The director of “Donbass” depicts his country at war in an all-encompassing and gripping documentary. Ukraine appears as a silent and grieving entity in the film, whose focus on liturgy and ritual turns the entire country into one gigantic funeral.
There is hardly any need to say that Loznitsa’s documentary about the Russian invasion was much expected, and this perhaps even more so considering the not-so-tiny issues between the filmmaker and the elements of ultra-orthodox Ukrainian nationalism. Turning back to the same wordless minimalism as that of Maidan, The Invasion depicts, through its long phases of observation, a wide array of scenes from the daily life of a country under attack, and does so while remaining mainly far away from the front line. Sure, Loznitsa doesn’t say anything, but still, he doesn’t seem to want to conceal his distaste for the indoctrination of schoolchildren, or the organisation – incredible to watch though it be – of the destruction of Russian literary materials in Ukraine. But it’s in the filming of religious liturgy that The Invasion becomes most beautiful – especially during its first half-hour, which is almost entirely made up of ceremonies: the funerals of fallen soldiers, weddings.
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The shock of war is one that necessitates returning to rituals in which everyone plays their part: there is only death left in Ukraine, alongside God and the fatherland. The images are obviously heartbreaking: grieving families and the bystanders joining them, making it impossible for us, as we look at the same sorrow on their faces, to tell them all apart; the entire country seems to have turned into one single, gigantic funeral. The film is at times dry, with very little words being spoken – but it might be because the whole country has lost its taste for speaking.
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