Dmitry Malyukin

Bucha (2023), directed by Dmitry Malyukin, dives headfirst into the chaos and heartbreak that unfolded during the early days of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The film doesn’t tiptoe around the horror—it throws you right into the streets of Bucha, a once-quiet town that’s now the center of violence and shattered lives. You follow a handful of regular folks—neighbors, families, people just trying to get by—as their world crumbles. There’s this sense of confusion and panic everywhere, with characters scrambling to make impossible choices: Do you stay and risk everything? Or leave behind the only life you’ve ever known? The movie isn’t just about the physical destruction. It’s about trust—how quickly it’s broken, how desperately people try to hold onto it, even when everything’s falling apart. One minute, you’re sharing a meal with friends; the next, you’re hiding in a basement, hoping the soldiers don’t find you. The film doesn’t pull punches on showing how war can twist people, force them to betray or save each other in ways they never imagined. Malyukin’s direction is raw, almost documentary-like, with shaky cameras and close-ups that make you feel like you’re right there. The soundtrack is sparse, letting the sounds of gunfire and desperate whispers fill the silence. Bucha isn’t an easy watch, but it’s not supposed to be. It slams you with reality, refusing to let you look away from the pain, the fear, and, weirdly enough, the flickers of hope that refuse to die, no matter how dark things get.