Worth: $17.00
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Cast:
Eva, Sasha, Alina, Kolya
Intro:
… beautiful and melancholy and shines with small slivers of hope amidst the bleak reality.
Award winning Danish documentarian Simon Lereng Wilmont (The Distant Barking of Dogs) returns to Ukraine to chronicle the lives of children living on the periphery of the ongoing Russo-Ukrainian conflict. Instead of focussing his empathetic lens on those on the front lines, Wilmont chooses to show the lasting effect of the war on the lives of families engulfed by trauma.
The setting is a rundown complex in Lysychansk in Eastern Ukraine. The building acts as a temporary home for children who are no longer able to live with their parents whilst they await some form of more permanent accommodation. The halfway house can only allow children to stay for nine months within which time the children will either return to their families, move on to foster care, or be rehoused in a state-run orphanage.
The documentary begins on a light note; a caring social worker wakes the children with affection and humour, and we see them engaging in camaraderie and play. Although the institution is far from glamourous, it is for many of the inhabitants the most stable environment they’ve known. The ongoing conflict in Ukraine has left its mark across the country, with many adults out of work and a portion of them turning to alcohol and drugs to cope with everyday living. The children in the home come from families where alcoholism and domestic violence are the norm and they have been removed from their homes for safety.
Wilmont’s almost invisible camera captures the children as they engage in their daily activities, but gradually allows the darkness of their situations to emerge. A group of young boys discuss the violence they faced at home in a matter-of-fact fashion. Some even laugh and one-up each other. These are children who have been forced to grow up far too quickly and carry psychological scars that are seen by their peers as “just life.”
Wilmont anchors the documentary by choosing to focus on four unrelated children living in the institution: Eva, Sasha, Alina, and Kolya. Each child is there for the same reason, their family is rife with alcohol abuse, but the outcome for the children is different – for some there is hope, for others, only heartbreak.
Eva is coming to the end of her stay. She tries to call her mother, but the number will not connect, which signals to Eva that her mother is drinking again. She calls her grandmother and informs her that her daughter is once again unreachable. It’s Eva’s second time in the institution and although her mother managed sobriety for a few months, she has relapsed. Finally managing to reach her mother on the phone, Eva is bombarded by her mother’s self-pitying tantrum. It is disturbing to hear the conversation, but even more so to witness how the young Eva takes it in her wearied stride. She knows her mother won’t change. Eventually, Eva’s grandmother decides to take custody of her. In a lovely farewell, Eva passes on one of her beloved plush toys to one of the workers, so it may look after her. Wilmont doesn’t let the audience forget that no matter what they’ve been through, the kids remain kids.
One social worker remarks that “As one child leaves, another arrives.” In this case, as Eva is farewelled, the younger and much shyer Sasha arrives. Sasha gazes at the goings-on in the home from the periphery. Her mother disappeared and left Sasha to care for herself for extended periods. It was only due to Sasha’s school noting absenteeism that her home was investigated by the authorities. Unlike Eva, Sasha has no extended family to take her on. Wilmont films an extended scene with Sasha playing with a talking doll, who won’t obey her commands. Sasha becomes frustrated and swears at the doll, threatening to not be her friend.
Although Wilmont includes one of the social workers talking about how generational abuse is passed down and there are times when former inhabitants of the home return with their own children becoming residents; the observed play between Sasha and her doll speaks louder to how a child picks up on the behaviours exhibited by adults.
Sasha becomes friends with Alina who is in a similar situation to her. Their friendship is awkward, spiky, but genuine. When Alina is fostered before Sasha, she rushes back into the home to embrace her friend. Perhaps a lifelong bond has been forged between the two, or perhaps circumstances rendered them sympatico. Either way, it is one of the gentler moments in the documentary.
The final child that Wilmont turns his attention to is Kolya. Kolya appears to be anti-authoritarian at every turn. He has run away from the institution several times and is constantly getting in trouble with the police. One of the social workers admonishes him for his behaviour and Kolya takes it all with a grain of salt. Initially appearing to be the least sympathetic child filmed, the documentary goes deeper into his story and we realise that he’s not just a kid with an attitude (and even if he were, that would be fair enough) but caretaker to his younger siblings, who are also housed in the institution. Kolya’s arm is covered with the signs of self-harm, his other is drawn on with symbols of ‘The Joker.’ He sneakily smokes and shows bravado around his older peers. When his mother arrives drunk to visit her family, she notices the scars on his arm. In what appears to be a motherly act, she tells him that he must not hurt himself, but it soon becomes clear that she doesn’t want him to hurt himself because he has to look after his siblings. She never returns.
Watching Kolya break down, as he is transferred to a state-run orphanage is devastating. A young teen whose whole personality is built on resilience and rebellion shows that he really is just a lost and abused kid with a deep love for his younger siblings. Wilmont’s sympathy for his subjects is embodied in these scenes, and although it isn’t lacking elsewhere in the documentary, the powerful reminder of how vulnerable and fragile these survivors are, makes its impact.
Wilmont’s observational documentary lets the situation and subjects speak for themselves. He avoids talking heads and instead creates a collage of life in and around Lysychansk. There are no judgements on his subjects or hand-wringing over bad parenting or the system that houses the children who are vulnerable.
A House Made of Splinters is a compelling and essential investigation of the innocent victims of sustained warfare and poverty. The documentary is beautiful and melancholy and shines with small slivers of hope amidst the bleak reality.
It must be noted that the documentary was made before the major recent invasion of Ukraine by Russia and as such it raises the question of how Ukraine’s system will be able to handle even more displaced children and traumatised adults. The small lights of hope may already be snuffed out.
A House Made of Splinters manages to capture the spirit of childhood in its many forms – from the wisdom that some children develop beyond their years, to the vulnerable innocence even the seemingly toughest of them retain. Compassion is key in Wilmont’s work as it avoids didacticism and instead aims for the universal language of empathy.
