The world premiere at Cannes of Mariupolis 2 as a Special Screening, added at the last minute, was a grave and emotional occasion. A substantial crew, some of them just arrived from the besieged city itself, appeared on stage before the screening, while the film’s Ukrainian co-director Hanna Bilobrova spoke a few words, solemn and shaken.
She stood there in place of her partner, Lithuanian director Mantas Kvedaravičius (1976-2022), who was killed in early April in the Russian attack on the Ukrainian port city he had portrayed once before in Mariupolis (2016). It was Bilobrova who finished the film together with editor Dounia Sichov.
Ukraine has a substantial and tense presence at this year’s festival, with many filmmakers mentioning their support for the war-stricken country at their screenings. On opening night, Ukrainian president Zelensky appeared on screen from Kyiv. He spoke about cinema’s duty not to remain silent in times of oppression, citing Chaplin’s The Great Dictator as an example of how art can stand up to tyranny – and outlive it.
The Great Dictator was released in 1940, therefore during the Second World War, but in the US, both stylised and at a distance. Mariupolis 2 was filmed right at the heart of the war, with documentary directness. There is always a tension between the glamour of Cannes and the misery of many of its films’ subjects.
Mariupolis 2 portrays life at and around a partially damaged church, which functions as a shelter for women, children and a few men, most of whom are elderly. No one seems armed, and although a few corpses can be seen, Mariupolis 2doesn’t shock with images of fighting or injuries. What is shocking is the reality of life surrounded by destruction, both the immense destruction that is already present, the relentless destruction that is happening closer or further away, and the constant threat that destruction will strike this place, these people, this very moment.
It is a rule of life that, somehow, people get used to anything. Life goes on. People need food and water, they need warmth, they need as much safety as they can get. What Mariupolis 2 shows is what everyday life looks like when you’re surrounded by war and have nowhere else to go. Kvedaravičius films the making of a fire, the preparation of a meal, the scavenging for materials in places where troops might appear and mines may have been laid. A child picks up a cat, a dog runs after some doves, a priest leads a prayer. Life.
But mostly he shows the waiting. The smoking, the sitting, the standing, the hanging around. These people are both extremely resilient, completing the Sisyphean task of cleaning out the dust and debris from the church’s surroundings day after day, and at the same time visibly numbed. This is what just surviving looks like, somewhere seemingly beyond fear. There is a smile now and then, a little joke even, but little or no reaction to the endless barrage of explosions, cannon shots and gunfire in the distance – which form the depressing soundtrack of this music-less film. Sometimes the sounds are much closer, sometimes they are further away. But it never seems to get completely silent. It just goes on and on and on.
Just as there is always some smoke rising in the distance. Always something burning somewhere. Repeatedly, Kvedaravičius films the same view, at different times of the day, with different lighting, sometimes with the smoke blowing left, sometimes right, sometimes darkened, sometimes lit up by flames. In the distance, a church and factory are visible, closer by, houses in various states of ruin.
The audience is asked to sit with these images. To have a closer look; perhaps even to be a bit bored. Until the relative stillness is shattered by another explosion, crackling gunfire, a brief tightening of the shoulders. As far as is possible in a 105-minute film, Mariupolis 2 does a remarkable job of sucking us into a different state of mind, one which attempts to bring us one step closer to what life feels like for those who were – and those who still are – actually there.
Apart from all this, as a film, Mariupolis 2 makes some bold choices, especially with the length of takes. Which fits the style of the film, because as a filmmaker, Kvedaravičius is a photographer. He has a photographer’s eye, moving his lens from one composition, holds, and then to another, and holds. He clearly wants to make us not only look, but see, like the anthropologist he also was. Always handheld, never on a tripod. Which means the image always moves a little. It’s what Dutch photographer and documentary filmmaker Johan van der Keuken called the ‘breathing’ of the film image, which he considered the most important difference with photography. It’s how the filmmaker breathes life into his images.
Kvedaravičius gave his life making this film. But he also captured his own life in it, by breathing life into every frame. When he’s filming that view of the war surrounding them, the frame moving ever so slightly, he’s not just filming destruction, but also recording his own life. Which means it is not just an image of war, it is an image of life looking at war. A life that, through this remarkable film, will most certainly outlive it.
Lithuania/France/Germany, 2022, 105 minutes
Director Mantas Kvedaravičius, co-dir Hanna Bilobrova
Production Studio Uljana Kim, Extimacy Films, Easy Riders Films, Twenty Twenty Vision
International Sales The Match Factory
Producer Uljana Kim, Mantas Kvedaravičius and Hanna Bilobrova, Nadia Turincev and Omar El Kadi, Thanassis Karathanos
Script Mantas Kvedaravičius
Cinematography Mantas Kvedaravicius
Editing Dounia Sichov, Hanna Bilobrova
Sound design Nicolas Becker
Sound Erwan Kerzanet, Rana Eid, Rob Walker
