Analytic review of Balabanov’s “The war” (film 2002)

Tinged with the usual pessimism of Balabanov’s, The War (Война, 2002) is an entertaining and informative movie that aims to portray with plausible realism, through the protagonist’s narration during his imprisonment awaiting sentencing, the anarchic environment immersed in corruption where the armed conflict between the Russian army and the Chechen secessionists developed. While the political leadership in Moscow does not seem to be very clear on its own objectives or where it is heading, and its military cadres and intelligence services often act in an irregular or arbitrary —if not outright illegal— manner, in Chechnya the chaotic warlords are trying to take power, with their fiefdoms, clans and mafias also controlling organized crime in the region (“everyone there is a mobster”, Ivan will tell). But in both sides the personal motivations are more economic than political or ideological, and almost all the agents seek, above all, to fill their pockets at every opportunity they get.

The plot

Year 2001. In the scenario of the second war in Chechnya, Ivan is a young sergeant of the Russian army, servicing two years on the front, who has been captured and imprisoned for several weeks in a base of the “terrorists” (as Russia considered the secessionists in arms), in the North Caucasus mountains, under the command of the local chieftain Aslan Gugaev. Treated as a slave, as Muslims often do with prisoners, Ivan shares captivity with other military and civilians in deplorable conditions, malnourished, forced to work for his captors doing all kinds of chores, beaten daily and sometimes mutilated or even beheaded at the chief’s whim.

One day the guerrillas bring to their camp a couple of British artists (John and Margaret) captured in Georgia with the idea of obtaining a hefty ransom for them. After a month, Aslan decides to keep Margaret as a hostage and release John to collect the money in England, giving him two months to do so. At the same time he releases Ivan, who speaks some English, to accompany him as interpreter, as well as to try to expedite with the Russian government the exchange of Aslan’s nephew (then convicted of terrorism) for another prisoner of the Chechens, Captain Medvedev. Ivan’s release is therefore not economic, but purely instrumental. As the sergeant tells a journalist: “Releasing a soldier is not profitable. They pay very little. There is a market in Shatoi where prices are fixed. Hostages are bought and sold there, assassinations are ordered…. It is a Chechens-controlled mafia.”

From there, the film describes John’s struggles —only partly successful— for trying to raise the ransom money from relatives and authorities, as well as already demobilized Ivan’s return to his city in Siberia, where the sergeant will not find it easy to adapt because, after his experiences at the front, on the one hand he is out of place in the civilian world and, on the other, the labor market doors close on him, since former combatants in Chechnya were, as we are told, regarded with suspicion. Back in Russia with part of the money, John goes to Siberia to offer Ivan a tasty bonus if he would accompany him back to Vladikavkaz to help him get Margaret back. The young man agrees and they set off. Unable to get the cooperation of the authorities, they try at first to contact some sinister characters who work outside the official channel, soon to realize that this path, controlled by spooks and gangsters, leads them to be swindled or even killed; so they finally decide to try by themselves. At this point the script becomes somewhat implausible, since the trickery and skill used to overcome the obstacles —and the distance— between them and Aslan’s village, as well as to rescue Margaret and Medvedev, with no other help than Ruslan’s, a Chechen shepherd they take captive, seem typical of a Rambo installment; but, although they finally achieve their goal, it will not be without painful consequences for Ivan, who will end up accused of abuse and murder by the Russian justice.

Analysis (contains spoilers)

This is, plot-wise, a consistent film: save for the aforementioned exception, both the characters and the situations are credible and seem to also have a solid historical, political and social backing: people’s mentality and attitude; the modus operandi of the parts involved: army, Chechen Muslims, governments and authorities (Russian and British); the respective idiosyncrasies, etc., are easy to verify in various journalistic and historical sources.

John is your typical Anglo-Saxon, speaking to everyone in English as if in his own country (characteristic wasp supremacism) without thinking that in Russia (and in most of the world, for that matter) no one is obliged to know that language; and also the typical Westerner who, shocked by the barbarities of war, constantly invokes human rights wich only provoke hilarity —when not anger— on the part of his captors. Thus we are given to understand, with evident skepticism, that in the Chechen conflict (and probably in most warlike scenarios) respect for laws were the exception and war crimes the norm. On the other hand, although Balabanov portrays him as a man not lacking in courage, his selfishness and ingratitude overshadow this virtue, since on several occasions he endangers those who help him —and even the success of the endeavour— because he is determined to record, with a small camera, everything happening around him since his return from London, where a British producer promised him a large sum for the graphic material thus obtained. Worse still: his Protestant puritanism and his humanist prudery will in the end lead him to testify against Ivan, despite owing him his and Margaret’s lives.

In turn, Ivan is the paradigm of the hero in Balabanov’s conception, similar to the one portrayed by Danila Bagrov, the main protagonist in his famous film The Brother (Брат, 1997): an ordinary Russian patriot, noble and daring, hardened by the war, but who has managed to preserve his moral values and a sense of loyalty and justice. However, perhaps the least consistent aspect of Ivan’s character is his decision to return to the war zone, since neither his friendship with John (simple companions in misfortune for a month), nor the gratification he promises him, nor a reasonable desire for justice seem to offer sufficient cause to embark motu proprio on this adventure, mostly given that he knows firsthand the grave dangers awaiting him. John’s motivation is understandable, since his girlfriend was taken hostage and he promised to rescue her, whereas Ivan left nothing in the Caucasus worth risking his life for again. Not even the idea of freeing the brave Captain Medvedev (abandoned by the Kremlin) and settling a score with Aslan seem sufficient reasons to undertake a mission with little chance of success.

As for Aslan, Balabanov presents him in relatively laudatory terms: although a cruel and implacable man, he at least knows what he is fighting for: it is not simply a matter of getting rich, but of religion, historical survival and the feeling of belonging to his people; a fellow smart enough to understand the undercurrents of politics and to take advantage of the Moscow regime’s inherent contradictions, but whose animosity towards his enemies does not prevent him from recognizing and honoring the courage of some of them. In an accurate and well-worded speech to Ivan, he says: “There are good elements among you. I saw one caged in Vizkhayansk. A tough prisoner, strong as a Chechen. If people like him were leading Russia, you could win this war; but you have very few of those. You are weak and stupid, and your leaders, imbeciles. You have lost the Ukraine and Kazakhstan; you have given away half the country; soon the Chinese will take over the East. While you fight against us, I own a hotel and three restaurants in Moscow; and although we milk the Russians like cows, you continue to pay us from the state budget. I will tell you why you fight so badly: because you do not fight for your motherland; you have been herded here as cattle, whereas I have known my ancestors for seven generations. One hundred and fifty years ago we were already cutting you to pieces. This is my land and I will cleanse it of infidel dogs until there is not a damned Russian left from here to Volgograd.” This little speech probably reflects the director’s personal opinion of Russia as of then.

Finally, the Chechen shepherd, Ruslan — whose invaluable help in bringing the adventure to a successful end is obtained by Ivan through force, blackmail and deception— is also a quite plausible character: a man not too committed to the secessionist cause who, in exchange for his collaboration (albeit forced), hopes to obtain from the sergeant help in getting his son accepted at the University of Moscow; and who, moreover, has suffered in his own flesh Aslan’s chieftain ways, for which he professes him some resentment. But, although in the end Ivan not only spares his life but also gives him part of the money John rewards him (Ivan) with, Ruslan will show his spiteful and ungrateful spirit by also —alongside John— testifying against the young patriot.

For the rest, the performance of almost all the actors is good, at the level —if not above— what we see in many Hollywood or European productions. They behave naturally, without the grimaces or theatrical fussiness so common in some cinema schools nor the stereotyped and synthetic gestures of the American one; albeit —on the other hand— it is true that the script’s dramatic demands are quite modest, as it has no complex feelings to show that require great interpretative expertise.

As pointed, arguably the other weak point of the screenplay —besides Ivan’s poorly justified decision to undertake the rescue adventure— is the daring and fortunate stunts (in scenes comparable to those of any good war movie) that lead to the success of the self-imposed mission; but at least the director has the good sense to keep them within the limits of the improbable, without presenting us with anything that sounds plain unbelievable. In any case, if the most entertaining aspect of the film may be precisely the development of such adventures, the most interesting one is —in my opinion— the pertinent description, dispassionate and truthful, of the social and political climate in which the events take place, as well as the accurate way in which human weaknesses are exposed: the general indifference for the fate of combatants and captives, the inevitable mafias that manage everything, the paradoxes of the legal and judicial system, money as everyone’s main motivator, and above all —as a bitter colophon— the human being’s deep ungratefulness.

Thus, for example, the Russian government turns out to have no interest in rescuing the valuable Captain Medvedev; and although the viewers are not offered any explanation for this neglect, those more or less aware of Putin’s policy’s background and other similar cases can surmise two reasons: on the one hand, nationalist patriots (sometimes called “right-of-the-Kremlin”), especially if they are military men, mean a concern for the government, fearful of a radical popular movement opposing Moscow’s subjugation to the national oligarchies and international financial elites; so the presidential clique is not too worried about such men dying or missing in action. Perhaps Balabanov is implying that Medvedev is one such patriot. On the other hand, in today’s Russia’s war conflicts, many hostage exchanges or rescues are not even done officially, but privately by members of the FSB or former KGB spooks, who earn a commission with each operation; and since there is no money involved in Medvedev’s rescue, for his family is not wealthy, there is not much interest in carrying it out either.

It is also important to know, in order to have more clues to understand the film, that according to the most critical and fatalistic Russians, one of the causes of that war was that the FSB and all the Kremlin’s corrupt apparatus wanted a slice of the Chechen mafia (drug trafficking and other illicit businesses), which the local ethnic group monopolized and refused to share. According to these “doomers” everything was rotten from the get go.

Another of the messages that this film seems to convey is a certain idea of war as something that turns youngsters into men and also, somehow, gives meaning to life. In a brief and moving monologue, Ivan’s aging father, ill in a hospital, will say to his son: “It’s good that you have been in the war because that has made you a man, which is what you should be. How I wish I could get up and go too!” Maybe with this Balabanov wants to emphasize the contrast between the old days, when people fought for something with conviction, and the individualistic, hedonistic mentality and weak values prevailing nowadays.

But perhaps the most dramatic and outstanding aspect of the script, as well as the least flattering for the human race, is highlighted when it tells us how the ungrateful come off well while those who acted with more altruism fall in disgrace. Thus, John will return to London, release his film, write a book and become famous; Ruslan will get his son into Moscow University; but both will testify against Ivan when justice accuses him. Only Captain Medvedev will stand up for him. And so, the protagonist alone —against whom the criminal machinery is directed despite his motivations being the least selfish— is the one to lose out. In this regard, by the way, the film proposes an interesting dilemma: Ivan, in view of his government’s inaction and indolence, decided to privately undertake the enterprise of freeing a defenseless civilian hostage and a valuable military commander, and in the fray several Chechen civilians —therefore, Russians— die at his hands. The law, of course, is not on his side because he is no longer a soldier and no authority has entrusted him with such a mission, so that his violent acts constitute a crime (even if the civilian victims were presumably accomplices or cooperators in the secessionist struggle). However, is Ivan morally reprehensible? If the system’s repressive apparatus worked as it should and prosecuted in proportion to their gravity all the crimes of which it is aware, perhaps the answer to that question would be simpler; but in a country where corruption and mafias, guilty of many and worse tragedies, run wild with manifest impunity, justice is deligitimized and relativized. Also John (another civilian, and a foreigner to boot) has wounded or killed several Chechens, yet no one in Russia or the UK presses charges against him. This is a clear indictment of the Russian criminal justice system, which rails against a poor devil while leaving the big fish alone.

Through Balabanov’s eyes we can perceive, no doubt, a serious criticism of Russia at both the social and institutional levels: a government sold out to economic agents, a disoriented people, the laxity of ethical norms, bribery at all levels, and so on. What is not clear to me is whether this criticism is directed especially against the post-Soviet regime as such, that is, whether we should understand that the events (otherwise imaginary, since we ignore to what degree they are based on real, concrete facts) and the atmosphere are a direct consequence of the collapse of the USSR (recurrent cliché in the ideological nostalgics of communism: “after Perestroika, decadence”), or whether they are simply manifestations of certain negative facets of the Russian mentality —when not of human nature in general— shown only in certain situations. Many Hollywood productions do not offer a favorable view of our species either, yet nobody concludes from this that American society is degenerating. It is worth bearing in mind that Alexei Balabanov likes to focus on the darkest aspects of the personality, and that in his sensationalist filmography (although this is not the case of The War) psychopaths play a special role.

Finally, I will point out that the song that accompanies the end credits (Butusov’s “My Star”) is beautiful, and conveys a touching sadness even to those who do not understand the lyrics. Just for listening to it the film is worth watching.

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The Hispanic peculiarity

It is any given midday of the mild winter in Torata, a small village in the mountains of Peru. A large group of schoolkids, dressed in blue and white, appear around a corner of the main square under the direction of several adults (presumably teachers) and, with a naiveté as touching as it is unfortunate, set about doing a kind of performance consisting of various acts not necessarily related to each other. In one of them, a handful of boys walk with backs bent as if under the weight of slavery (presumably inflicted by some fearsome dictator or – who knows? – by the Spanish conquistadors themselves) while four or five others behind mercilessly lash them with their make-believe whips, drawing groans of pain from the poor mistreated devils. In the next act, a group of girls (mark the sexist message) parade to the very reasonable–albeit listless and unconvinced–cry of: “We want freedom, long live democracy!“; from which one would infer that there is neither of both in Peru (which, ironically, is true in every corner of the world) or that however much of them there may be in this country has been brought by these young Incas and their protests, thus no longer suffering some tremendously authoritarian – and most probably heteropatriarchal – repression. Continue reading

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The healthiest country on Earth


When I heard that Netflix was going to stop broadcasting in Russia, my first thought was: “Oh!, but was Netflix allowed in Russia at all? How imprudent!”

I mean: I’m a freedom enthusiast, and generally am not in the least for banning anything. I believe in free market and, in principle, support people’s possibility to access whatever services and goods they want or need of their own will, even though most person’s ability to choose what’s best for them leaves much to be desired: ideally, in my opinion, choice should come alongside education… But I’m drifting towards a too complicated debate here. For the moment, suffice to say that — well, if someone wants to watch whichever channel or online content, then let them do it.

However, when it comes to Netflix (or HBO, Amazon Video, Disney Channel, DW, etc.), I confess that my belief in liberty wavers quite a bit, and no longer know if I’m pro freedom of choice above all other considerations. And this is so because… well, Netflix and the like are such powerful indoctrinating tools that might even be labelled and treated like toxic: the same as governments regulate and restrict to the average layman the intake of certain drugs, least he poisons himself, so should perhaps be done with the venomous contents fed to uneducated or unprepared societies by those media platforms. Indeed, all of their video productions are manufactured to subtly –yet very efficiently– shape, when not manipulate, people’s minds in order for all of us to think in very much the same way, share identical values and have matching opinions: gender ideology, femin(az)ism, multiculturalism, identity politics, LGBTIQism, climate change, veganism, abortion, animalism, euthanasia, indigenism, welcome refugees, open borders… you name it! Such ready-made ideas are been seeded on most of the world’s population by –though not only– the mentioned platforms. Therefore, Continue reading

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Cui prodest bellum


Whatever the end of the Russian “special military operation” in Ukraine be, we can be sure of this: Europe countries’ electorates will have been persuaded about NATO’s essential existence, and -neglecting any possible initiative to dissolve an organization which, in truth, lost its theoretical purpose more than three decades ago- will grant their leaders a carte blanche to engage in enormous increases of their respective defense budgets. With the excuse of a peremptory protection from the Russian bear, NATO’s European members will spend fabulous amounts of extra money on weapons – defrayed, of course, off the taxpayers’ pockets. Chancelor Shcolz has already anounced upping Germany’s military expense in 100 billion euros next year, the rest of NATO countries this side of the ocean to follow suit in some degree, plus other non-NATO nations as well. How much total? A few hunded billions?

And a huge proportion of these expenses in armament, technology and war equipment will likely engross the profit of US military industry, which is by a landslide the world’s top arms exporter. Ineffable delight for the Deep State; the same powers, by the way, who fostered the coup d’etat in Kiev 2014 (disguised as an spontaneous popular revolt called Euromaidan) to oust the by then Ukraine’s democratically elected president and sit, in its place, puppets like the actual Volodimir Zelenski, obedient to Washington’s guidelines.

There is, besides, a second outcome we should also take for granted: gas and petroleum futures (determining actual prices) will remain in historical highs for many months to come (though, paradoxically, the present global demand of such commodities is lower than in the recent past), which makes profitable for US fracking companies to turn on again -they’re already doing it- the expensive and polluting shell industry for hydrocarbons extraction, and whose production will be bought by silly Europeans twice as costly as what we’d pay to Russian suppliers. Cunningly enough, the very US buys hydrocarbons from Russia at a lower cost than it fracks them. But, as Ursula von der Leyen has recently said, “The sacrifice for the liberty of our Ukrainian brothers has also a price for Europeans, and we must be ready to pay that price”. In short, more market and profits for the United States.

Thus being things, if we now apply political analysis’ rule #1, “qui prodest?“, to the armed conflict in Ukraine, it comes as obvious that its main economic profiteer is the USA; therefore, it turns out as quite likely that, contrary to what West governments and their media payroll try to make us believe, this situation has been brewed, or at least favoured, by the said beneficiary. Gas, oil and weapons (besides other globalist, strategic and hegemonic goals, too obscure -yet unquestionable- for me to analyze) are mighty enough reasons for the White House to turn a deaf ear on the legitimate and reasonable security claims the Kremlin has been making these past years on Ukraine’s neutrality, and for the dubiously elected president Biden -another Deep State crippled puppet- to keep pushing his Russian counterpart towards the reckless step he’s ultimately taken. Which step, by the way, is nothing but a self-fulfilled prophecy: first we pester the bear and, and once he finally thrusts his pow, then we justify the pestering… and the assassination, if possible. But probably Russia, for the past decades, did not entail more of a threat to the West than that created by the same West when keeping alive the NATO and expanding it eastwards.

Gas, oil and weapons are also mighty reasons to help prolong this war much longer than necessary, and thus we’re witnessing such absurdity as, instead of stepping in between two contenders in order to stop the quarrel, o even -if we dared- boldly intervening in support of the part we perceive as weaker/righter, what NATO does is selling arms by the loads to Zelenski, and “morally” backing him up with sanctions to Russia, so that our protegé won’t stop fighting or save its lives, but rather slowly bleed out for as long as possible; not because Europe doesn’t care, but because it all goes for the superior cause of God blessed Uncle Sam’s profit.

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Omotenashi

Actually the whole episode could’ve not been simpler, and if I had to put it down to some element more or less outside its direct players, I’d probably point to the mismatch between my eating habits and those of the Japanese: there, restaurants are rather for dining, and most of them–except maybe in the cities–only open after around five or six in the evening; but even the ones serving lunch close down usually for a long break shortly after noon–which is when I’m normally waking up from bed… or sort of; therefore, by the time I start getting hungry–say 3-4 p.m.–I can’t find where to go for a meal. That’s why that day I had to overcome my qualms regarding small bistros and get over the embarrassment of feeling like an ignorant alien among the other customers–who would no doutb be watchful of every move of mine–in order to get inside that particular hovel–the only one I found open–called by its small, dusty and neglected showcase, where there yawned–since years ago, I’d bet–the so common in Japan plastic replicas of four or five different dishes, labelled with their respective prices.
Right after getting in, I was welcomed (welcomed?) by the typical stale fag-ends/cold-smoke smell, which is one of the things I find most unpleasant in regular life–very specially when having meals–except perhaps for the typical lit fag smoke, which was also present in that place. This aversion of mine to tobacco truly hinders my enjoyment of many (otherwise) pleasant moments that life could–and indeed does bring me; most of all in Japan, where the smoking rate among the (male) population is rather high and where, funny enough, though it’s forbidden on the streets (!), turns out to be legal inside bars and restaurants, except for the few ones (normally more sophisticated and expensive) whose managers have willfully banned smoking. Hence the qualms I mentioned. And that’s a real pity, because it’s precisely in the more local bistros where one can–and usually does come across the more genuine experiences and people, leave aside the more affordable prices; but then you have to count on the smoke, which is twofold a problem for me, because on top of inhaling the foul air, later on I’ll have to hand wash the smelly garments in the hotel room’s sink, or send them to laundry–whichever way a chore.
As I was saying, Continue reading

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Return to Nowhere

Béhasque, Sauveterre de Béarn, Jaureguia… These prehistorical nuances and mountain echoes  in these place names sound quite familiar to me: I am in the French side of the Basque country, a region that I find to be both similar and disimilar to the Spanish counterpart. On one hand, villages and architecture are quite alike on both sides, as are the gastronomy and some habits, the atmosphere, the more people walking the streets or drinking wine and eating tapas. Also the font type in signs and notices is the same. But on the other hand, the Homo Basqus seems more tamed here, less wild; and I haven’t yet heard any Euskera spoken. Apparently these Basques don’t mix up (as the Spanish do) the concepts of folklore and nationality; they seem happy to speak French. Or… perhaps France considers their language sacred and is not ready to tolerate any region pushing French to the background. Whichever the case, bi-lingual road signs seem to be the major concession to Euskera here.
My sleep in Navarrenx was unbeatable. Thanks God I was finally given a night off insomnia. Now I’m passing the Pyrenees via one of the less trodden and most winding by-roads I’ve found. On the French side, the region seems to be a lot less industrial and the environment is better taken care of – to no one’s surprise, of course, knowing how admirably France respects its countryside compared to us. They rather rely on agriculrure and farming than on factories and mining; but if there is some industry on their side, it’s well out of sight, or better integrated with the environment. Continue reading

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Chiaroscuros of France

Today, October tenth, two of my siblings will be celebrating their birthdays two thousand kilometres southwest of here. To that course, the weather forecast this part of France is not too good; it’s raining now, in fact; therefore I’m altering my planned itinerary in order to dodge another soak like yesterday’s. The sleep, however, has been fantastic; one of those rare ones that grant me a real rest; warm the room, quiet the hotel.
For a change, I’m taking a speedway stretch (the first one in fifteen thousand kilometres of journey) for leaving Dijon behind as soon as possible. When I’m near the city, four customs policemen on bikes swarm on me signalling me to pull over. Then, not bothering to salute, they blurt out their authority and stare at me as if to check my response. Do they have a reputation for being tough guys and I should freak out? I don’t know. I just say, ‘very good; what do you want?’ ‘To search your luggage’, replies one; ‘do you mind to open your cases?’ As I’m doing it, I ask him ‘do I have a choice, anyway?’, but he doesn’t answer. While they’re checking, I’m asked the typical questions: where do you come from, where are you going, what do you carry. They only check my bags, but not the few places where you can hide compromising stuff in a motorcycle. What the hell are they after? Whatever. As nothing is found, they mount their bikes and ride away… obviously taking a French leave. As nice as my country’s Guardia Civil; c’est à dire, churls.

Parque natural blabla

Around Saulieu

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Happenstances to change lives

Naumburg, donde Nietzsche se crió

Naumburg, Nietzsche’s hometown

One hundred and seventy years after Nietzsche was born, Rosaura and me arrive to Naumburg (in the German state of Saxony-Anhalt), hometown to the student who would later become the most important philosopher of 19th century. In those times, Naumburg was a small town of 13.000 inhabitants. Today it’s a cute city of 33.000 people that -thanks to luck- welcomes me with a nice hotel and a cozy restaurant in a small square, whose waitress, pretty and kind, despite not speaking any English does her best to make my dinner quite plesant. Continue reading

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