20 Days in Mariupol, and the fight for historical truth

When the documentary film 20 Days in Mariupol won Ukraine its first-ever Oscar on 10 March, its director, Mstyslav Chernov, appeared conflicted. “This is the first Oscar in Ukrainian history”, he proudly began his speech, “and I’m honoured.” His next words, however, addressed more explicitly the serious matter at issue. “But probably”, he went on, “I will be the first director on this stage who will say I wish I never made this film. I wish to be able to exchange this to Russia never attacking Ukraine, never occupying our cities.”

Chernov’s resounding speech naturally drew applause from the assembled nominees, with his declaration that “cinema forms memories, and memories form history” emphatically consolidating the importance of their shared industry. Even so, one could not help but sense a disconnect between the man on stage, whose weary eyes had been witness to countless horrors, and his starry celebrity audience down below. For Chernov’s peers, this night was the esteemed pinnacle of the awards circuit, but for the man himself, this was merely an appropriate platform to deliver such a potent and necessary message.

The siege of Mariupol in the first three months of Russia’s war on Ukraine began as the targeting of a strategic port city but soon evolved into a detrimental humanitarian crisis. War crimes abounded in Russia’s bombardment of the city, a major industrial hub on the Sea of Azov whose capture would provide Putin’s forces with a land route to the Crimean peninsula. Described by the Red Cross as “apocalyptic”, the crisis engendered by Russia’s decimation of Mariupol was never more apparent than when the city’s Maternity Hospital No. 3 was bombed on 9 March 2022 (day 14 of Chernov’s documentary), an act of terror denounced by President Zelenskyy as an “atrocity”. From Mariupol’s opening defiance to its final surrender on 20 May, 95% of the city was reduced to rubble and at least 25,000 civilians were killed, according to Ukrainian authorities.

The mere existence of the resulting documentary is itself a testament to Chernov’s desperation to show the world the truth of Mariupol.

Within eight months of Mariupol’s fall, ‘Russification’ begun. The rebuilding of school curricula, the shifting of the city’s time zone, the restoration of its Soviet-era street names (the ‘Avenue of Peace’ has reverted to ‘Lenin Avenue’) – all point to a troubling rewriting of the Russian-Ukrainian narrative. “Russia is eradicating all vestiges of Ukraine” from Mariupol, find the Associated Press (AP). It is in the context of this false history being reproduced in Mariupol and numerous other occupied cities that the potential power of Chernov’s documentary becomes clear.

Mstyslav Chernov’s harrowing documentary film 20 Days in Mariupol was the product of over thirty hours of footage captured by the AP correspondent. Amongst the final journalists still documenting the spiralling situation in Mariupol, he was eventually evacuated from the region by car, traversing numerous checkpoints with several hard drives stowed away beneath the seats. Chernov’s exodus was as much about safely evacuating his incriminating evidence as it was about his own safety; for him, capture would mean being forced to deny the truth of his material. The mere existence of the resulting documentary is itself a testament to Chernov’s desperation to show the world the truth of Mariupol.

Cinema’s most ‘noble’ use is arguably that of disseminating such intimate and vulnerable stories. It seems deeply sobering that, over two years on from the “apocalypse” of Mariupol, Western audiences can witness its events from their living rooms. This position of safety is a privilege which many people in Mariupol and elsewhere have been so crushingly denied.

Watching the final product, the raw and unfiltered testimony of Chernov’s camera appears to speak for itself. He is on the frontline and in the hospitals purely to witness, to provide information – not to convince his audience of anything. The shaking of the camera as he runs breathlessly away from danger lends his film a disturbing immediacy, whilst the subtle deployment of music amplifies the tinnitus-like effect of the already-unnerving atmosphere in the surrounded city. Russian tanks emblazoned with the pro-war ‘Z’ symbol silently encroach upon the hospital where Chernov is taking refuge; snow and residential buildings fall together as Mariupol gradually implodes; panicked civilians huddle together in makeshift bunkers, awaiting the unknowable. Every horror is immortalised on film by Chernov, resulting in an agonising exercise in empathy.

At the centre of the documentary are the civilians Chernov encounters, who find themselves at the centre of this turning point in history. Some shout profanities at him for questioning them, others beg for help from the West. “I don’t want to die. I wish it would all end soon”, cries a girl sheltering with her family. “I don’t understand what is happening. This is trash”, says another woman. Chernov always attempts to get the names of those he meets, in an attempt to retrieve the humanity buried beneath the rubble of a severely inhumane war. This extends to those tragically killed in the siege, amongst them a sixteen-year-old boy named Ilya who had been playing football with friends.

“History is … how we remember it”, affirmed Chernov in the press room following his Oscars success – and that history, the filmmaker suggests, should incorporate every tragedy.

When Ilya’s father weeps over his son’s body, Chernov forces his camera away from the private grief he witnesses, morally conflicted over when to stop filming. His ethical dilemma as documenter of the unthinkable is effectively summarised through his later narration: “this is painful to watch”, he admits. “But it must be painful to watch”. His footage exposes with such shocking intimacy the devastation of war, proving how it can indiscriminately take lives in an instant. Using the label ‘anti-war’ to describe Chernov’s film is thus its only possible categorisation. Remaining in the falling city, he sought to galvanise Western support for Ukraine through his unflinching journalism, much of which was utilised in Western news coverage at the time. Ukrainian historian Dr Olesya Khromeychuk, whose brother was killed fighting in the Luhansk region in 2017, stated in a lecture that, “if Ukraine does not exist on mental maps, its existence on the actual map of the world will continue being at risk.” It is by listening to Chernov’s endangered Ukrainian voice that we can solidify the country’s status on all ‘mental maps’. Rather than occurring as a political anomaly in an otherwise-star- studded night, 20 Days in Mariupol’s Oscar win may have been the most crucial juncture of that night.

Our perception of war as a consistent and persistent entity has likely contributed to what Khromeychuk terms “war fatigue” in the media. Chernov, who has documented the Ukraine conflict since the annexation of Crimea in 2014, bleakly states that “we keep filming and things stay the same.” However, by continuing to document his country’s plight, he is actively safeguarding against its erasure from collective memory. “History is … how we remember it”, affirmed Chernov in the press room following his Oscars success – and that history, the filmmaker suggests, should incorporate every tragedy.

Many will remember watching UK broadcasters reporting from Kyiv bunkers during the invasion’s first few weeks, but Chernov’s Ukrainian perspective is distinctly heartbreaking and personal. “I keep thinking about all the people whose tragedies will remain unknown”, reflects the filmmaker as he is finally forced to flee his countrymen. One can sense a conflict between his duty as a Ukrainian and his role as a journalist, the latter of which he perceives as his priority. This documentary film validates that decision with permanent evidence of Russia’s aggression. A doctor attempting to revive a young girl passionately shouts at the camera: “film how these motherfuckers are killing civilians! Show this Putin bastard the eyes of this child and all these doctors who are crying!” Such raw rage simmers through the entire documentary, whose civilian voice is its most resonant.

“If the world saw everything that happened in Mariupol, it would give at least some meaning to this horror”, comments a Ukrainian official accompanying Chernov.

The documentary’s horror does give way to hope at times – medical staff gathering for a brief smoke reflect that the world has not “yet” fallen apart; a man refuses to depart with his pet turtle, Vasya; and a baby is born amidst the carnage. Of course, one cannot avoid contemplating the fates of these individuals in the intervening years, newborn included. These are just three weeks from what has become an over-two-year conflict; since then, both Ukrainian cityscapes and personal lives have accumulated many more scars. “Emergency implies temporary”, declares Khromeychuk, regarding the often-short-lived nature of Western media attention and humanitarian relief. Chernov’s film pleads, to emotional effect, that this doesn’t become the prevailing attitude.

20 Days in Mariupol is a potent denunciation of both Russian aggression and war itself which all should seek out and watch. “If the world saw everything that happened in Mariupol, it would give at least some meaning to this horror”, comments a Ukrainian official accompanying Chernov. Earlier this year, the Holocaust drama The Zone of Interest warned against the turning of blind eyes to unspeakable crimes, a stern message whose importance has only become more urgent. For example, Russian state propaganda insisted that one maternity hospital victim was a so-called “crisis actor”, whilst in October 2023 the Serbian Radical Party labelled Chernov’s film “an attempt by the West to change the attitude of the Serbian people towards brotherly Russia.” Such obfuscation has become extremely worrying.

Following the death of Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny in February (whose poisoning was the subject of 2023 documentary Oscar-winner Navalny), Chernov’s quest to “make sure that the history record is set straight” has become particularly essential. His documentary’s importance transcends the pettiness of a golden statuette; it represents cinema’s ability to amplify voices like Chernov’s, voices of wounded yet determined countries. As ‘20 Days…’ now approaches a thousand days, the world must listen to the defiant journalism being produced by Chernov and his peers. “My brain desperately wants to forget all this”, the director mourns at one point in his film. “But the camera will not let it happen.”

Contemporary wars, not limited to the Russia-Ukraine war, may be waged far from the comfort of our homes; and yet, the innocent lives at stake must always remain on our global ‘mental map’. Documentary journalism like Mstyslav Chernov’s is vital for that reason. Cinema does indeed form memories, and those memories will form history.