The title of Sergei Loznitsa’s latest documentary about Ukraine can be misleading, because The Invasion contains nothing of the sort. Running over two hours, the films is completely devoid of both visceral images of military action and exposition of Russia’s brutal incursions into Ukraine. Bowing at Cannes, it offers snapshots of what life is like in the country as people live with their painful memories and the threats of their neighbor-turned-aggressor next door.
In one of the most memorable moments in The Invasion, a group of relaxed pensioners are shown enjoying some very nice weather on the side of a quiet rural road. But their cheery chit-chat is cut short by a loud bang off-screen. “There goes an explosion,” one of them says, “or maybe three.” Cut to the next shot: the elderly men bike away like school kids on holiday, disappearing into the horizon.
In interviews before Cannes, Sergei Loznitsa said he considers his latest film the follow-up to Maidan, a vividly detailed record of the political protests and police brutality which eventually led to the ousting of Ukraine’s Russia-leaning leader Viktor Yanukovych in 2014. But his latest film is a drastically different creature. Rather than describing what the Russian invasion of Ukraine was like, the documentary explores how Ukrainian social routines have been transformed by what has happened during the past 15 months.
Repeating the style he used in his 2018 fictional feature Donbass, in which he dissects life in Russian-occupied eastern Ukraine in interlinked episodes, Loznitsa has shaped The Invasion as a combination of chapters dedicated to individual events. Weddings and water rationing, shooting practice and surgery, Christmas festivities and the chaotic aftermath of an airstrike: all are brought vividly to life by cinematographers Evgeny Adamenko and Piotr Pawlus. These visual snippets are sewn together masterfully by Loznitsa and Danielius Kokanauskis to produce a comprehensive picture of what Ukrainian society is like in the present day.
What makes The Invasion engaging is the lengths to which Loznitsa goes to steer clear of hackneyed heroism and motley melodrama. Sure, the film does feature scenes in which people pay respect to murals commemorating fallen Ukrainian soldiers. We are also shown ordinary people trying and failing to do their part to defend their nation, like a scene in which military instructors tell off their blundering volunteers with thinly veiled disgust.
Even in what is supposed to be The Invasion’s reverent opening scene, Loznitsa undercuts a funeral procession for the war dead in downtown Kyiv with urban white noise: the priest’s sermon is nearly drowned out by the traffic whirring by on nearby on the street. Teaming up again with his long-running sound designer Vladimir Golovnitskiy (State Funeral), Loznitsa might have played up the presence of cars to highlight how life toes on, beyond the teary tributes at graveyards and beyond.
These norm-defying moments aside, The Invasion remains respectful towards the Ukrainian people throughout, showing how the masses kept calm and carried on living. Perhaps laughing and working is an homage in itself to their perseverance. Rather than zeroing in on the much-mourned martyrs and victims, The Invasion memorializes those survivors struggling to continue their lives. Towards the end of the film, an old villager is shown clearing the debris of her bombed-out house on her own, one brick at a time. As the sun sets behind her, she resembles a 21st century reincarnation of Sisyphus, an embodiment of both grief and resolve. The same could be said of this film.
Director, screenwriter: Sergei Loznitsa
Producers: Sergei Loznitsa, Maria Choustova
Cinematography: Evgeny Adamenko, Piotr Pawlus
Editors: Danielius Kokanauskis, Sergei Loznitsa
Sound designer: Vladmir Golovnitskiy
Production company and world sales: Atoms & Void
Venue: Cannes Film Festival (Special Screenings)
In Ukrainian
145 minutes
