We Have to Survive
Mankind is unlikely to stop climate change, but it can adapt to the new, harder conditions. The full-length documentary WE HAVE TO SURVIVE is colourful collage of human stories from areas that have been hit by a climate change where the life of people is subject to
extremely difficult conditions. Four cases from all cardinal directions. The process of adaptation that protagonists go through is the basis of the film's narrative.
Greenland’s Qaanaaq is among the world’s first casualties in the battle against climate change as sea ice disappears. Jorgen Umaq, a local hunter, has had to change his long-held hunting routes. Some of his fellow hunters have rather decided to follow unexpected opportunities in agriculture. Many people in Louisiana, the USA, are engaged in the ongoing battle against water, but in the case of the inhabited Isle de Jean Charles, it has become clear that the water has won. It has lost far more than 90 percent of its surface area. Father Roch Naquin, a Catholic priest, is trying to convince the divided members of the last 24 families to move to higher ground and rebuilt the community before something terrible happens. In Coober Pedy, South Australia, daytime temperatures reach 55 degrees Celsius. Rod Wells, a former opal miner, lives in "dugout”. Everything, including churches, school, bookstore and hotels are buried in the dirt. Community of local miners led by Rod have been engaged to help transform the desert town into a mostly renewable energy oasis. Guo Kaiming was not ready to join the climate refugees in Mongolia. Four generations of his family lived by the lake in a thriving community on the edge of the Gobi desert. Residents who live on the edge of the deserts try to limit the spreading of the sand. Along with local governments, they plant trees in effort to block the wind and stabilize the soil.
extremely difficult conditions. Four cases from all cardinal directions. The process of adaptation that protagonists go through is the basis of the film's narrative.
Greenland’s Qaanaaq is among the world’s first casualties in the battle against climate change as sea ice disappears. Jorgen Umaq, a local hunter, has had to change his long-held hunting routes. Some of his fellow hunters have rather decided to follow unexpected opportunities in agriculture. Many people in Louisiana, the USA, are engaged in the ongoing battle against water, but in the case of the inhabited Isle de Jean Charles, it has become clear that the water has won. It has lost far more than 90 percent of its surface area. Father Roch Naquin, a Catholic priest, is trying to convince the divided members of the last 24 families to move to higher ground and rebuilt the community before something terrible happens. In Coober Pedy, South Australia, daytime temperatures reach 55 degrees Celsius. Rod Wells, a former opal miner, lives in "dugout”. Everything, including churches, school, bookstore and hotels are buried in the dirt. Community of local miners led by Rod have been engaged to help transform the desert town into a mostly renewable energy oasis. Guo Kaiming was not ready to join the climate refugees in Mongolia. Four generations of his family lived by the lake in a thriving community on the edge of the Gobi desert. Residents who live on the edge of the deserts try to limit the spreading of the sand. Along with local governments, they plant trees in effort to block the wind and stabilize the soil.
This House is Undamaged
"This House is Undamaged" is a documentary that explores the complex transformation of Mariupol, a city in Ukraine that was extensively destroyed during the Russian invasion in 2022. The film explores reconstruction efforts under Russian control and highlights the strategic obliteration of war marks through rapid rebuilding.
One of the film's main narrative motifs is the deconstruction of media narratives about the reconstruction of Mariupol. Through a thorough examination of various media sources - from social media posts, amateur footage and propaganda videos to official reports and advertisements - the film seeks to reveal how the image of the city's "reconstruction" is carefully constructed and manipulated. By exposing the flaws and distortions in these depictions, the documentary critically analyses how the media plays a key role in shaping public perceptions of urban transformation, both locally and internationally.
The film unfolds not around a single character, but around the city itself. Mariupol is both the protagonist and the stage, a body whose scars, ruptures, and forced transformations are traced through found footage, propaganda clips, amateur videos, and fragments of memory. Its streets and buildings, its ruins and reconstructions, speak louder than any individual voice. But the city is not only seen — it is heard. Its soundscape becomes the deeper narrative, the pulse beneath the image.
The city is read as topography — a map in flux, marked by shifting borders of control, layers of rubble and scaffolding, zones of habitation and zones of abandonment. Satellite images dissolve into shaky phone recordings; promotional clips overlap with whispered testimonies. The city becomes a palimpsest, where destruction and construction exist side by side, each erasing and overwriting the other, yet never fully succeeding.
One of the film's main narrative motifs is the deconstruction of media narratives about the reconstruction of Mariupol. Through a thorough examination of various media sources - from social media posts, amateur footage and propaganda videos to official reports and advertisements - the film seeks to reveal how the image of the city's "reconstruction" is carefully constructed and manipulated. By exposing the flaws and distortions in these depictions, the documentary critically analyses how the media plays a key role in shaping public perceptions of urban transformation, both locally and internationally.
The film unfolds not around a single character, but around the city itself. Mariupol is both the protagonist and the stage, a body whose scars, ruptures, and forced transformations are traced through found footage, propaganda clips, amateur videos, and fragments of memory. Its streets and buildings, its ruins and reconstructions, speak louder than any individual voice. But the city is not only seen — it is heard. Its soundscape becomes the deeper narrative, the pulse beneath the image.
The city is read as topography — a map in flux, marked by shifting borders of control, layers of rubble and scaffolding, zones of habitation and zones of abandonment. Satellite images dissolve into shaky phone recordings; promotional clips overlap with whispered testimonies. The city becomes a palimpsest, where destruction and construction exist side by side, each erasing and overwriting the other, yet never fully succeeding.
My Dear Vira
When my childhood friend Vira emigrated to the United States, it felt as if part of me had left with her. We grew up in post-Soviet Ukraine, shaped by instability and a longing for a better future. While I stayed, drifting between unstable jobs and relationships, Vira built a new life — marriage, citizenship, divorce, and eventually service in the U.S. Army.
Years later, Russia’s full-scale invasion forced me to flee Ukraine. I lost my home and sense of safety, wandering across Europe, unable to return yet unable to settle elsewhere. In crisis, I turn to Vira, hoping to understand how she lives so far from our homeland.
After buying her first American house, she invites me to visit. In North Carolina, near a military base where aircraft roar day and night, I observe her disciplined life and the quiet compromises it requires. I visit her office, the park where she married, the ocean I see for the first time, and even the White House, barely visible behind construction fences.
Vira carries guilt for not fighting in Ukraine; I carry guilt for leaving. In different ways, we are both displaced. Through our reunion, my childhood belief in the “American dream” dissolves. I realize there is no perfect place — only the difficult work of making peace within. We part knowing that, despite distance, our bond endures, and one day we hope to meet again at home, in Ukraine.
Years later, Russia’s full-scale invasion forced me to flee Ukraine. I lost my home and sense of safety, wandering across Europe, unable to return yet unable to settle elsewhere. In crisis, I turn to Vira, hoping to understand how she lives so far from our homeland.
After buying her first American house, she invites me to visit. In North Carolina, near a military base where aircraft roar day and night, I observe her disciplined life and the quiet compromises it requires. I visit her office, the park where she married, the ocean I see for the first time, and even the White House, barely visible behind construction fences.
Vira carries guilt for not fighting in Ukraine; I carry guilt for leaving. In different ways, we are both displaced. Through our reunion, my childhood belief in the “American dream” dissolves. I realize there is no perfect place — only the difficult work of making peace within. We part knowing that, despite distance, our bond endures, and one day we hope to meet again at home, in Ukraine.