GLASGOW FILM FESTIVAL 2020 - Atlantis
GLASGOW FILM FESTIVAL 2020
Setting a story in the future is a way for storytellers to interrogate the present without commenting on it directly. It is typically used in science-fiction and speculative fiction, both in literature and in cinema, as an excuse to ask difficult questions, blow certain themes out of proportion and hypothesise about the current trajectory of the human species. From Metropolis to Soylent Green, A Clockwork Orange, Blade Runner, Escape From New York, The Matrix, Children Of Men, The Road, Her and countless others, the idea of peeking into the future in order to illuminate something profound about politics, destruction of environment or technology has truly enriched the medium and sparked myriad discussions among movie-going audiences.
Although Atlantis doesn’t seem to aspire to be counted as a work of science-fiction, it surely uses the same fundamental tools to reinvigorate a discussion about the mostly forgotten War in Donbass and the potential future of Ukraine as a country. Directed, written and single-handedly photographed by Valentyn Vasyanovich, the film transports the audience into what the filmmaker refers to as the nearest future: 2025. The war has ended a year before and the country is slowly trying to lift itself from its knees. However, the viewer is never explicitly informed about anything and is left to piece what’s going on by shadowing Sergiy (Andriy Rymaruk), a former soldier grappling with the demons of his traumatic past, as he makes his way back to the desolate wasteland of Donbass. There, he meets Katya (Lyudmila Bileka) and finds a sense of purpose in helping with the arduous process of finding and identifying the casualties of the war.
The way Atlantis is shot could easily lead one to believe that it ultimately doesn’t matter if it takes place in Ukraine or anywhere else. There is nothing immediately distinguishing about the setting of this story, which moves between muddy wastelands, ruined settlements and depressing industrial environs. It could be Mad Max . . . but it isn’t. Vasyanovych makes it clear that he isn’t interested in making grand sweeping comments about the trajectory of human development but rather what his homeland is going to become if nothing changes. Moreover, he asks questions about the cost of war and its toll on the country, which are already pressing and perhaps inconvenient for the powers that be to answer. He does so by borrowing a page from Andrei Tarkovsky’s philosophy of filmmaking.
The entire film is composed of long, symmetrically staged, mostly static single-take sequences, though there is a handful of scenes where the camera shadows Sergiy as well. This aesthetic sparsity combined with the film’s overall languid tone and dense atmosphere invite viewer immersion and somehow dissuade them from looking towards the fringes of the frame in search of the bigger picture. That’s because the filmmaker has hidden the macro perspective within the minutiae of what the characters are doing. The film’s thesis is right there on display when army doctors procedurally identify a partially mummified corpse, when Sergiy’s friend snaps after the foreman dresses him down or when Sergiy and Katya make love in the back of a van filled with bagged exhumed bodies. As a result of the camera being mostly locked off on a tripod and any sort of commentary or emotional manipulation completely suppressed, Atlantis mesmerises the audience and compels them to think about the themes at hand. To say that it works would be an understatement.
Atlantis is a minimalistic masterpiece that handles its subject matter with grace and a stunning sense of purpose. This isn’t just a piece of political activism disguised in genre attire but a true work of art in every sense. It is a film that dazzles with its artistry and pummels the viewer with its thematic convictions. It is a wake-up call for the filmmaker’s countrymen and the world at large, as well as a powerful indictment of the human race as a whole. However, the filmmaker isn’t a righteous sadist who subjects his audiences to difficult imagery and procedurally-delivered Haneke-esque horror in order to lay his political message on the table. It is clear that Valentyn Vasyanovych is a humanist and Atlantis is supposed to leave the viewer with a subliminal message of hope. After all, long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light. This film is an invitation to embark on that journey as much as it is an articulation of what hell looks like in this context.
