It might come as a surprise to most that the skirmish between Russia and Ukraine has been active for nearly a decade. However, international headlines would raise awareness to new heights upon Russia’s invasion of its neighbor in February of 2022. Amidst the casualties, breakup of families, and decimation of countless homes across the war-torn lands of Ukraine, a rise in civilian combatants found their way to the front lines of the conflict; these everyday individuals, coming from any number of normal jobs and personal lives, found themselves thrust into a situation in which the majority of whom never would have wanted to take part but would just as gladly lay down their lives for their beloved country. “Porcelain War” tries its best to turn attention toward a trio of artists as they attempt to find some equilibrium between the art they love and the battle at hand.
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Directors Brendan Bellomo and Slava Leontyev are quick to mention in the first few seconds of the film that this project was shot almost entirely by its subjects, and just as suddenly does, the film shifts soon after to brief shots of planes, explosions, and the horrors Ukrainians have witnessed firsthand for the better part of the past two years. Leontyev is also one of the film’s primary three subjects, having set aside his former life in ceramics and graphic design to serve in weapons instruction to a unit comprising a group of similarly average Ukrainian residents. Sharing his home with Anya Stasenko, who paints Leontyev’s ceramic pieces in addition to a military-grade drone at one point, the two are also joined by Andrey Stefanov, who does the majority of filming and wishes for a reunion with the family from which he finds himself separated. Each of the three possesses a warmth whenever they’re speaking, either to each other or in interview, and much of the film showcases a balance between preparing for the day’s fighting and time spent at home, in the studio; one scene showing Leontyev return home after time out on the battlefield could easily be mistaken for anyone walking through the door following a day spent at work, and the way in which he greets Stasenko and pet dog Frodo clearly show the love he consistently holds for those around him. It’s these moments, as well as the countless images of the Ukrainian countryside in which the aforementioned ceramic sculptures are placed as something akin to scattershot art installations, that pivot enough to the point that the film immediately feels like any documentary about artists at work; this is Bellomo and Leontyev’s greatest skill throughout.
It’s not just in showing home life that “Porcelain War” succeeds in further drawing in its audience. By taking a moment to discuss the former professions of the members of his unit and the positive traits of each, Leontyev endears himself further. At the same time, several scenes use animation to bring the figures painted by Stasenko to life in a manner that visualizes stories told by the leads as they discuss significant moments from the past ten years of fighting. 2022 was something the three have been preparing since the early days of 2014. As the film hits the one-hour mark, it finally transitions into footage of the street-level fighting identical to any prior wartime imagery seen onscreen.
“Porcelain War” is far from perfect; the juxtaposition of the lighter moments, training, and battle scenes doesn’t always feel seamless, while the actual fighting depicted in the latter portion of the film is captured in such a way that hardly renders it groundbreaking, as mentioned. Some shots feel like art simply for art’s sake, like one in particular in which the camera travels down the barrel of a rifle, David Fincher-style; there doesn’t seem to be a need for this other than to briefly use a neat trick. Even the interviews, while undoubtedly heartfelt, at times have a dreaded meandering feel; luckily, this is frequently when the action heads back over to Leontyev in training at the range, which does help the pacing overall.
The anxiety over what tomorrow holds and what’s next as the war continues serves as a punctuation mark as “Porcelain War” concludes; it’s presumed that this feeling will find company among those inhabiting any war-torn parts of our planet and those who wish to see a future where the fighting ends, and the world they once knew can return. For these three, art will forever be a part of that past, but for the time being, all that’s possible is a mentality focused on the here and now and a sincere hope for the best. [B-]
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