In the wake of the Russian full-scale invasion on February 24, 2022, a Kyiv-based auditorium turns into an ad hoc military classroom. Civilians take turns studying the mechanics of semi-automatic rifles, loading up their cartridges with ammo, and taking them outside for their very first weapons training. One can only assume that, out of necessity, many of them will have to become much more proficient warriors in the not so distant future — in this regard, Mstyslav Chernov’s harrowing frontline documentary 2000 Meters to Andriivka, which screened during the “Ukraine Day” at the start of this years’ Cannes Film Festival, functions as an eerie flash-forward.
Here, then, we can already see in real-time how the central thesis of Militantropos, the first installment of a documentary triptych by TABOR Collective (consisting of Alina Gorlova, Yelizaveta Smith, and Simon Mozgovyi), is developed. Fusing the Latin milit (soldier) and Greek antropos (human), this trio of Ukranian directors describe through a series of intertitles that the portmanteau of the film’s title refers to “a persona adopted by humans when entering a state of war.” Foregoing the character-driven narratives of many of their filmmaking peers in Ukraine, Militantropos instead captures how an amorphous collective is tasked to embrace a new identity in the aftermath of war.
Much like Olha Zhurba’s masterful Songs of Slow Burning Earth, Milantropos plays like a sprawling observational documentary that ventures into the shifting subconsciousness of a country and its people. Mostly framed in static shots, the pensive cinematography constantly seeks to envelop human beings in their urban and rural environments. Instead of singling out individuals as clear-cut heroes in a linear narrative, the film takes a more abstract turn by exploring the delicate interplay between men and nature against the ever-evolving backdrop of war. And just like the citizens of Kyiv evacuating the capital city at the beginning of Milantropos, the film itself traverses deeper into the heartland, gradually removing itself from stark realism toward affective expressionism.
Even though the color grading of the film is desaturated to the point of grim miserabilism, there is still a painterly quality to the insisting greyish hues. TABOR Collective extracts natural tension from their stark compositions of jagged trees, depleted sunflower fields, mist-covered meadows, and dilapidated country homes. It invokes a time-worn mysticism that seems to be ever-present in the forlorn and wistful landscapes. When bursts of color do enter the picture, it’s because of the engine that propels the film to something greater than just the sum of its many parts. The war machine at the heart of Militantropos produces the most beautiful and scary imagery: scorched horizons ripple in the background of the frame, the luminosity of military surveillance equipmentLED-screens pierces shots with artificial lightning, and the violent reds of nightlights on soldiers’ helmets jump around with expressionistic rage.
The most alarming sequence of all filters a shot of soldiers sneaking through a forest at the border of the frontline through striking infrared-like pixelation. The uncanny textures of this nightmarish image are the rare example of when Militantropos truly succeeds in finding a visual language that speaks to the convergence of humans and soldiers. Unsurprisingly perhaps, it’s the single moment that most strongly recalls Alina Gorlova’s magnum opus This Rain Will Never Stop (2020), arguably the best Ukrainian war documentary made so far. Garlova’s atmospheric black-and-white film is composed with such clarity and edited with such ferocity that it managed to capture the war-scarred psyche of humanity on a near metaphysical level. It’s this exact sensation of cinematic transcendence that is lacking in Militantropos, as it feels like the directors are still in search of the connective tissue that can tie their project together.
Possibly due to the collaborative nature of Militantropos, this first installment of TABOR Collective’s trilogy at times feels weighed down by its huge ambitions. On a formal level, the directors do deliver a meditative piece of cinema that captures the durational effects of war. Conceptually, however, Gorlova, Smith and Mozgovyi still lack the sharpness that is needed to translate such a grand cinematic endeavour into something that bursts with immediacy and urgency. Nonetheless, the unique approach of Militantropos leaves one wondering in which novel direction TABOR Collective will head next.
Published as part of Cannes Film Festival 2025 — Dispatch 2.
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