No film captured the turmoil of 2024 quite like Russians at War

This is part of a new film column from Rachel Ho looking at Canadian cinema from a new point of view.

Amid considering the films of 2024 for the obligatory "best of the year" lists and various award and critic group nominations, one film keeps coming to mind. Not because it particularly resonates with me as one of this year's finest. Rather, Russians at War clings to me as a reflection of the year beyond film — a year rife with heated division, war, and turmoil. 

A Canadian and French co-funded production, Russians at War follows documentary filmmaker Anastasia Trofimova as she goes behind Russian frontlines and embeds herself within a battalion stationed in Ukraine for seven months. While shooting the film, she received unprecedented access to Russian soldiers and spoke to them about their participation in the war and their lives in general, in an attempt to show the men beyond the headlines.

Russians at War had been scheduled to make its Canadian premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF). While a press and industry screening occurred, protests over the film became so intense that TIFF cancelled any further showings during the festival citing "significant threats to festival operations and public safety." (TIFF would reschedule two screenings after the conclusion of the festival.)

The film set off a fire storm of debate among critics and film-goers. Accusations of censorship flew with protesters declaring it Russian propaganda — a label which doesn't hold up after watching the film. There's a complexity to the perspectives in the film that defies easy categorization. The interviews with the soldiers demonstrate a clear lack of knowledge by some as to what they're fighting for and, by the end of the film, growing disillusion with what they did in the name of war and why. A touching scene at the end of the film with families of fallen Russian soldiers at a cemetery brings home the senselessness of the war. 

I came away from the film with uncomfortable questions around the making of the film and Trofimova herself — the loudest concerning her ability to get access and remain "undercover" for seven whole months.

The opening scene of the film shows raw footage shot on Trofimova's phone of a man dressed as Santa Claus riding on the subway. He turns out to be a Ukrainian-born soldier fighting on the Russian side. According to Trofimova, this was the chance meeting that got the ball rolling for her ingratiation into his battalion. 

Speaking to Trofimova over Zoom from her home in Toronto, she recognizes the series of fortunate events that fell upon her in order to make this film. "It was not a battalion that I chose. It was the only one I had tried to get access to, and it was definitely luck that it all came together," she says. Luck in terms of meeting Santa, as well as this particular battalion being made up of primarily drafted soldiers willing to speak to her and commanding officers willing to look the other way. 

Trofimova has been clear about her intention with the film from the outset: through her work she wants to "break wartime propaganda, to break stereotypes about people, about nations, because I think we are all equal."

In addressing the controversy that has followed this film around at film festivals, Trofimova says that, "Their reaction to the film, without having seen it, is not about the film. It's not about the film's merits or whatever problems it has. It's just about the fact that we are showing a topic that they do not want to be seen. [By saying] we don't want to see them [Russian soldiers], that means that we accept the idea that certain people do not deserve to be seen, and certain people do not deserve to be humanized, and that is the precursor to a lot of very bad things that have happened in history."

While I can follow Trofimova's logic and agree with the sentiment in theory, this layered topic, and her documentary specifically, requires a wider approach.

To ensure I considered the full perspective, I spoke  to Ukrainian-Canadian filmmaker Natalie Semotiuk. The weekend prior to speaking with me, Semotiuk hosted a discussion for the festival around cinema's role in shaping narratives and the influence of Russian propaganda in the west. The talk followed a screening of La Palisiada (Ukraine's submission to the Academy for next year's Best International Feature Film category) and was inspired, in part, by TIFF's decision to eventually screen Russians at War.

As a documentarian herself, Semotiuk is more than aware of the dangers around censorship, especially in film. However, for every film critic who questions why it's wrong to humanize or feel empathy for Russian soldiers, Semotiuk counters, "Is that empathy being used to whitewash Russian war crimes and the atrocities that this army has committed in Ukraine? And is that not, in fact, the true danger of disinformation? When we use compassion or empathy to deny accountability."

For Semotiuk, it's not simply about pulling the film from festivals or ensuring it becomes lost to future audiences. Rather, she would like to see a disclaimer included with the film to provide further context to the film, including providing documented statistics of the violence committed by the Russian army, or a statement read by festival organizers (as was done at the Lunenburg Doc Festival in Nova Scotia). Stating, without such efforts, "[the film] is a tool of Russian disinformation."

When it comes to trusting an adult audience with understanding context and mining the nuance for themselves, I believe in respecting people's intellect. Most of us are all too aware of Russia's invasion of Ukraine and the violence inflicted, and Trofimova's documentary doesn't wipe away or even excuse that information. However, in order for an audience to be trusted, the presenting film needs to be trustworthy. 

Semotiuk points to comments made by Trofimova in an interview with Deadline where she acknowledged the reports of war crimes, but stated, "If there were war crimes committed, obviously you would see them on screen, but in the seven months that I was there, that was not my experience." 

"That statement is very different from saying, 'There have been over [137,000] documented war crimes, but during my time there, that was not my experience,'" Semotiuk says. "[After reading that interview] I was quick to realize that this filmmaker was approaching this project with a very specific agenda in mind, and that was not to provide some greater context of this war."

One example she offers is the use of slurs against Ukrainians said by Russian soldiers throughout the film that Semotiuk says went untranslated in the English subtitles: "If you're Ukrainian, you are offended because that's how you're being referred to. But if you're an English-speaking person, you have no idea the cultural context of why that's offensive to someone. But I think [Trofimova's] counting on that fact."

"Russian soldiers refer to Ukrainians as 'ukropy,' which translates to 'dill' and came about because it sounds like 'ukraintsi' ('Ukrainians')," Trofimova says in response to Semotiuk via email. "In the film you see these terms translated accurately because nuances in language are important. So, 'dill' is 'dill' and 'ukraintsy' is 'Ukrainian' in the English subtitles."

Semotiuk, though, contends Trofimova's assertions, similar to the film, lack the appropriate context: "Translating 'ukropy' as 'dill' without acknowledging its use as a slur against Ukrainians is not an exercise in linguistic fidelity — it's an act of sanitization that erases its deeply offensive connotations. Claiming it arose because it 'sounds like 'Ukrainians'' is not only inaccurate but disingenuous." 

While TIFF and other festivals around the world cancelled their screenings of the film, the Windsor International Film Festival remained steadfast in its inclusion in their programming. A couple days after the festival's conclusion, I spoke with Vincent Georgie, WIFF's Executive Director and Chief Programmer, about his decision to programme Russians at War given the nature of the film and the protests it attracted. (Georgie estimates a dozen to twenty protesters attended the screenings, though their presence was peaceful and respectful.)

"We thought [it] was a quality film. It was well made and would engender important discussion. It's not necessarily [about] creating debate or this side or that side, that actually really wasn't the point. It's just that it would actually create quality discussion," he explains. "What [the protests] amounted to was actually just pressure. These are pressure campaigns to cancel the film. And in film and cinema, if you start caving to pressure campaigns — 'I just don't want this film to be shown, I just don't like it, or I'm not comfortable with it' — the whole industry is in big trouble."

To conclude the opening weekend of WIFF, the festival presented the WIFF Prize in Canadian Film at a private breakfast, an award which Russians at War received a nomination. At the ceremony, Georgie reiterated a statement one of WIFF's late founders often made: "The end of the film is the beginning of the conversation." 

On that basis, Russians at War is certainly a film to watch, but it's also a film that demands a sharp and critical eye.
Eligibility requirements prevent Trofimova's film from appearing in any end-of-year discussions, as the movie's broadcaster, TVO, decided to withdraw its support after TIFF leaving Russians at War without a distributor at the time of writing. Nevertheless, I can think of few other films this year that so profoundly captures the contentious dissidence that permeates 2024.