The film opens on a low-angle shot of smoke merging with brooding clouds, as if the sky itself is wounded—an arresting image that sets the tone for Militantropos, an observational documentary about life in Ukraine at war. From the very first frame, we’re immersed in the raw immediacy of conflict, without explanatory voice-overs or on-screen narrators. Instead, the title card introduces “Militantropos,” a term coined from Latin milit (soldier) and Greek anthropos (human), defining it as the persona people adopt when they enter a state of war.
Directed by Yelizaveta Smith, Alina Gorlova and Simon Mozgovyi of the Tabor Collective, the film began rolling in early 2022, capturing both soldiers on the front and civilians at train stations, grocery queues and makeshift cemeteries.
Their vérité approach—purely observational photography and carefully chosen edits—feels akin to wandering through a living tapestry of moments, from hurried evacuations to quiet domestic tasks under shell-scarred skies. The documentary spans the early invasion’s shockwaves through later phases of adaptation, weaving a multifaceted portrait of how conflict reshapes every aspect of ordinary existence.
Framed Soundscapes
The cinematography in Militantropos thrives on contrast: wide vistas of abandoned trenches nestled among blossoming trees stand beside tight, intimate shots of a soldier’s fatigue-etched face under green night-vision glow. Daylight scenes in village fields feel open and vulnerable, while bunker sequences cast everything in stark reds or monochrome shadows. Recurrent visuals—crumbled walls, solitary wooden crosses set in muddy earth, missiles half-buried in farmland—become silent signposts of loss and perseverance.
Editing stitches these images into three broad, untitled chapters—initial invasion, collective response, enduring aftermath—yet time remains elusive. Moments of hushed stillness, like birdsong drifting over destroyed homes, dissolve into sudden bursts of sirens and evacuation chaos. This rhythm gives the film a pulse that mimics both the unpredictability of combat and the mundane routines that persist despite it.
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Sound design is equally layered. The omnipresent thrum of distant artillery underpins scenes where children play beside barbed wire, and an electronic drone score surfaces at key intervals, its restrained intensity reminding viewers that serenity and terror coexist here. In one sequence, a hollow silence inside a bombed basement amplifies the weight of absence, only to be shattered by a crowded press conference outside. Together, visuals and audio form a cohesive language that pulls us into Ukraine’s lived reality.
Unlabeled Frontlines: The Film’s Arc
Without a guiding narrator, Militantropos relies on intertitles—phrases such as “Militantropos chooses to accept war as the only option”—to frame its sequences. These textual markers offer philosophical waypoints, but the story unfolds through pure observation.
The first phase plunges us into the invasion’s genesis: frantic queues at Kiev’s train station, civilians learning how to shoulder rifles, makeshift cemeteries carved into birch groves. The second section shifts between high-tech command centers—officers studying drone images like chess players—and trenches oddly silent beneath children’s laughter in nearby parks. Absurd juxtapositions abound, underscoring how warfare seeps into daily routines.
In the final phase, we witness tentative return: families navigating rubble-strewn streets, farmers plowing fields beside spent ordnance, community gatherings under the hollowed shells of buildings. Throughout, dates and locations remain unspecified, so changes in light, dress and foliage become our temporal guideposts.
The film balances the urgency of breaking-news footage with reflective pauses—wide shots lingering on fog-cloaked landscapes—that allow viewers to absorb the enduring human cost. High-tension sequences segue into scenes of quiet domestic life, creating a cyclical sense of conflict’s intrusion and the tenacity of everyday resilience.
Human Currents Amid Conflict
At its core, Militantropos asserts that war is more than an external event—it becomes a defining part of every life it touches. The “militantropos” persona manifests differently: a young recruit steeling himself in a trench, an elderly woman refusing evacuation, a farmer sowing seeds while a missile rests like a jagged monument in his field. Each tableau probes how individuals adapt when their world violently shifts.
Resilience emerges in moments both grand and small. A group of children belt out patriotic songs in a bombed-out mall; elsewhere, volunteers rebuild shattered homes, leaning into solidarity. These scenes evoke hope without minimizing the surrounding devastation, reminding us that creativity and community endure even amid ruins. This interplay recalls narrative-driven games where players cycle between moments of high stakes and quiet exploration, forging emotional bonds through contrast.
Yet the film flirts with aestheticization. Its exquisitely composed frames—fog-shrouded horizons, echoing corridors dusted with light—pose an ethical tension: can beauty in war-torn imagery deepen empathy, or risk sanitizing suffering? The filmmakers’ restraint in camera movement and sound layering largely preserves authenticity, though the occasional elegiac shot invites self-reflection on cinema’s power to both reveal and romanticize trauma.
Intertitles about fractured selves and acceptance of conflict highlight the psychological aftermath awaiting Ukraine’s people. Just as interactive narratives leave persistent emotional traces in players, these portraits suggest the nation’s collective psyche will bear scars long after hostilities cease. Nature itself becomes a character: rebounding greenery in shells’ shadows, fog hiding unseen boundaries—metaphors for uncertainty and renewal.
Ultimately, Militantropos doesn’t hand us tidy answers. Instead, it prompts open questions: what happens when the militantropos mask is shed? How will individuals reconstruct identity after years of suppressed fear and solidarity? By bearing witness through its observational lens, the film invites viewers to reckon with war’s depths and the fragile beauty of human endurance.
Full Credits
Directors: Yelizaveta Smith, Alina Gorlova, Simon Mozgovyi
Writers: Yelizaveta Smith, Alina Gorlova, Simon Mozgovyi, Maksym Nakonechnyi
Producers: Eugene Rachkovsky, Ralph Wieser, Nabil Bellahsene, Damien Megherbi, Justin Pechberty
Cinematographers: Khrystyna Lizohub, Denys Melnyk, Vyacheslav Tsvetkov
Editors: Yelizaveta Smith, Alina Gorlova, Simon Mozgovyi
Composer: Peter Kutin
The Review
Militantropos
All told, Militantropos offers a raw, immersive window into how war reshapes every facet of life, balancing stark vérité imagery with moments of quiet resilience. Its seamless blend of sound and ciné-vérité invites lasting reflection on human endurance amid devastation.
PROS
- Immersive vérité style that places you in the midst of everyday wartime life
- Striking visual contrasts—wide tableaus and intimate close-ups
- Layered sound design that amplifies emotional beats
- Recurring motifs (rubble, nature, cemeteries) deepen thematic resonance
- Philosophical intertitles provoke reflection without overt narration
CONS
- Lack of chronological anchors can feel disorienting
- Occasionally drifts into aesthetic beauty that may momentarily distance viewers from raw suffering
- Pacing can sag during reflective pauses
- Minimal context for some scenes leaves unanswered questions
- Heavily observational approach may undercut narrative cohesion
