Review: To The Victory! – A Haunting, Human Portrait of Post-War Absence

To The Victory! — the latest from Ukrainian filmmaker Valentyn Vasyanovych, doesn’t merely portray the aftermath of war; it lingers in its long shadow, unraveling the quiet, cumulative weight of absence. With a stillness that disturbs and imagery that clings like smoke, To The Victory! offers a haunting meditation on survival in a country emptied of meaning — and on how, in the silence that follows violence, one might begin the fragile, uncertain search for peace. Set in a dystopian, post-war Kyiv, the film follows a filmmaker (played by Valentyn Vasyanovych) who stays behind as his wife and daughter flee to Vienna — part of a mass exodus of women and children from Ukraine’s conflict-ridden landscape. What unfolds is not so much a war drama, but a meditation on survival, alienation, and male vulnerability in a world emotionally hollowed out.

Vasyanovych’s direction is minimal and meticulous. Wide, lingering shots capture Kyiv’s devastation with the same emotional detachment felt by the protagonist himself. “Every frame is a portrait of a man adrift,” we noted after the screening — and the director confirmed that the emotional tone was purposeful. “I planned that it would look funny,” he said with quiet irony, “but also allow for some kind of lightness.”

The film’s restrained emotional core is carried by a committed ensemble cast, including Misha Lubarsky, Vladlen Oddudenko, Hryhoriy Naumov, Sergii Stepanskyy, Marianna Novikova, and Valentyn Vasyanovych himself — whose understated performances ground the story in a deeply human presence.

Still, To The Victory! finds surprising humor and intimacy amid its desolation. One scene, in particular, left a lasting impression: the lead character jokingly suggests a gay sex scene to his best friend as they discuss a fictional film project. When we asked about it, the creative team clarified that the scene wasn’t about jumping on trendy commercial tropes, but rather a reflection of a country — and a male population — stripped of its traditional gender dynamics. “When the women leave, the men are left behind,” Volodymyr and Valentyn told us. “They no longer have to perform masculinity. They can just be friends. Open. Close. Vulnerable. Like girlfriends.” This layered take on masculinity — at once sincere and self-aware — makes the film feel deeply contemporary. The director described the scene as “funny,” yes, but also “a kind of therapy” — a way to explore intimacy and connection in a society where the old rules no longer apply.

This is a film centered around relevancy, heart, and hope., with an offering of universal truth: What is victory in the midst of war for civilians? Is it a moment of joy? A moment of grace? A moment of peace? We see the main character not merely moving through post-war Kyiv, but inhabiting a liminal space between absence and memory, between inertia and fragile agency. Vasyanovych constructs a world where each gesture — a lingering look, a half-uttered joke, the quiet handling of objects in an empty apartment — becomes a measure of endurance. Victory, here, is not declared in triumphant fanfare, but traced in the delicate persistence of daily survival, in the search for connection where the familiar structures of home, family, and society have collapsed. The film interrogates the very language of survival: how humor becomes a shield, how intimacy is remade when traditional social roles vanish, and how hope itself must be excavated from the ruins of ordinary life. By drawing our attention to these subtle, often overlooked acts, Vasyanovych asks the audience to confront the unglamorous realities of post-war existence, transforming absence into a space where human resilience, however quiet or fragmented, can be observed, measured, and mourned.

At this year’s Toronto International Film Festival, in an exclusive interview with The Literary Purveyor, director Vasyanovych and producer Volodymyr, just days before claiming the Platform Award—a prize reserved for bold and distinctive visions—said, “So despite of his previous film, I mean, this is, you’re right, it’s full of irony and it was, you know, Valentyn did it for some reasons. First of all, because he didn’t want to make it super dark despite the topic, because the topic is quite dark. And second, the material itself dictated somehow, because people, human beings, I mean, they’re adaptable to everything and they always try to find like some rays of hope in any even hopeless situation.”

For Valentyn Vasyanovych, making To The Victory! was an act of resilience in the face of uncertainty. He described the impetus for the film as deeply personal: the departure of his wife and daughter abroad due to the war, along with the separation and fracturing of friends’ families. “These dramatic stories were happening before my eyes,” he recalled. In imagining a post-war future, Vasyanovych was not simply telling a story; he was seeking a way to endure emotionally, to find a measure of hope amid devastation. The act of creating the film, he reflected, “gave me a great deal of strength,” transforming fear and isolation into the quiet courage necessary to confront both his own and his country’s uncertainties. In this sense, hope is not abstract—it is both the subject and the lifeline of the film, a guiding force through narrative and cinematic form.

Vasyanovych also recognized cinema as a means of understanding and surviving the collective trauma of his country. Even amid curfews, combat, and logistical impossibilities, he insisted on continuing to work: “The greatest problem for the industry during the war is the war itself… Many have already died. There is a curfew. Limited mobility. A lack of national support for cinema.” Yet these limitations shaped the film’s approach, from the minimal crew to the intimate, improvisational style of performance. Cinema, in his vision, becomes a space to process, reflect, and bear witness, allowing both maker and audience to confront the unspoken, the invisible, and the long shadow of war. It is a medium that matters profoundly when the world seems fractured, a quiet assertion of human endurance through art. 

Valentyn Vasyanovych is a filmmaker defined by courage — the quiet, unflinching kind that insists on truth even when the world conspires against it. In a country at war, with curfews, constant danger, and a film industry left adrift by absent leadership, he refused to wait for permission or support. “Even before the full-scale war began, I lost the opportunity to work in my profession due to incompetent management of the film industry in Ukraine,” he acknowledged, yet he turned this void into a crucible for creativity. He embraced the principle that defines great artists: write what you know. Drawing on his own experiences and the fractured lives of those around him, Vasyanovych became both witness and participant, embodying the story he sought to tell. The courage of his work lies not in spectacle or dramatic heroism, but in the relentless honesty with which he confronted personal and collective trauma, in the willingness to expose himself to fear, judgment, and the unknown. In Vasyanovych, bravery is not a theme — it is a practice, lived and embodied in every choice, every frame, and every risk he took to make art speak its truth.

Despite the acclaim at TIFF and the Platform Award, Vasyanovych admitted to feeling anxious about how his story would be received. “I eagerly await the viewers’ feedback. I’m even a little anxious, because this is an extremely intimate story,” he confessed. This vulnerability is central to the film’s honesty; it is a work unshielded from judgment or expectation, created in full awareness of the artist’s exposure. In a time when many filmmakers worry about reception, Vasyanovych’s approach was both courageous and disciplined, prioritizing emotional truth over critical appeasement. His openness allowed the film to resonate on a human level, both for audiences and, as he noted, for his collaborators who were also navigating their first experience as actors.

The authenticity of To The Victory! stems from Vasyanovych’s commitment to “write what you know.” Rather than inventing fiction, he drew from lived experience and the stories of those around him, creating what he described as a collective biography. The result is a film that is deeply intimate, yet expansive in its thematic reach. This courage and fidelity to reality inspired contributors to The Literary Purveyor. The film’s impact extended beyond the screen, inspiring those who witnessed it to embrace their own creative courage. Ivory, a contributor to The Literary Purveyor, reflected after viewing the film, “Wow, I feel like I can put together a short film. All you need is what they had: a small crew, limited equipment, great shots, and passion. I realized I can work with a small budget and still convey everything I want.” In Vasyanovych’s example, the team saw that courage in art is contagious — that honesty, ingenuity, and dedication can transcend circumstance, emboldening others to take risks and tell their own stories, no matter the scale.

The film also asks its audience to lean in and piece together meaning. Phone conversations play out one-sided. Explosions leave us questioning whether we’re watching reality or a film within the film. “I didn’t even understand myself, at first, whether we were shooting or remembering,” Vasyanovych confessed. This uncertainty is the point — a reflection of a country grappling with what is real, what is memory, and what comes next.

Parker’s Cut Movie Rating:

Feel free to watch the full interview of Valentyn & Volodymyr by Malea & Ivory Parker below.