just beyond the final Ukrainian government checkpoint (hence the title), where it endured artillery barrages from both side that fell short.

It was several days before staffers could return to feed and water the animals, but some habitats remained too dangerous to reach. The animals grew hungrier, which made the predators dangerous.

Anyone with an ounce of compassion for God’s creatures will be deeply disturbed and angered by animal suffering documented in Checkpoint. The sight of the emaciated and trembling moose is especially shocking. However, it is important to remember there is only one man to blame for their condition: Vladimir Putin.

Indeed, the film makes this point several times, even when the starving and terrified big cats lash out at their frustrated care-givers. Of course, the Russians did their best to make a bad situation worse, launching mortars at the ecopark whenever their drones spotted multiple vehicles at the Feldman facilities. Zeman and the sound design team also viscerally convey a sense of how the sounds of war terrify and disorient the animals, because of their heightened auditory senses.

Mstyslav Chernov’s 2,000 Meters to Andriivka

The tiny Ukrainian village of Andriivka went from obscurity to tragic notoriety in ways much like the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan. For months, Ukrainian forces fought literally centimeter by centimeter to liberate the village from its Russian occupiers, only to fall back when the counter-offensive stalled. After documenting the shocking carnage of Russia’s scorched earth tactics targeting Ukrainian civilians in 20 Days in Mariupol, director-producer-cinematographer Mstyslav Chernov embedded with the Ukrainian defense forces to capture the battlefield conditions they endure in 2,000 Meters to Andriivka, which opens this Friday in theaters.

Before Putin’s illegal invasion, Andriivka was a town of no particular importance, unless you lived there. However, during the Ukrainian counter-offensive, it occupied a location strategically close to Russian supply lines. Of course, safely reaching the village was truly an ordeal. Surrounded by bombed-out wasteland, Ukrainian forces had to traverse a narrow strip of surviving forest that had been mined and fortified with fox-holes.

Many offensives had already failed when Mstyslav and his colleague co-producer-co-cinematographer Alex Babenko tag-along with the latest push. Consequently, everybody understands the punishing nature of the fighting they face. As the Ukrainians haltingly progress, Mstyslav and Babenko mark their progress: 100 meters, 200 meters and so on. It is slow going, made even more frustrating by some of Mstyslav’s editorial choices.

Chillingly, Mstyslav has a habit of rather announcing the fatal ends met (in subsequent battles) by the Ukrainian soldiers he interviews at considerable length, usually towards the end of their very personal and dramatic segments. Frankly, many in the Ukrainian military tried to dissuade them reporting on the front line—with good reason.

Although Mstyslav and Babenko certainly document the Russians’ brutal tactics, the film itself often feels demotivating. Whether intentional or not, it emphasizes the futility of the sacrifices made during the bloody assaults on Andriivka. While never pro-Putin, the messaging is decidedly mixed, which makes its release this week rather ironic, considering it comes at a time when Trump and his many of his loyalists are finally turning against Russia and endorsing support for Ukraine.

Indeed, if you can force a MAGA friend to watch one Ukraine documentary, make it Mstyslav’s previous 20 Days, which will reinforce their disgust with Putin’s bloodlust, rather than 2,000 Meters, which could lend credence to their belief Ukraine simply cannot win in the long run.

Bernard-Henri Levy’s Our War

Bernard-Henri Levy has a Ukrainian artillery position named in his honor—and he couldn’t be more proud. Probably no other philosopher has spent as much time in war-zones, thanks to his documentaries covering the Ukrainians struggling to repel Russian invaders and the Kurds’ battle against ISIS. Frankly, Levy has seen more of the Ukrainian front lines than most senior Russian officers, partly because Ukraine keeps inviting him back and partly because Russian officers keep getting killed in action. Yet, the media and politicians insist Ukraine cannot win. Levy examines the boots-on-the-ground realities of Ukrainian morale and battle-worthiness in his Our War, which opens today in New York.

Even wearing a flak jacket, you can immediately recognize Levy as he tours the Ukrainian forces in the field. That why it is so gutsy that he returns so often. At this point, he is on a first-name basis with Zelensky and has long-term relationships with several senior commanders. He also meets many enlisted men and junior officers, like Oksana Rubaniak, who also happens to be a poet, much like her late boyfriend, another fallen soldier. Touched by their stories and their verse, Levy promises to publish them both in France.

Throughout the documentary, Levy and his crew hear plenty of shells landing nearby and sometimes even whizzing past them. He also documents some of the destruction wrought be Putin’s scorched earth tactics. The images are shocking and appalling, but they can’t equal the visceral horrors of Mstslav Chernov’s 20 Days in Mariupol, but few films can.

Unfortunately, there is an awkward co-star. That would be our current President, whose bizarre Oval Office meeting with Zelensky happened during filming. It leaves a bitter taste that Macron’s administration is seen as a bigger advocate of freedom. Yet, the truth is Biden talked a better game, but he never really walked the walk either.

Yet, that scene directly into Levy’s titular thesis. He repeatedly argues that Ukraine is fighting the war now, so the rest of Europe (and even the U.S.) won’t have to fight it later. It is not just his interpretation. Russian officials like Dmitry Medvedev say the same thing, but more abrasively, on Russian national television.

Levy also forcefully contradicts conventional wisdom. Interview after interview attests to an undiminished resolve, both among the Ukrainian miliary and civilians. Yes, they could use more and better arms and supplies. At one point, Levy counts twenty Russian mortars for every Ukrainian response. However, the Ukrainians make the most of what they have. Those who nauseatingly use the term “forever war” to advocate abandoning Ukraine need to understand Putin started this “forever” war and it will only end when he withdraws. Until then, Ukrainian patriots will continue to defend their homeland, even if Trump or Lula ask them surrender.

That comes through loud and clear throughout Levy’s latest film. Highly recommended as a timely reality check regarding the state of Putin’s illegal war, Our War opens today (6/11) at the Quad.

ND/NF ’25: Timestamp

In retrospect, schools were clearly closed for far too long during the Covid era. Kids need school for both education and socialization. That is why Ukraine has labored and sacrificed to keep schools open during Putin’s war. Education continues, but the impact of the war is inescapable in Kateryna Gornostai’s documentary, Timestamp (dedicated to her fallen brother), which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films.

As one graduation speaker observes, this year’s graduating class lived out their student years almost entirely during wartime conditions, if we count the 2014 Donbas invasion. Obviously, things got even worse in 2022. Yet, Gornostai documents several graduations, only one of which was sadly virtual, because the school’s home city had been completely razed to the ground by Putin’s military.

Somehow, in-person schooling continues, but the experience is much different from what American viewers might remember. Elementary school children now receive regular instruction on how to identify and report booby-trapped toys left on the streets to maim them. Older secondary students learn how to tie-off torniquets, which involve the titular “timestamp.” Even the coursework for advanced architecture and engineering students has adapted to the times, because all new structures now incorporate some kind of bomb shelter.

Not surprisingly, instruction is often interrupted by air raid sirens. Even the national standardized test for university admissions now makes allowances for wartime disruptions. Altogether, it is a sad, bitterly cruel state of affairs. Admittedly, some younger children appear somewhat traumatized, but Ukrainian students in general exhibit an inspiring resiliency.

Soldiers of Song

Presumably, Putin and his trolls would say Ukraine’s music would be no match for Russia’s advanced weaponry. Yet, here we are, going into 1,107^th day of Putin’s 2-day war. We have also seen Ukrainian farmers carting off the wreckage of Russian tanks on their tractors. Meanwhile, Russia cannot shut up Ukraine’s defiant musicians. Ryan Smith documents the role Ukrainian musicians play both within the military and on the homefront in Soldiers of Song, a documentary supported by the Governor George Pataki Leadership Center, which releases today on VOD.

Think of it as “soft power” that turned hard as a diamond. When Putin launched his illegal invasion, Ukraine’s musicians were just as shocked as the rest of the world, but they found their talent could bolster spirits in bomb-shelter and on the streets (when not under artillery barrages). Soon, the Ukrainian military formed special musician’s units to maintain morale. Do not even consider accusing them of wokeism. The American military has many special active duty bands, many of which have histories dating back decades or even centuries. Remember the Spirit of ’76 is literally a fife and drum trio.

The Ukrainian musical morale-boosters take on many different roles. Some are enlisted, while others, like Svitlana Tarabarova perform in USO-like battlefield tours. The music also varies considerably. Tarabarova is sort of a Ukrainian Taylor Swift, who used to perform relationship-themed singer-songwriter-style pop. However, her music has recently taken a more serious turn (for obvious reasons). In contrast, Slava Vakarchuk and the band Okean Elzy rock hard, but can also go acoustic (they no longer tour Russia, where they built a substantial fanbase, again for obvious reasons).

Tragically, the war came to Vasyl Kryachok, artistic director of the Mariupol Chamber Philharmonic, when Russia dropped a bomb on the Mariupol Theater, while 1,200 fellow musicians, staff members, artists, and their families were sheltering in its basement. He is currently in-residence with the Kyiv Chamber Orchestra, yet again, for obvious reasons.

Perhaps the most personal and dramatic story is that of Sergiy Ivanchuk, an opera singer in training, happened to be evacuating a clinic when he was sprayed with five bullets, one of which was perilously near his spine. Fortunately, one of the doctors patched him up enough to save his lung. Nevertheless, his recovery, including a return to performances, is almost miraculous.

Kyiv Theater: An Island of Hope, OVID.tv

According to the actors based in Kyiv, Ukrainian theater overwhelmingly reflected a Russian influence, until Putin’s illegal invasion. Since then, they have increasingly looked towards the European avant-garde for inspiration. Of course, Putin does not care about culture, but it is another example of Russia’s loss of international prestige. French theater director Ariane Mnouchkine is exactly the sort of artist the Ukrainian theater world has been drawn to. To show her solidarity, Mnouchkine travels to Kviv to hold an intensive workshop, which Duccio Bellugi-Vannuccini & Thomas Briat documented in Kyiv Theater: An Island of Hope, premiering tomorrow on OVID.tv.

Throughout her residency, Mnouchkine heard drone raid sirens nearly every night, but fortunately, she never witnessed catastrophic-level destruction. Nevertheless, her traveling company staff fully understood that was a very real possibility, but they joined her anyway. Yet, throughout the workshop, both the Ukrainian and French participants deliberately avoided explicit political subjects and references. The Ukrainians had already had more than their fill.

Instead, we watch numerous improvisation exercises that often resemble out-takes from Samuel Beckett plays. Frankly, these very theatric theatrical performances are the least interesting parts of Vannuccini & Briat’s doc, but they get a majority of the screentime, in a film that clocks in a whisker shy of an hour.

Porcelain War: Ukrainian Artists Documenting Their Resistance

Slava Leontyev is an enemy of Putin’s blood-thirsty Z thugs in two ways. He is a soldier defending his Ukrainian homeland against an Imperialistic invasion and an artist preserving Ukrainian art against a cultural genocide. Collaborating with his wife, he has created remarkable porcelain figurines. Working for the first time as a filmmaker, he now documents the atrocities of Putin’s war as they happen in Porcelain War, co-directed by Brendan Bellomo & Leontyev, which is now playing in New York.

The art Leontyev makes with his childhood friend, art school classmate, and life-partner Anya Stasenko combines Ukrainian tradition with their own whimsical sensibilities. Figurines like their dragonlings are ornately decorated, but their shapes and expressions are quite appealing, even cute. Not surprisingly, their figurines have become moral boosting mascots for Leontyev’s “Saigon” Unit, who specialize in dangerous missions in compromised territory.

Porcelain also serves as a rather clever national metaphor for Leontyev and Stasenko. As a material, it easily breaks, but can withstand extreme heat and easily restores if it is buried for centuries. The aptness of the comparison to Ukraine is obvious, especially as we watch the Saigon Unit taking fire, as the fight their way towards wounded infantrymen needing medical assistance.

The third focal artist is Andrey Stefano, the couple’s closest friend. Until Putin’s unprovoked invasion, Stefano worked as a painter, but he shifted his focused to filmmaking to document the horrific events unfolding around him. Almost all the footage was filmed by the primaries, but Stefano has the sole cinematographer credit. Obviously, he too understands art’s role as a method of resistance and bearing witness. Yet, his primary concern is always his two daughters, whom he managed to safely shuttle out of the country.

In the Rearview [Mirror]

Polish director Maciek Hamela followed the example of Jafar Panahi, helming his latest film from the driver’s seat. Panahi had to operate undercover making Taxi, because the Iranian regime banned him from filmmaking. In contrast, Hamela voluntarily took the wheel to shuttle Ukrainians to safety in Poland. Not merely a driver, Hamela documents average Ukrainians’ oral history of Putin’s illegal invasion throughout In the Rearview, which releases today on VOD.

Together with his cameraman riding shotgun, Hamela ferries a constant stream of families, seniors, students, and a few cats across the Polish border. Thanks to his Russian fluency, he is unusually well-qualified for the job, which frequently requires Hamela to talk his way through checkpoints.

It quickly becomes clear a generation of Ukrainian children have been deeply traumatized by the invasion. Families have been fractured, trapped in different shelters, unable to contact each other for long stretches of time—if they are lucky. Of course, many of Hamela’s passengers have lost loved ones.

Hamela’s film might also explain why the DRC is one of the few African nations that have spoken out against Putin’s war. It turns out Hamela’s minivan sometimes doubles as an official ambulance, as when he delivers a gravely injured woman from Kinshasa to a Polish hospital better equipped to treat her. According to his patient-passenger, Russian troops opened fire on her and a group of fellow Congolese students, even though they obviously did not look Ukrainian. Nevertheless, they were still potential witnesses to Russian crimes against humanity.

The Rule of Two Walls: Documenting Artists in Ukraine

If you think all Millennials and Gen Z’ers are annoying, you haven’t met Ukrainian Millennials and Gen Z’ers. There is nothing frivolous about them and none of them have time to whine about micro-aggressions. They are too busy worrying about the exploding macro-aggressions Russia keeps launching at them. Ukrainian-American filmmaker David Gutnik captures the lives of Ukrainian artists working under Russian bombardment, several of whom also served as crew on the documentary in which they are subjects, The Rule of Two Walls. It opens this Friday in New York.

Although Rule of Two Walls is not nearly as harrowing and horrific as Mstyslav Chernov’s extraordinarily important 20 Days in Mariupol, you will still see bodies burned to a crisp by Putin bombing campaign. To put it more precisely, Gutnik is compelled to record the brave Ukrainian journalists who are compelled to record the truth of this particular war crime.

For most of the film, Gutnik turns his lens on Ukrainian filmmakers, hardcore metal musicians, painters, and gallerists. Ordinarily, they would be the hippest of the hippest. However, since Putin’s full invasion, they have consciously embraced traditional Ukrainian culture as another form of deliberate resistance.

That even includes Ukrainian religious traditions, even though some still cannot quite call themselves believers. Regardless, the agnostic have always been the minority in the devoutly Christian nation. In fact, Gutnik records a tellingly ironic riff on the old adage about “no atheists in fox-holes.” Would an atheist even be in a fox-hole in the first place they wonder, because that kind of commitment requires a belief in something.

Rule of Two Walls stimulates further thought and provokes genuine outrage. It offers yet another valuable perspective on Putin’s continuing war crimes. It also makes it clear how profoundly Putin and his followers misjudged Ukrainian unity and resolve. They more his Z-thugs try to erase Ukrainian identity, the more the Ukrainian people re-assert it.