Oksana Karpovych’s contemplative new documentary, “Intercepted,” takes a unique perspective on Russia’s war against Ukraine. While many brave filmmakers and journalists have documented the war on the ground since its beginning in 2022, Karpovych captures many of the familiar images of Ukrainian resilience that we have seen in documentaries and news (including the excellent films “20 Days in Mariupol” and “Porcelain War”), but uses intercepted calls from Russian soldiers calling home as the film’s main audio source. Contrasting images of Russia’s damage to its neighbor with the words of its own soldiers explores the physical, mental and emotional impact this devastating campaign will leave on both sides of the fight for generations to come.
As “Intercepted” explains, Ukrainian special services were recording and publishing personal phone calls that Russian soldiers made within their country’s borders. The clips featured in the documentary come from calls recorded between March and November 2022. Conditions are already grim and morale is low. The soldiers call their worried wives and mothers home. They ask their men where they are and when they can return. The soldiers are coy because they cannot reveal their position and can only hope that the conflict ends soon. Some of the calls are devastating: soldiers give their last wishes over the phone, children ask about their father, some wonder aloud what this war is for, while others justify the raid by repeating the party line to secure the borders. . It is in these personal moments where we see the effect of misinformation in action. The most chilling calls to listen to are those filled with delusions of grandeur and vitriol as some Russian soldiers dehumanize Ukrainians, using ethnic slurs and other hateful language, detailing harrowing stories of torture, and confessing that they enjoyed torturing Ukrainians. “You understand, I’m going crazy here,” a soldier tells his mother. She comforts him by replying, “These aren’t people.”
While the calls themselves may be disturbing to listen to, Karpovych contrasts the violence described in horrifying detail with the eerie silence and stillness of the abandoned and dilapidated apartments, in the calm that locals observe while waiting for supplies or running errands, and They continue to live life in spite of the war. Images of destroyed tanks, bombed buildings and seemingly endless piles of rubble alternate between scenes of Ukrainians gathered at a lake or on a lawn. These are the enemies that Russia has ordered its soldiers to attack. The homes have different degrees of damage. Many had their windows blown out and curtains billowing in the wind, as if they were haunted by the souls that once lived there. Others are covered in charred wallpaper and gray ash, signs of the destruction they suffered and the horrors they witnessed. They are almost meditative still lifes, allowing the intercepted calls to capture the viewer’s attention.
By anonymizing both the callers and the locations featured in the documentary, “Intercepted” becomes a sobering portrait of the many millions of lives disrupted by this war. It’s easy to dismiss the fighters as simple enemies, but Karpovych’s film attempts to understand them, how and why they justify killing civilians on the spot, carrying out horrific torture, or why they are invading Ukraine’s borders in the first place. . And although the voices of Ukrainians do not appear in “Intercepted,” their resilience dominates the framework of Karpovych’s observational documentary. By juxtaposing confessions from phone calls with images of silent ruins and survivors, “Intercepted” shows how deeply government propaganda can hurt its people and others.