It was March 9, 2022, the 14th day of the Siege of Mariupol. The sky is overcast. Mstyslav Chernov, a special correspondent for the Associated Press in Ukraine and his colleague Evgeniy Maloletka returned to Emergency Hospital No.2. On the makeshift ground outside the building, a trench had been dug, and workers were swiftly placing black body bags into it. In a calm tone tinged with sadness, Chernov, in the voiceover of the documentary "20 Days in Mariupol," said, " Somewhere among these black bags, laid other children we filmed."
Since February 24, 2022 the Russian military began advancing south, gradually invading and eventually besieging Mariupol; this brutal siege endured for nearly three months. It persisted until May 21 when the last group of 531 Ukrainian defenders surrendered, marking the complete control of the Azovstal Iron and Steel Works by the Russian forces and signaling the end of the conflict. This documentary, crafted by courageous journalists who risked their lives to film and clandestinely bring out the footage, will stand as Ukraine's delegate for the Best International Feature Film category at next year's Oscars.
"Among those black bags, laid other children we filmed," said Chernov in the voiceover, as he spotted a familiar white sheet. Just a few days earlier when the Russian military bombardment began, that sheet had covered the lifeless body of a boy named Illya, who tragically lost his life while playing football. Now, as the bombardment had stretched for several days and ground attacks got intensified, it is inevitable that more children will die in Mariupol.
No fictional cinema compares to documentaries in terms of the brutality of truths. Audience are well aware that deaths in war movies are fakes acted out by extras, makeup, and special effects. We can even tell that the Hollywood signature narrative of ‘last-minute rescue’ will come in moments as critical as when a hospital is under siege and a superhero/ superheroes will show(s) up right on time. However, watching war documentaries, we sorrowfully realize that the deaths of children are real and the scars on buildings and craters are not artistic set pieces.
Mariupol is situated on the northern coast of the Sea of Azov. To the west of this narrow inland sea lies the Crimean Peninsula, which, following an internationally unrecognized referendum in 2014, became part of the Russian Federation. Interestingly, the world's earliest war photography emerged during the Crimean War in 1855. Fast forward 167 years, the flames of war have once again ignited around these waters. Along with this is the change in filming technology, which have evolved down the lane of long-exposure black-and-white photography, dynamic video recording with cameras, live broadcasting technologies relied upon by television news, and now the mobile internet where everyone can engage in live streaming through social media.
Now that we’re living in a world where everyone can live-stream war from their windows, coupled with the global perspective provided by the expansion of drones, do we still need traditional war films with lengthy production and substantial costs? Indeed, Hollywood screenwriters can craft clear storylines and technical teams can create high-definition visuals, perhaps throwing in one or two superheroes saving the world. But why would audiences who might have been wearied by full exposure to daily influx of real-time battlefield coverage, be willing to wait for the fabricated heroics on the silver screen?
"War is like a X-ray, all humans inside become visible; good people become better, bad people worse," reflected a doctor after a surgery, who, through X-rays, saw a deeper layer of the human body and even the truth of humanity than what is visible on the screens of smartphones amid war.
However, live-streaming wars depends highly on networks and electricity. Once these infrastructures are severed, the X-ray-like visibility into war becomes obscured. Not long after the siege of Mariupol began, the majority of the city was cut off from external communication channels by the Russian military, and many residential areas experienced power outages. Eventually generators roared to life, fully charged phones could be used as flashlights in underground shelters. In the documentary, one day when the electricity suddenly returned, the journalist quickly edited video footage into 10-minute segments, placing three phones on the windowsill, and sent them to the editors at the Associated Press as efficiently as possible.
Now it seems professional journalists matter only when livestream of the battlefield relying on phones and networks face technical disruptions. The Mariupol residents whom Chernov interviewed hoped that the videos transmitted by journalists, especially the harrowing scenes of the bombing of the maternity hospital, could change the course of the war. However, Chernov's pessimistic voiceover follows, "We have seen too many dead, too many children gone. Can more death change anything? We keep filming, but the situation remains just as bad, or even worse, as the propaganda machine distorts everything."
Beyond the potential fatigue that viewers may experience from witnessing the war through their phones, Chernov is more concerned about Russian propaganda. The footage of the maternity hospital being bombed was denied by the Russian authorities as soon as it was released, which claims that the hospital had long been a gathering point for Azov militants or even suggesting that it was a staged film set, with local influencer (KOL) disguised as ordinary civilians participating in the fabrication. This is a vivid example of fresh new information terrorism.
Indeed, from the Russo-Ukrainian War to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, modern information warfare has become a stage armed with script writing teams and the narrative of a film. Truths, as a result, are far out of reach.
What's even worse is that after the network was cut off, Mariupol residents could only receive one-way communication from the Russian military through traditional broadcasts. Gradually, some trapped residents started to believe that it was actually the Ukrainian army bombing them.
"20 Days in Mariupol" concludes with a pessimistic and helpless ending. After the footage, secretly taken out by Chernov, is broadcasted on a large scale in Western media, reporters in New York surround Vasily Nebenzya, The Russian Ambassador to the United Nations. In the usual fashion, the ambassador coolly responds, "I've seen many rumors; whoever wins the information war wins the war."
"Do you really believe what you're saying?" angrily questions a journalist in front of the ambassador.
However, even if the truth becomes known to the world, what difference does it make? The Panama Papers, Assange, Snowden—did any of their revelations bring substantive defeats to the politicians involved? The internet is a memory hole; the Israel-Palestine conflict soon replaced the Russo-Ukrainian War, becoming the central point of contention tearing apart societal values. Even though "20 Days in Mariupol" represents Ukraine in the Oscar race for Best International Feature Film, and even if it were to win, what can it truly bring to this war-torn city?
The siege of Mariupol experienced 86 days of siege. Ninety-five percent of the city's buildings were destroyed, and an estimated 25,000 people lost their lives.
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