Tento dům nemá žádná poškození
"This House is Undamaged" is a documentary that explores the complex transformation of Mariupol, a city in Ukraine that was extensively destroyed during the Russian invasion in 2022. The film explores reconstruction efforts under Russian control and highlights the strategic obliteration of war marks through rapid rebuilding.
One of the film's main narrative motifs is the deconstruction of media narratives about the reconstruction of Mariupol. Through a thorough examination of various media sources - from social media posts, amateur footage and propaganda videos to official reports and advertisements - the film seeks to reveal how the image of the city's "reconstruction" is carefully constructed and manipulated. By exposing the flaws and distortions in these depictions, the documentary critically analyses how the media plays a key role in shaping public perceptions of urban transformation, both locally and internationally.
The film unfolds not around a single character, but around the city itself. Mariupol is both the protagonist and the stage, a body whose scars, ruptures, and forced transformations are traced through found footage, propaganda clips, amateur videos, and fragments of memory. Its streets and buildings, its ruins and reconstructions, speak louder than any individual voice. But the city is not only seen — it is heard. Its soundscape becomes the deeper narrative, the pulse beneath the image.
The city is read as topography — a map in flux, marked by shifting borders of control, layers of rubble and scaffolding, zones of habitation and zones of abandonment. Satellite images dissolve into shaky phone recordings; promotional clips overlap with whispered testimonies. The city becomes a palimpsest, where destruction and construction exist side by side, each erasing and overwriting the other, yet never fully succeeding.
One of the film's main narrative motifs is the deconstruction of media narratives about the reconstruction of Mariupol. Through a thorough examination of various media sources - from social media posts, amateur footage and propaganda videos to official reports and advertisements - the film seeks to reveal how the image of the city's "reconstruction" is carefully constructed and manipulated. By exposing the flaws and distortions in these depictions, the documentary critically analyses how the media plays a key role in shaping public perceptions of urban transformation, both locally and internationally.
The film unfolds not around a single character, but around the city itself. Mariupol is both the protagonist and the stage, a body whose scars, ruptures, and forced transformations are traced through found footage, propaganda clips, amateur videos, and fragments of memory. Its streets and buildings, its ruins and reconstructions, speak louder than any individual voice. But the city is not only seen — it is heard. Its soundscape becomes the deeper narrative, the pulse beneath the image.
The city is read as topography — a map in flux, marked by shifting borders of control, layers of rubble and scaffolding, zones of habitation and zones of abandonment. Satellite images dissolve into shaky phone recordings; promotional clips overlap with whispered testimonies. The city becomes a palimpsest, where destruction and construction exist side by side, each erasing and overwriting the other, yet never fully succeeding.
My Dear Vira
When my childhood friend Vira emigrated to the United States, it felt as if part of me had left with her. We grew up in post-Soviet Ukraine, shaped by instability and a longing for a better future. While I stayed, drifting between unstable jobs and relationships, Vira built a new life — marriage, citizenship, divorce, and eventually service in the U.S. Army.
Years later, Russia’s full-scale invasion forced me to flee Ukraine. I lost my home and sense of safety, wandering across Europe, unable to return yet unable to settle elsewhere. In crisis, I turn to Vira, hoping to understand how she lives so far from our homeland.
After buying her first American house, she invites me to visit. In North Carolina, near a military base where aircraft roar day and night, I observe her disciplined life and the quiet compromises it requires. I visit her office, the park where she married, the ocean I see for the first time, and even the White House, barely visible behind construction fences.
Vira carries guilt for not fighting in Ukraine; I carry guilt for leaving. In different ways, we are both displaced. Through our reunion, my childhood belief in the “American dream” dissolves. I realize there is no perfect place — only the difficult work of making peace within. We part knowing that, despite distance, our bond endures, and one day we hope to meet again at home, in Ukraine.
Years later, Russia’s full-scale invasion forced me to flee Ukraine. I lost my home and sense of safety, wandering across Europe, unable to return yet unable to settle elsewhere. In crisis, I turn to Vira, hoping to understand how she lives so far from our homeland.
After buying her first American house, she invites me to visit. In North Carolina, near a military base where aircraft roar day and night, I observe her disciplined life and the quiet compromises it requires. I visit her office, the park where she married, the ocean I see for the first time, and even the White House, barely visible behind construction fences.
Vira carries guilt for not fighting in Ukraine; I carry guilt for leaving. In different ways, we are both displaced. Through our reunion, my childhood belief in the “American dream” dissolves. I realize there is no perfect place — only the difficult work of making peace within. We part knowing that, despite distance, our bond endures, and one day we hope to meet again at home, in Ukraine.