Sometimes, all it takes is a platform. The rubble of an abandoned village can be a platform for a flag, the flag a symbol of victory, resilience, or even just presence. Media can be a platform for political messages; their very vocalization often sufficient to draw public support, regardless of their veracity or credibility. And the so-called anti-war film can be a platform for armed forces recruitment, the mere depiction of wartime military life is somehow seductive to those inclined to be seduced by it, whether in its intense thrills and heroism or in its tedium and suffering.
Thus, for all the bruising futility of the mission it chronicles in astonishing intimacy, all the pain and loss it both displays and describes, and all the knowledge, over two years later, that it’s all been for nothing anyway, 2,000 Meters to Andriivka can hardly be considered an anti-war film. And yet, to those not so inclined to take up arms in service to a political cause, no matter how noble, this film’s greatest source of power is its on-the-ground immediacy, and the harrowing value this affords its core statement: war isn’t just hell, it’s also a pointless hell.
Director Mstyslav Chernov is a war correspondent turned filmmaker, and an Academy Award winner for his 2023 documentary 20 Days in Mariupol. That film covered the Ukrainian civilian experience during the siege of Mariupol in 2022; this film covers the Ukrainian military experience of an attempt in 2023 to reclaim a Russian-occupied village, Andriivka, by crossing a narrow 2km stretch of razed woodland. In passing, it’s mentioned that the effort could disrupt a Russian trade route; it’s also mentioned that the effort could be more symbolic than practical — the Ukrainian counteroffensive will be considered complete once their flag is flown from one of the village’s decimated buildings. But Chernov’s focus is largely on the mission’s physical details and the actions of the Ukrainian soldiers, captured by Chernov in the moment as he accompanied the 3rd Assault Brigade across the woodland.
This isn’t to claim that 2,000 Meters to Andriivka is an apolitical film, and Chernov doesn’t attempt to claim this himself. He editorializes with a light touch, inserting brief sequences of funerals for Ukrainian soldiers, or newsreel footage of Ukrainians liberated from Russian control. The Russian colonizing forces are scarcely seen, though their destructive, oppressive presence is felt in every shot — the humility of the mission HQ’s makeshift wooden shack (in their own country), the tears of a liberated woman revealing the pain of months of occupation, the incessant sound of shelling in the background of a conversation between Chernov and a soldier, bonding over cigarettes. The politics of this film are exposed through moments such as this conversation, the brutality of illegal invasion expressed almost casually, as an inevitability, not least for those facing it head-on and risking their lives to end it.
These men, too, have their own politics. The Ukrainian soldiers habitually refer to their Russian opponents as “motherfuckers” (an imprecise translation), young men at times enthusiastically celebrating the violence they must enact. Their actions serve a purpose, though their behaviour betrays less a functional attitude than a perversely barbarous one. While their country loses its freedom, these men lose their humanity. It’s easy to understand, given the nature of their circumstances, but it’s not so easy to condone. When a Russian soldier is captured and quizzed on why he has come to Andriivka, he replies that he doesn’t know. His masters’ cause is unforgivable but, as an individual, are his actions? Naturally, given his embedding with the Ukrainian troops, Chernov humanizes the individuals on one side of the conflict, affording them dignity through the lucidity and sincerity of his vérité style, though the same humanity is denied those on the other side. And, though the Russian invasion of Ukraine is undoubtedly unjust by any reasonable measure, are said Russian individuals any less worthy of dignity? The 3rd Assault Brigade emerged from the controversial Azov Battalion, a group with numerous credible ties to neo-Nazism, and members of the brigade have been observed displaying neo-Nazi symbols. There’s a layer of moral discomfort to 2,000 Meters to Andriivka supplied by this contextual information, otherwise only discernible through brief inference — it hollows its moments of triumph and sours its moments of suffering.
Yet Chernov’s accomplishments here are remarkable nonetheless. His bravery is the most impactful, but his artistry is equally commendable. The images have a haunting beauty that never feels exploitative, both because it is genuine and because it’s essential to telling the story, showing the bleakness of the landscape or the terrifying proximity of the attacks. The opening sequence is particularly powerful, a wrenching descent into terror that’s immeasurably more poignant for the simple fact that it’s true — these sounds and images we’re witnessing actually happened. Technically, this is a magnificent achievement of documentary filmmaking. But politically, it’s a troubling work that never seeks to address the reasons for that trouble.
DIRECTOR: Mstyslav Chernov; DISTRIBUTOR: PBS Distribution; IN THEATERS: July 25; RUNTIME: 1 hr. 46 min.
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