“I don’t know what we’re fighting for. Not even a clue. I just want to go home.’’
There is nothing about the documentary “Russians at War’’ that glorifies, justifies or in any way spreads disinformation about the brutal conflict that President Vladimir Putin has inflicted on Ukraine for the past two-and-a-half years. And on his own citizenry.
What it does is humanize Russian soldiers. And that’s not a crime. Because it’s the young men and women who pay the price — in blood, in limbs blown off, in tens of thousands of lives lost — for the folly of one autocrat’s delusions of grandiosity.
Some of these fighters, most of them achingly young, are dead by the end of the two-hour-plus chronicle from Moscow-born, Toronto-educated filmmaker Anastasia Trofimova. From the rear to the frontline to the graveyard.
“Russians at War’’ is as far from propaganda — for which it stands accused — as any of the journalistic reportage and drone footage that has come out of the Ukrainian battlefield, showing devastated villages and ruined towns, the unforgivable handiwork of Putin’s unprovoked military assault. I don’t care if Trofimova has made a fistful of “propaganda’’ films for Russia in the past. There’s no jingoism or flag-waving for Mother Russia in this exposition, no intimation that Putin’s “special military operation’’ can ever be won, and no camouflaging the horrors of war.
“Starting a war is very easy. But to finish it — try that.’’
“This whole war is like a stagnant gonorrhea.’’
“They said the only way back to Russia is feet-first.’’
“Russians at War’’ is a documentary that cries out to be seen. But now it won’t, not at the Toronto International Film Festival anyway, which on Thursday announced it was pulling — “pausing’’ — the Canada-France co-production, a flip-flop of its position from 24 hours previously, due to “significant threats’’ against festival operations and for public security. Is that all you have to do to bend someone, or some organization, to your will? By threatening to disrupt an event, even though neither TIFF nor cops have revealed the nature of those threats? Toronto police told the Star in a statement that TIFF organizers made the decision to send the film to Coventry “independently’’ and “not based on any recommendations from Toronto Police.’’
There are powerful political forces behind the blackballing of “Russians at War,’’ aligning to arm-twist TIFF, along with public broadcaster TVO, which was involved in producing the documentary and which has now cancelled plans to air it on the network. Deputy Prime Minister Chrystia Freeland is among those who’ve denounced the documentary, which received $340,000 through the Canada Media Fund. Freeland’s office, in response to questions I sent, said “the government’s position is not about whether (the) film should have been made or whether people should watch it. Canadian public money should not be used to support the production or screening of media that attempts to whitewash Russia’s war crimes.’’
The question not answered: Has Freeland actually seen the film? The same query put to other prominent “Russians at War’’ bashers — Ukraine’s ambassador to Canada, the consul general in Toronto, Canadian senators, MPs and MPPs. None of whom responded to my emails and phone calls by deadline.
“I don’t see the concept of fair or unfair here. They shell and we shell.’’
“If I’d known this would happen, I’d be damned if I’d sign up.’’
“Life was just starting to get good. And then I got drafted.’’
None of the ugliness, the gruesomeness of war, is whitewashed in this documentary. Soldiers zip their fallen comrades into body bags, medics struggle to keep wounded fighters alive. There’s gore and sobbing and palpable fear as members of the battalion unit Trofimova catalogued shelter from bombing in cellars alongside civilians, as missiles blast their tanks to smithereens, as one grievously injured soldier crawls toward safety, making the sign of the cross before another strike blows him to kingdom come.
They slog through mud, take spades to frozen ground to bury the casualties, forage in the woods for food. In the dying they cry for their mothers, as Ukrainian fighters do, too.
To get this footage, Trofimova — without government permission, without press accreditation — risked her life for months on end. Capturing, as well, one medic proposing marriage to another, a 21-year-old woman with the patriotic scales dropped from her eyes. And a volunteer recruit, unpaid for two months, demoralized and broken by all he’s seen, deserts the unit, reuniting with his wife and children in Moscow, knowing full well he’d risked terrible punishment.
It serves the purpose of every side in a war to demonize the enemy. But Trofimova has tried, valiantly, to depict the humanity of the enemy, documenting in real time the sobering realities so poignantly rendered in classic movies such as “All Quiet on the Western Front’’ — the German remake of which won four Oscars last year.
They won’t see the documentary in Russia, where the entire media apparatus has been corralled into perpetuating Putin’s lies. Now we won’t see it at TIFF, either.
“What’s written and shown on TV isn’t real.’’
“I feel disgust, realizing I don’t understand what it’s all for.’’
“This is a clusterf—-.’’
While back home, Russians bury their loved ones, just as Ukrainians do, if for a more virtuous cause — defending their homeland against an invader.
A recent widow speaks for them all:
“Honestly, who really needs this war? Maybe somebody needs it, but not us — wives, mothers and children.’’
Facing the camera:
“Let Russia and the people of the world know what’s going on.’’
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