Roberto Minervini introduced The Damned at its international premiere, saying that the idea behind the movie was to “deconstruct the precepts in war cinema,” such as good versus evil, “hyper-masculinity,” and heroism. Minervini continues, saying, “There has never been a war movie that I would call humane […] Even films that depict tragedy and self-destruction emphasise martyrdom and sacrifice.” Is Minervini correct in saying that there has never been a true anti-war movie? That appears to be at odds with Come and See’s existence, and pointing out that “good versus evil” isn’t real isn’t particularly groundbreaking either. For this reason, The Damned feels essentially misguided—it’s a film fixing an imaginary issue.
The Damned, a very loose Civil War story that follows a Union regiment through Montana in 1862, is probably no more fictional than Minervini’s earlier highly stylised documentaries, unapologetic hybrid films that were meticulously constructed and produced in close association with their subjects. A period film is by definition more obviously produced, but immersing viewers in the everyday activities of soldiers—such as setting up tents, starting fires, and stitching clothes—comes from a documentary impulse, and period vernacular is not prioritised. This is evident in one of the film’s most charming and off-topic scenes, in which a man is examining quartz stones.There’s a single battle sequence that makes a conscious effort not to unintentionally thrill viewers; everything else consists of walking across terrain, waiting, and dialogue exchanges where nobody brings up slavery for nearly an hour. Meanwhile, a young guy claims that God and his intentions for our afterlife are the cause of the conflict. Despite the fact that slavery is finally brought up twice in passing (“I believe putting people in chains is wrong”—I mean, that’s nice), I wondered for a long time if this was the cinematic counterpart of Nikki Haley’s incapacity to articulate the core themes of the Civil War. On the other hand, it is a national tradition for Americans to deceive themselves about the values and motivations that drive the nation; therefore, all of this evasiveness may be intentional.
The idea of reexamining the roots of national division connects back to 2015’s The Other Side, which is and will continue to be the definitive explainer of the Trump era. At least conceptually, The Damned is a logical extension of Minervini’s previous portraits of American life; the young man asserting that God is the reason is a member of the hyper-Christian Carlson clan, the subjects of 2013’s Stop the Pounding Heart. These pieces were also exquisitely crafted, but The Damned appears precisely like almost every film of the contemporary era—that is, with lenses that are intentionally blurry on the edges—a trend that aims to counteract the digital hyper-sharpness that is so prevalent these days. Although one could argue that this visual style is reminiscent of Matthew Brady’s wartime photography, for the most part it creates the impression that the entire world is a giant version of the “Heart-Shaped Box” film. The Damned’s composer, Carlos Alfonso Corral, is also Minervini’s assistant camera operator from Pounding Heart, who gets promoted here to his first DP role. The experience approach to the Civil War isn’t analytically insightful, and the results are sadly soporific. The score sounds weirdly like a bunch of Kid A outtakes discarded in favour of “Treefingers.”
The Invasion by Sergei Loznitsa presents a more constructive perspective on warfare; there are several documentaries regarding Russia’s conflict with Ukraine, but this is unquestionably the best one. The video was directed remotely by a Ukrainian filmmaker who is based in Germany, and a crew of three people took the footage. Sarcastically narrative films and extensively researched archival documentaries are among the frighteningly prolific Loznitsa’s several distinct modes. This one primarily belongs to the giganticist, magisterial mode of Victory Day and Austerlitz, which records hundreds of faces and bodies moving through public outdoor spaces. It’s impressive that Loznitsa can frame as accurately as he can even when he isn’t present, and although formal control isn’t really the aim here, it’s also difficult to make the case that The Invasion would be more noble in some way if it had a less appealing appearance. A physical rehabilitation centre for amputee soldiers transforms into a compositional playground with mirrors breaking up the frame, or one man’s slow, painstaking step onto his prosthetic leg gives way, when he steps back, to another soldier on a treadmill in the background. Loznitsa and his two DPs, Evgeny Adamenko and Piotr Pawlus, examine Ukraine in areas surrounding the war rather than on the battlefield, and they find startling perspectives in unlikely places. What’s different is that many scenes offer traditional coverage, rather than adhering to Loznitsa’s one-shot/one-scene format. There’s also a single, really cool drone photo showing the drone flying over the wreckage of a bombed building.
There isn’t a single, central figure in the magisterial perspective, but many individuals are viewed up close throughout the narrative. A particularly surprising scene opens with sirens breaking up sales at a bookstore. The staff alerts the customers of the air alarm. “Please exit the store,” they say, managing to close a deal ahead of schedule. The scene next shows heaps of all-used books being packed up, dumped into a truck, and transported to a rural barn where, most likely in order to make up for a shortfall of supplies, they are pulped and placed on a conveyor belt. It is distressing to see so many books—from gaudy-looking magazines to hardcovers of the Strugatsky brothers—serving as raw material for the supply chain. However, there is a significant break in the action that reveals one of the books being repurposed is written by Russian author Boris Akunin, who is based in London and is a vocal opponent of Putin. This represents a different way for Russian writers to support the war effort. The duration is noticeable at 135 minutes, but the battle has lasted for so long that it’s practically always there as background noise. It seems appropriate for The Invasion to linger for a while in order to re-enter our minds.
