I think that this was labelled TV-MA, and it's almost exclusively for language and depressing imagery. These are kids who have been through the wringer and have come out a little bit broken. Often, their language comes out of nowhere. They'll be a little kid, doing little kid things, and then something crass comes out of nowhere. Also, there are descriptions of horrifying acts that they have witnessed. TV-MA.
DIRECTOR: Simon Lereng Wilmont And now it hits home. My family is Ukrainian. How Ukrainian? I'm first generation American. Ukrainian was my first language, but I don't really speak it anymore. My grammar was always trash and I have a paralyzing anxiety trying to speak it to Ukrainians because I'm worried about getting laughed at. If you want me to get over it, it isn't going to happen. It's something I've dealt with since I was a little kid. Anyway, my mom was in town, so we pushed up the documentary about wartorn Ukraine to the top of the "to-watch" pile. Good thing, too, because it's the best of the documentaries this year. Documentaries are no fun to write about. Okay, they're no fun for me to write about. Part of it comes from the very nature of being a true documentary. A documentary follows a story and hopes that a narrative finds itself. Now, a good documentarian will find a story that no one else sees in the footage and arranges it to make a coherent point. But often, the quality of a documentary is about how much I care about the topic. If you read my travesty of a blog that followed All That Breathes, you can tell that I just don't care about kites, no matter how dramatically you present kites. (By the way, "kites" the bird, not "kites" the children's toy.) With A House Made of Splinters, you have me. I already said that this is the best of the docs for this year, but a lot of that comes from the fact that I A) have investment in Ukraine and B) am moved by the plight of the poor and disenfranchised. This is a movie about Ukrainian displaced children who live in garbage conditions and have to be in the equivalent of halfway houses, separated from their parents. Yeah, I'm moved. It's so much to have to process and the entire thing is just depressing. But this is all a heads up to say that I'm basically going to be writing about the misery of children who must be separated from their parents. I give all of the credit and kudos to Wilmont for finding this story, documenting this story, and focusing this story. But ultimately, I'm going to be talking about the social evils of the world in the context of the fact that I saw this in a documentary. It's probably bad writing, especially in a blog that claims to be a movie blog, but that's what documentaries are almost supposed to do. We're supposed to almost forget the medium we're watching because we're supposed to adopt the cause as our own. Before I go too far, I would like to point out that Amazon completely mislabeled this as a movie about wartime Ukraine. The war is barely mentioned because most of this was filmed before the war broke out. (But, if you look at other documentaries, the war is always a spectre on Ukraine, regardless of immediate threat level.) When making a movie about orphans (please excuse my shorthand, but it is so much easier to just say "orphan" despite stressing that these kids are in different situations) in Ukraine, you would think that there would be something cultural to focus on in Ukraine. Looking at the conditions of the facility, yeah, it screams Ukraine. I have a tactile sympathetic experience thinking of how many layers of paint are on that concrete. But there's nothing about A House Made of Splinters that makes it necessarily about Ukraine. Instead, it almost is a morality play about the dangers of alcoholism. A House Made of Splinters does so much right that I don't want to pinpoint one thing that it does exceptionally well. But what the movie does is give a universal message about the polluting properties of alcohol. The movie follows a handful of kids as they navigate the judicial system of parental responsibility. I think that each of the kids is part of a home where alcohol plays such a large role. (Listen, you can make the alcoholic Ukrainian comment or you can acknowledge that many difficult environments share an alcoholism epidemic.) The thing about alcoholism that A House Made of Splinters plays up is the notion that alcohol is absolutely a drug. Many of these kids love their parents, but want nothing to do with their parents because their parents keep disappointing them. Out of all the kids highlighted in this documentary, there is only one parent who visits their kids. It's actually really weird that visitation is not only a privilege, but it is expected by parents. Again, the movie stresses that few parents take advantage of the opportunity to visit their kids. But the mom who comes to visit seems like she genuinely loves her kids. (I somehow am both cynical and naive at the same time. For all I know, she's putting on the face for the camera that's in the room. I choose to think that she loves her kids.) But there's something just a little bit off. She's just drunk enough to come across as inappropriate. It's in the small moments when examining her mannerisms and the fact that everything she does is tainted by what she describes as one beer. It's depressing, because this is a woman who has multiple kids in the same institution. Kolya, the oldest and one of the primary focuses of the documentary, becomes a child around her when she is there. Kolya's big thing is that he's forced to grow up too fast. I mean, they all have to grow up too fast. There are moments where they are absolutely children, singing, playing, exercising. But Kolya is burdened with being an oldest boy. We can get into gender politics later. Kolya's basic needs aren't being met, so he's quickly influenced by his environment, which includes toxic boys who are grooming him to be a violent turd. Kolya is defined by how much trouble he's getting in. His markers are used to make temporary tattoos. He's constantly being scolded for his behavior. We straight up see him steal and smoke cigarettes (which, why are there cigarettes anymore? Aren't we past this?). But when his mom is there, we watch him completely break down. Now, we're human beings. We're the audience, begged to empathize with this kid. He's barely holding it together. He's there, taking care of a family that he doesn't know what to do with and actually have hope for the future. And then there's the knowledge that his mom is going to be gone any second. She'll be gone and she won't come back. Sorry for the spoiler, but I don't know if that shocks anyone. I don't want to detract from Sacha or Eva. Their stories are rough too. But Kolya represents so much of what this movie is trying to say. There's this constant thing that I was thinking. Yes, this is a Ukrainian temporary home that doesn't scream "awesome." But the environment there has to be better than it is at home. After all, they have friends there. There is warmth and toys and food. The people there (and again, that odd combo of cynical and naive playing up right now) seem to really care about them. (There are many tears shed in this movie.) But this place is a Band-Aid. It's something that they can only enjoy for nine months. I'm using the word "enjoy" inappropriately. It's a balm. It's a temporary relief. The entire time there, they are thinking about how their parents are self-destructing at home. Think about all of that, and then look at Kolya's situation in nine months. I mean, it all comes to a head when those nine months are up. Kolya is separated from his siblings. That's too much. It's too much for me. I'm about to cry just writing about it. (I wish I could full on cry. It's all caught in my throat and in the bags under my eyes.) It honestly seems like torture to me. No one begrudges the temporary home or the social workers who are helping kids like Kolya. But part of me is angry because it seems like it is nine months of denied hope. I want to live in a world where hope is one of those vital emotions that keeps us alive. But watching what hope does to someone in this movie is painful. I know I'm downplaying the poisoning influence of addiction here, but just get your act together, Mom! Just stop. I know it is hard. Alcohol is great and it is a societal norm. But watching these kids go through Hell should sober anyone up. But that's where the cynical part of me punches through and says, "People don't change." All of this makes me sad and I don't drink. I try my best for my kids and I can't imagine any parent who wouldn't save their kids from this kind of landslide. I'm very loved. I'm very blessed. Sometimes it takes a movie like A House Made of Splinters to remind me how good I have it. I am incredibly frustrated with my kids regularly. There are so many days that I wanted to collapse this week. But I also want to run home and hug my kids and hope that they want to hug me back. Wilmont made a good movie. I want to give him credit for what he made. But like a good documentarian, he let life tell its own story and it worked on me. |
Film is great. It can challenge us. It can entertain us. It can puzzle us. It can awaken us.
AuthorMr. H has watched an upsetting amount of movies. They bring him a level of joy that few things have achieved. Archives
February 2025
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