By Ian Garner and Maria Popova
Russians At War, a documentary by Russian-Canadian director Anastasia Trofimova, has triggered a lively debate about art, propaganda, freedom of expression and Russian intelligence operations abroad. Trofimova has claimed she spent several months filming Russian forces in occupied Ukraine without official permission to show a hitherto hidden side of the war. The film’s creators and some reviewers have argued that this is a daring and heart-wrenching anti-war film about Russian soldiers who fight through a quasi-apocalyptic landscape destroyed by persons unknown, and perish without ever knowing what they are fighting for. These ordinary men fall victim to a dehumanizing war that resulted — in the director’s own words — from a “failure of diplomacy.”
As scholars of Russian war and propaganda, we came away from watching the film with a very different interpretation of its core messaging and purpose. Russians at War may not appear to have much in common with the most egregious Russian propaganda, but it is no anti-war film.
The film reiterates familiar Kremlin justifications for the invasion of Ukraine unchallenged. Trofimova uncritically foregrounds the narrative — through the character of Ilya, a Ukrainian fighting for Russia whom she purportedly meets by chance — that the current war is a continuation of a “civil war” that started in Ukraine in 2014. The film often returns to this trope about Ukrainians and Russians being at war “with themselves”: they are “Slavic brothers” who should not be fighting. This claim, which Vladimir Putin himself has often made, is manifestly untrue. Russia invaded Ukraine, a sovereign state, in 2014 and widened the scope of its military operation in 2022. While Trofimova claims that she is simply channelling the voices of Russian soldiers, her authorial decisions put these narratives front and centre; and her authorial decisions leave them unchallenged throughout.
Russians at War shows Russian soldiers in an exclusively positive light. It goes well beyond “humanizing” the soldiers and presents them as heroes, as loving sons, partners and friends, victims who suffer rather than aggressors who cause suffering. The director, who narrates the film, says that until being sent to storm Bakhmut, her subjects have only been defending themselves. This dubious claim obscures the obvious reality that the Russian soldiers are the invaders. When the issue of war crimes — of which Russian forces are credibly accused by Ukrainian and international investigators — is briefly raised, a soldier simply brushes the topic off: it is “impossible” that Russians should commit such crimes.
Yet it is Ukraine and Ukrainians that come in for the heaviest criticism in the film through more propaganda narratives that the Russian state has regularly disseminated: Ukraine supposedly bombed Donbas for eight years and destroyed cities; Ukrainian “Nazis” are warmongering anti-Russians, unlike “real” Russia-loving Ukrainians who wish for the restoration of friendship between Russia and Ukraine; and the West and NATO are responsible for the war as they control a puppet Ukraine and threaten Russia. The film insinuates it is purportedly Ukrainian forces who have attacked cities in Donbas, daubing walls in ruined buildings with swastikas. Trofimova does not explore whether Russian soldiers might themselves have painted these swastikas — she simply accepts their version of reality and presents it, uncritically, to the viewer. Given Russian propagandists’ proclivity for staging such scenes, it is striking that Trofimova poses no questions about whether we — or she — are being manipulated.
Most egregiously, in the film’s conclusion, a Russian soldier shows Trofimova two mobile phone videos purporting to show Ukrainians attacking wounded Russian soldiers. Creating staged scenes of Ukrainian “war crimes” is a common tactic of Russian propagandists. Trofimova makes no attempt to enquire whether that has occurred in this instance. The viewer is left with the impression that Russia’s soldiers are innocent, while Ukraine’s are worse. This justifies the range of claims that Russian soldiers make in the movie’s conclusion: they may be frustrated with their own and their comrades’ suffering, and some may wish the war to end, but they do not blame Vladimir Putin, Russia, or fellow Russians for any of the violence that has unfolded. Destruction, murder and war crimes in Trofimova’s world are created by Ukraine — not by Russia.
Ultimately, Russians at War is neither an anti-Putin, an anti-regime, nor an anti-war film. It contains no criticism of the Kremlin whatsoever. There is no mention of corruption in the Russian army, which is a favourite topic of the many state-sponsored Russian military correspondents when they criticize the war effort. Putin himself is not once mentioned in the film. Despite their losses in war, the film’s heroes remain determined to fight against Ukraine, which Trofimova — by repeating debunked Kremlin propaganda narratives — portrays as a monstrous mirror of Russia.
Freedom of speech means that Russians at War must be free to be distributed and shown in democratic countries. However, audiences should be aware that Trofimova’s production reiterates a number of pro-Kremlin narratives and uses filmmaking tactics straight from Russian propaganda. Whether consciously or not, Trofimova has produced a documentary that does Putin’s dirty work for him by subtly portraying Ukraine, not Russia, as the villain. At a time when western governments are finally unveiling the full extent to which Russian propaganda — subtly designed and targeted to meet the expectations of specific audiences — is blanketing our media and cultural spaces, audiences and filmmakers alike need to be more conscious of how they might advance the Kremlin’s goals.
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Ian Garner is Assistant Professor of Totalitarian Studies at the Pilecki Institute, Warsaw, and the author of Z Generation: Into the Heart of Russia’s Fascist Youth. Maria Popova is an Associate Professor in the Department of Political Science at McGill University and co-author of the book Russia and Ukraine: Entangled Histories, Diverging States.