Porcelain War

In war-torn Ukraine, three artists stay behind to express their humanity through their art.

Image courtesy of Picturehouse.

I am writing at a time when we have recently had an exceptional number of documentary films released – so many indeed that I have not been able to see anything like all of them. But I have seen a number that were exceptional in whole or in part within a relatively short period: Mediha, Every Little Thing, Merchant Ivory, No Other Land, Nocturnes and Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story. But, however positive the response to these films has been, in terms of awards they cannot match the success of Porcelain War, a documentary by Brendan Bellomo and Slava Leontyev. It has won no less than forty three times at festivals including several audience awards and the Grand Jury Prize given for documentaries at the 2024 Sundance Film Festival. With foreknowledge of its acclaim I felt that I must not miss reviewing it. But in the event this is a film which for me does not work and that leads me to conclude that responses to this piece are largely a matter of taste.

Porcelain War is a film for which Brendan Bellomo, a man of the cinema making his first feature film, teamed up with Slava Leontyev, an artist not previously involved with filmmaking. Leontyev and his partner Anya Stasenko have long worked together in Ukraine as ceramic artists (he sculpts and designs and she paints the figurines that he creates). Leontyev found himself drawn into film as a way of responding artistically to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine which had caused him and Anya to move from Crimea following its annexation in 2014 to live instead in the city of Kharkiv. The same move had been made by Andrey Stefanov, a painter, who became a friend of theirs and who would be involved in Porcelain War as its photographer in addition to appearing in it.

Given the horrors of life in Ukraine since 2022, viewers will readily empathise with the plight of these three who are central to Porcelain War but that does not mean that one necessarily warms to the film. A key contribution to it is made by the Ukrainian folk music quartet DakhaBakha whose music reflects various ethnic groups. But, while that might in theory render them ideal contributors to the soundtrack of Porcelain War, their music quickly risks becoming unacceptable. It frequently includes vocals even if they are often wordless and the filmmakers pour it over most of the scenes here. That applies whether the subject matter is the war or the art made by Leontyev and Anya Stasenko and, while it is often music that suggests mourning and anguish, to my ears it is an unnecessary and distracting extra because it self-consciously seeks to push the emotion that is already fully present through the images themselves.  Finding that I was reacting to it in that way I was relieved on the few occasions when music was not featured. That the filmmakers feel quite differently about this is confirmed by the fact that the musicians are actually seen intercut with the credits at the end of the film and it may well be that many viewers will side with them on this point.

Porcelain War does lament the war’s sheer waste of Russian lives as well as the Ukrainian losses, but it's nevertheless a work which quite appropriately sees everything from the viewpoint of Ukraine. Its particular theme within that context appears to be the importance of Ukrainian art as something which will survive Russia's attack on Ukrainian culture. That's probably valid too, but it didn't make me embrace the film since the ceramics featured, which are mainly figurines of animals, did not strike me as particularly appealing examples of art. It seems odd that the artists who made them should be keen to exhibit their work here subjected as it is to animated additions courtesy of Blublu Studios. Given the awards, my reaction would appear to be a minority one and possibly many audiences were won over by finding great appeal in the personalities of Slava and Anya. But even here I resisted when I found them being  introduced by talking of their friendship as children and the role in that of Anya's toy rabbit. Their dog Frodo, ultimately described as "a small embodiment of the Ukrainian spirit", is milked for all it is worth.

I reacted far more positively to the sections of the film in which Andrey Stefanov speaks of the need he felt to secure the safety of his wife, Lena, and of their two young daughters, Anya and Sofia, by sending them away to Lithuania. But even here his comments, so affecting in themselves, are presented with an overlay of music. The film covers the period between May 2022 and August 2023 and has some powerful footage late on of a mission by the Saigon unit of Ukrainian volunteers who were sent to Bakhmut. Furthermore, Stefanov has done a good job as photographer even if the shots of the countryside sometimes take on a romanticised tone. Given the conditions in Ukraine recorded here I would have liked to applaud Porcelain War but where 20 Days in Mariupol (2023) got everything right this film constantly seemed misjudged. Nevertheless, all the awards that it has received indicate that for many viewers what failed to work for me was pitched in a way that undoubtedly appealed to them.

MANSEL STIMPSON

Featuring  Slava Leontyev, Anya Stasenko, Andrey Stefanov, Anya Stefanova, Sonya Stefanova, Olena Herasymenko and members of the Saigon unit.

Dir Brendan Bellomo and Slava Leontyev, Pro Aniela Sidorska, Paula DuPré Pesmen, Camilla Mazzaferro and Olivia Ahnemann, Screenplay Brendan Bellamo, Slava Leontyev, Angela Sidorka and Paula DuPré Pesmen, Ph Andrey Stefanov, Ed Brendan Bellomo, Angela Sidorska and Kelly Cameron, Music DakhaBakha.

Songbird Studios/Imaginary Lane-Picturehouse.
87 mins. USA/Ukraine/Australia. 2024. US Rel: 22 November 2024. UK Rel: 6 December 2024. Cert. 15.