We Have to Survive
Ľudstvo pravdepodobne nezastaví zmenu klímy, ale bude sa musieť prispôsobiť novým, ťažším podmienkam. Štyri svetové strany – štyri príbehy zo zasiahnutých oblastí pod vplyvom globálneho otepľovania, kde už prebiehajú procesy drastických zmien životných podmienok a priamo ovplyvňujú životy ľudí. Otázkou pre nich ostáva, ako sa zabývať vo svete, ktorý balansuje nad priepasťou klimatickej katastrofy a pokračovať v živote. Základom príbehu filmu je proces adaptácie, ktorým všetci protagonisti nevyhnutne prechádzajú.
Qaanaaq, najsevernejšie mesto Grónska, patrí medzi prvé obete na svete v boji proti klimatickým zmenám pretože ľadová pokrývka sa každoročne topí. Miestny lovec Jorgen Umaq musel zmeniť svoje dlhodobo udržiavané lovecké trasy. Niektorí z jeho kolegov lovcov sa radšej rozhodli nasledovať neočakávané príležitosti v poľnohospodárstve. Mnoho ľudí v Louisiane v USA sa angažujú v prebiehajúcom boji proti stúpajúcej vode, ale v prípade obývaného ostrova Isle de Jean Charles sa ukázalo, že prírodný živel zvíťazil. Ostrov už stratil viac ako 90 percent svojej plochy. Otec Roch Naquin, katolícky kňaz, sa snaží presvedčiť rozdelených obyvateľov 24 rodín, aby sa nechali presťahovať do bezpečia a prestavali komunitu skôr, ako sa stane niečo zlé. V Coober Pedy v južnej Austrálii dosahujú denné teploty 55 stupňov Celzia. Rod Wells, opálový baník, žije v podzemnej jaskyni. Všetko, vrátane kostolov, školy, kníhkupectva a hotelov, je pochované v piesku. Spoločenstvo miestnych baníkov vedených Rodom sa zapojilo, aby pomohlo zmeniť púštne mesto na celkom obnoviteľnú energetickú oázu. Guo Kaiming nie je pripravený pripojiť sa ku klimatickým utečencom. Štyri generácie jeho rodiny žili pri jazere v prosperujúcej komunite na okraji púšte Gobi v Mongolsku. Obyvatelia, ktorí žijú na okraji púšte, sa snažia obmedziť nestály posun piesku. Spolu s miestnymi samosprávami sadia stromy v snahe blokovať vietor a stabilizovať pôdu.
Qaanaaq, najsevernejšie mesto Grónska, patrí medzi prvé obete na svete v boji proti klimatickým zmenám pretože ľadová pokrývka sa každoročne topí. Miestny lovec Jorgen Umaq musel zmeniť svoje dlhodobo udržiavané lovecké trasy. Niektorí z jeho kolegov lovcov sa radšej rozhodli nasledovať neočakávané príležitosti v poľnohospodárstve. Mnoho ľudí v Louisiane v USA sa angažujú v prebiehajúcom boji proti stúpajúcej vode, ale v prípade obývaného ostrova Isle de Jean Charles sa ukázalo, že prírodný živel zvíťazil. Ostrov už stratil viac ako 90 percent svojej plochy. Otec Roch Naquin, katolícky kňaz, sa snaží presvedčiť rozdelených obyvateľov 24 rodín, aby sa nechali presťahovať do bezpečia a prestavali komunitu skôr, ako sa stane niečo zlé. V Coober Pedy v južnej Austrálii dosahujú denné teploty 55 stupňov Celzia. Rod Wells, opálový baník, žije v podzemnej jaskyni. Všetko, vrátane kostolov, školy, kníhkupectva a hotelov, je pochované v piesku. Spoločenstvo miestnych baníkov vedených Rodom sa zapojilo, aby pomohlo zmeniť púštne mesto na celkom obnoviteľnú energetickú oázu. Guo Kaiming nie je pripravený pripojiť sa ku klimatickým utečencom. Štyri generácie jeho rodiny žili pri jazere v prosperujúcej komunite na okraji púšte Gobi v Mongolsku. Obyvatelia, ktorí žijú na okraji púšte, sa snažia obmedziť nestály posun piesku. Spolu s miestnymi samosprávami sadia stromy v snahe blokovať vietor a stabilizovať pôdu.
Tento dům nemá žádná poškození
"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.