Can a Film Festival Tackle Genocide and War?

“War: first, one hopes to win; then one expects the enemy to lose; then, one is satisfied that the enemy too is suffering; in the end, one is surprised that everyone has lost.” 

                                                                   – Karl Kraus in Die Fackel no. 46 (October 9, 1917)

“Why do men go to war? Why do they slaughter and burn? Why do they consider it their duty to kill their fellow men? What is the force that drives them to such madness?”

– Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace, Book 4, Part 2, Chapter 19

How does one navigate the vibrant chaos of a film festival in the shadow of ongoing genocide? 

This weighty question loomed large in my mind as I immersed myself in two films – From Ground Zero and Russians at War – while other poignant narratives like No Other Land and Viktor beckoned for consideration. These films help us to grapple with the complex emotional landscape and ethics that shapes our collective experience in these turbulent times. Cinema transforms war into a mirror reflecting our deepest truths, showing us the chaos of battle and the moral quandaries that linger in its aftermath.

When cinema blinks

In No Other Land, directed by Basel Adra, Yuval Abraham, Hamdan Ballal, and Rachel Szor, the viewer is thrust into the rugged landscape of Masafer Yatta, a region reeling from a court ruling that dismisses the residents’ long-standing fight against the illegal seizure of their homeland. Basel, an activist armed with both a camera and a law degree, serves as both narrator and anchor; having lived his entire life in this encroached territory, he aims to illuminate his community’s struggle against relentless Israeli occupation. While the villagers know the larger forces at play, the film focuses on their immediate struggles, driven by an undeniable urgency. The documentary immerses viewers in the stark realities of Masafer Yatta, tracing the lives of its inhabitants from 2019 to 2023 with a poignant immediacy. The film paints a vivid portrait of resilience amidst adversity, juxtaposing serene moments – like Basel’s quiet attempt to rest as a bulldozer rumbles ominously above – with the visceral chaos of confrontations captured in raw, handheld footage.

The documentary powerfully conveys that while broader political narratives loom in the background, the heart of the film lies in the lived experiences of those who call this contested land home. In this landscape of tension and uncertainty, No Other Land resonates as a profound exploration of survival, reminding us that the quest for dignity and belonging remains an unwavering force in the face of overwhelming odds.

In another war tale, this time from Ukraine, we see in the protagonist, Viktor, a deaf war photographer, navigating the vagaries of a nation at war. Starting one day before the first day of the conflict and running through the first year, director Olivier Sarbil introduces us to Viktor Korotovskyi, a deaf Ukrainian citizen desperate to fulfil his duty and, against all odds, becoming an official press photographer, working near the front lines. He gets inside the head of his subject, employing subjective swings in the audio soundtrack to either mute or muddle what’s being perceived, bringing hearing audiences into the compromised sonic space of Viktor himself. 

The film delves deeply into the intricate bond between war and the often unspoken compulsion to serve one’s country, revealing the profound desperation that drives individuals to such lengths. 

Viktor draws its audience into the depths of silence, skilfully using cinematic techniques to mirror Viktor’s isolated world. The absence of sound heightens each visual detail, creating an unsettling immersion. By weaving between muffled whispers and distorted soundscapes, the film offers hearing viewers a visceral glimpse into Viktor’s fragmented experience of reality. Viktor captivates through its portrayal of the war photographer at its centre and in what his lens reveals in stark, arresting black and white.As much a study of Viktor as it is of the fractured worlds he captures, the film draws power from what lingers in the shadows, making it a profoundly reflective meditation on war, memory, and the act of witnessing. As Viktor declares, “Silence is not emptiness; it is not the absence of something. It is the presence of the self and nothing else. In this silence, I find my peace.”

We have not been able to see past the fog of war

In the Western world, the narrative is sharply divided between a ‘good war’ and a ‘bad war’ – where Israel’s actions are framed as self-defence while Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is condemned – Canadian-Russian filmmaker Anastasia Trofimova’s Russians at War finds itself ensnared in controversy. The film has drawn fierce backlash from the sizeable Ukrainian diaspora in Canada, who vehemently oppose its portrayal of the conflict, accusing the filmmaker of “humanising the Russians soldiers”.

Politicians have weighed in, amplifying tensions, while funding bodies like TVO disavowed their connection, giving credence to the documentary as Russian propaganda, a term now wielded to fit shifting political agendas. 

Amid this tumult, the Toronto International Film Festival cancelled the programmed screenings, ultimately permitting a double screening after the North America’s largest film festival drew to a close, under heightened security, surrounded by vocal protesters, underscoring the fraught intersection of art, politics, and public sentiment.

Russians at War unveils the complex realities of life of a motley group of Russian soldiers amidst existential compulsions, ideological tensions, and unravelling war, revealing the humanity often obscured by political narratives. As if in the footsteps of John Steinbeck’s Russian Journal, alongside renowned war photographer Robert Capa, an incisive eyewitness account of the Soviet Union during the nascent Cold War. Captured over seven months, this documentary immerses viewers in the lives of a disparate band of Russian soldiers – conscripts and volunteers alike – grappling with the stark challenges of survival in the tumultuous landscape of Russian-occupied Ukraine, where the lines between fighting and enduring blur. Boredom and the slowness of war on the frontlines envelop the viewer, as myriad personal intentions, stories of friendship, and the nurturing of love gradually peel away the layers of narrative surrounding the brutal Russian invasion. 

In sharp contrast is The Bibi Files, directed by Alexis Bloom, which delves into the murky depths of corruption enveloping Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. While the film faced minimal resistance to its release – save for Netanyahu’s legal attempts to stifle it – the compelling leaked footage at its core presents a unique dilemma. This very evidence, vital to the film’s investigation, complicates its screening in Israel, where it risks prejudicing potential jurors and further entangling the political narrative it seeks to expose. 

In From Ground Zero,It is as if in the footsteps of John Steinbeck’s Russian Journal, alongside renowned war photographer Robert Capa, an incisive eyewitness to the gaze shifts, offering an intimate, urgent look at the human toll of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict beyond the headlines. This powerful anthology of 22 films from Gaza’s filmmakers presents raw, deeply personal narratives of survival, loss, and existence under siege. Each frame captures the fragile humanity beneath the geopolitical struggles, reminding us that it is individual lives forever changed by war. Initiated by Rashid Masharawi, himself a refugee from Jaffa, the project gives Palestinian filmmakers a voice in an impossible reality. One film, Sorry Cinema by Ahmed Hassouna, serves as a poignant letter of apology to the art form. Trapped in North Gaza, grieving his brother’s death, Hassouna declines to participate, prioritising his family’s survival over filmmaking. His refusal speaks to the personal and collective tragedy that suffuses this anthology, which is both a testament to resilience and a reckoning with the ongoing devastation. 

Gaza’s anthology was first accepted at the 77th Cannes Film Festival, only for Director Thierry Fremaux to later reject it, seeking “a festival without polemics.” This is despite Cannes 2022 opening with President Zelensky’s live plea on the urgency of war. 

In defiance, Rashid Masharawi organised a protest screening.

These films of the 2024 Toronto Film Festival, caught in the tumult of American cancel culture, provide a fertile ground for exploring how we collectively process and respond to the visceral realities of contemporary loss, pain, memory, conflict, war and genocide. They invite us to examine the cinematic stories unfolding before us and the deeper emotional resonances that challenge our understanding of empathy and complicity. In this context, the festival transforms into a space not merely for entertainment but for a deeper reckoning with the moral imperatives of our time.  

However, despite the zeitgeist, the festival’s People’s Choice Award turned a wary eye from the pressing realities of today, opting instead for a nostalgic inward gaze. The Tragically Hip: No Dress Rehearsal celebrated musical lore with tender reverence, while The Life of Chuck, with its forlorn tale, took the crown. Amid these echoes of the past, one is left to ponder: how long can we cradle the comforts of memory while the world outside unravels, demanding not just our awareness, but our urgent response? 

Narendra Pachkhédé is a critic and writer who splits his time between Toronto, London and Geneva.

A version of this article was published in the Dawn