How did the full-scale war affect you as an artist in the long run? I remember when you first thought of making People of Steel. Are there any changes? How do you feel about this process now?
Given the extraordinary scale and depth of the events, one can only be effective by focusing on a self-constructed plan built around specific criteria. The film became the most difficult psycho-emotional and psycho-physical work I have ever undertaken. I spent two years on this subject, working day in and day out without breaks or rest. In most cases, the film’s development meant I was alone in the field. However, I was fortunate to be surrounded by many friends across the world – and this has been a great blessing, as their support enabled me to fulfil the project’s objectives. Still, there were moments when I believed nothing would succeed – everything seemed overwhelmingly difficult.
But to return to the essence of the work: it was not entirely a creative task, though elements of creativity were present. After editing the central story I wanted to express, preserve and communicate – and, in a way, encode – there remained aesthetic concerns: colour correction, transitions. Here, I received tremendous support from Matvei Vaisberg. He worked quickly and with great skill, perfectly captured the mood, and brilliantly chose the format for the illustrations.
And, of course, there was the music. I selected it myself – and it worked remarkably well. My background as a musician proved useful in this respect. In fact, the idea of composing a dedicated song for the film emerged early in the process.
It all began when the Azov fighters were captured between 16 and 20 May. I was deeply affected and wrote a poem titled At the Cost of Death and Honour. I recorded it and added a photo taken on the Sea of Azov, in Shyrokyne, where I had visited one of our military units in 2018. That was the genesis – the poem stayed with me.
Later, I composed a song that was initially intended to appear at the end of the film. However, I came to realise that including it would have shifted the focus away from the film’s central theme and onto the author himself. That would have undermined the work’s purpose. So I decided to leave it out.
After that, an entirely different phase of the process began – because creating a story is one thing, but showing it to the world is quite another.
Could you tell us more about it?
I also devised a creative approach to this strategy, because the conventional route – submitting films to festivals – does not achieve the main objective: reaching a broad audience. It remains enclosed within a bubble. Admittedly, it can be a very refined and intellectually stimulating bubble, but the goal of People of Steel is to be seen by as many diverse people as possible. That is why a multi-layered strategy was adopted. The central idea was to approach the project in the same way a musician embarks on a concert tour – except this time, I toured with a film. Face to face with various audiences, different contexts, and unique stories.
The first screening took place at the Council of Europe – intended for politicians and diplomats who can influence internal processes. This represents one category of the target audience, and the effect was tangible. Representatives from all Council of Europe member states attended. The film’s protagonist, Alla Bereznitska, was present, accompanied by her husband Maks – though he does not appear in the film, he was wounded and captured. They gave powerful testimony. Alongside the emotional impact, there were also concrete outcomes. We were joined by Petro Yatsenko, a representative of the Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War. He is exceptionally articulate and constructive – capable of explaining complex mechanisms with clarity. That was the starting point.
From there, I selected venues that would enable this story to reach as many people as possible. For example, the screening at the Olympic Games in France attracted significant attention from foreign journalists. I then followed this path further, realising that many of these events were firsts – both for me and in general – as no one had attempted such a format before. To my knowledge, no Ukrainian film in recent history has undertaken such a wide-ranging international tour, combining cross-border screenings with direct conversations with audiences, as People of Steel has. The tour has included screenings in offices, cinemas, theatres, volunteer centres, political hubs, libraries, schools and universities. Some cities even hosted open-air showings. The film also aired on television – live on Euronews România – with Romanian subtitles and some of the more graphic scenes blurred.
Special screenings have been organised globally by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the tour continues. Through this, I have come to understand more deeply how this entire system operates.
In parallel, I have held meetings at a more professional level with producers. I am exploring how Ukrainian films – created in Ukraine by Ukrainian teams – can appear on streaming platforms or media outlets in the countries that matter to us, without needing to interact directly with local professional environments (such as news agencies, media institutions, or industry communities). Achieving this would significantly expand the film’s audience. But I must add – and I have verified this – that no such precedent currently exists in any country.
The only exception is the film 20 Days in Mariupol by Mstyslav Chernov, which was created by a Ukrainian team. However, everything else – the funding, the production company, the connections – was foreign. That is why it succeeded. And that is very good. But Ukrainian films do not have this opportunity, even though there are several highly compelling works that the world needs to see.
We live inside our own bubble. Most foreign viewers – Germans, Scots, Britons, Americans – do not know what happened in Mariupol. They are shocked and say: “We didn’t know this – our media did not show us.”
This is a process. And the conclusion is clear: our cultural and informational presence in the world is still very limited. Despite the headlines we sometimes see at home – a film selected for this or that festival, a supposed “victory” – it does not mean much. Yes, respected experts may gather and declare their solidarity with Ukraine, but these messages fail to reach a broader global audience.
The strategic task for the coming years is to build these pathways – and ultimately, a proper system. We are still far from that. A functioning system would be akin to a serious business structure. At present, I do not see such a possibility – and I say this with full knowledge of the situation both within Ukraine and abroad. Thank God, the country is experiencing a kind of renaissance. Yet Ukrainian culture still feels like an orphan by the roadside, always pleading for attention – “look how talented and beautiful I am” – and always asking for something.
In the cultural sphere, we often see artists creating and promoting their work abroad on behalf of Ukraine, yet virtually without the support of the state or dedicated institutions. How was it for you? Did you receive any help with the film People of Steel?
There was no financial assistance – but there was communication and logistical support at different levels. Many screenings have been organised by Ukrainian embassies around the world. Of all the tours I personally participated in, only around 5–7% were managed directly by me. The rest were arranged independently, often with the help of embassies – including key ones, such as the Polish embassy.
In this regard, the state does not obstruct – in fact, it often supports. For the first time in a long time, there is a genuine dialogue and understanding of the importance of such initiatives. The Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War also offers support. There is a degree of constructive cooperation, because everyone recognises the significance of the subject. Whether or not specific tasks are executed effectively is another matter entirely.
Would you say that People of Steel serves as a testimony? Did you consult with human rights advocates? Can it be considered evidence of war crimes?
It is, indeed, a documentary film. And one of its key objectives was precisely this – to avoid manipulating creative elements and instead present a complex issue within a single, unified narrative, as far as possible.
Specifically, I asked Ilya Samoylenko – an Azov fighter who was in command at the headquarters during the siege – to provide a full account of events: how many enemy forces there were, which units, when they arrived, and from which positions. Because our coverage has often been overwhelmingly emotional. And that’s a problem – we focus heavily on the emotional layer and neglect analytical information. This is also part of what state propaganda lacks.
Years ago, director Serhiy Proskurnya demonstrated what state propaganda should be – a living narrative, a truthful one. Not the kind of fiction constructed by the Russians, who simply lie. We do very little to counterbalance that – our own state communication remains underdeveloped.
But this film is not propaganda. It’s not even counter-propaganda. It is a true story – a historical document created through the lens of documentary art.
Another major goal was to collect sources: photographs, videos, archival materials, and testimonies.
Did you know any of the Azov fighters beforehand? And how did you go about collecting the testimonies?
The initial, powerful impulse to tell this story came when I saw how the women from the Azovstal Families Association began a broad public campaign to raise awareness. I was deeply moved by their focus and resilience. In fact, the film’s working title was originally Women of Steel.
The first person I spoke to was Alla Samoylenko, Ilya’s mother – someone I’ve known for quite a while. I corresponded with her extensively, explaining what I envisioned for the film. We were in full agreement.
Then I reached out to Kateryna Prokopenko, the founder of the Association. Once it became clear that I was not chasing a trend, but genuinely committed to making a serious, in-depth film, the doors opened. It became easier to move forward.
There were prisoner exchanges. During the first major one, many of the defenders returned. Then came two more. I had to find those who were willing to speak – and that’s when I asked Ilya Samoylenko to be recorded. He is a thoughtful, intelligent, and composed individual, capable of explaining everything clearly and precisely. Not everyone can do that.
From that moment on, the film started coming together internally – almost like a divine edit. You plan one thing, but then you witness the footage, and it takes shape differently. The key is not to interfere with the film’s natural flow. You must be attentive to these moments. You work with your soul and your mind – but not your heart.
That’s an important distinction. Because when you work with your heart – when emotion takes over – it simply doesn’t work in this genre or for this mission. There are already many emotional films, filled with tears and grief. But our task here was different: to push for the release of the defenders. This was no longer a purely artistic endeavour – it crossed into other domains, including the legal one.
There needs to be documented information about what is happening: the horrific torture, the war crimes, the crimes against humanity. There are concrete examples. Thousands of them. And in the film, we show only a few. All of this unfolds in the broader context of the battle for Mariupol – what happened to civilians trapped in basements, and to the Azov fighters once they were captured.
We also need to explain to the world what’s really happening in Ukraine, and how devastating it is for the global geopolitical and security architecture. We must present the history of Russia’s war against Ukraine – and, at the very least, put it into proper context. Not just through emotion, but through understanding. This constant ‘chewing over’ of information, the repetition of what seems obvious, helps people realise that this isn’t just one vague, shapeless thing called “the war”.
You and your team spent 10 months touring across Europe and the United States. Did you find that in some places you needed to explain more – even point out Ukraine and Mariupol on the map – and in others, not at all?
Most people have heard of Mariupol and have a general idea of what happened there. But they don’t know the details. And every screening was different in terms of audience questions and reactions. The only common thread was that people were shocked. Honestly, I expected more standardised questions, but that wasn’t the case.
At one screening, for example, someone asked: “What about political parties in Ukraine that support Russia?” I said: “There are none.” They replied: “But we have them here.” And I told them: “If you want to get rid of them, you need a war.” Then I explained.
Sometimes they ask for specific figures – which I can’t disclose. But our task is to make sure people understand that this is real, that it’s happening right now.
There are many emotional moments too – when relatives come up after a screening, or when Europeans can’t comprehend how the Red Cross isn’t involved. They say things like, “But isn’t the Red Cross such an effective organisation? Like the UN?” And I have to explain: the UN is also ineffective. This always comes as a surprise.
People often just can’t grasp that these horrors are real. They ask: “Why would anyone do such things?” That’s an important line of inquiry too, because I tell them – this war affects everyone. Ukrainians didn’t fully understand that at first either. It’s human nature to feel distant from danger. But the threat is real. And as long as Ukraine stands, you are still safe. But look at what’s happening in your own countries. None of this is random.
If you think you’re safe, Ukraine has already shown that no one is truly safe. We are the only country that is actively fighting this evil. We are the ones holding it back. And it can spread – to Europe, to the U.S., to anywhere. If you think America is too far away, that’s an illusion.
And the threat doesn’t stop with Russia. The question is also about its allies. If Russia is still hesitant to drop a bomb, North Korea might not be. Think back to 9/11 – just one terrorist attack, and imagine dozens. And the American media isn’t talking about this. But they should. The weapons the U.S. sends to Ukraine aren’t charity – they’re an investment in their own security. They’re protecting themselves through us.
Is the myth of the “great Russian culture” – and the question “why would Russia need this?” – still alive?
Oh yes, very much so. Because you still see ‘cherry orchards’ and ‘uncle Vanya’ productions in Britain or the US. I keep telling people: you’ve been deceived. This so-called “great Russian culture” is just a façade – a pretty backdrop that hides a fascist concentration camp. For years, you’ve been sold an illusion. The only truly powerful and effective Russian weapon is propaganda. Culture? That’s just the cover story.
The film includes unique footage from Olenivka. How did you manage to obtain it?
It took a long time. The footage is licensed, and the process was painfully slow. Months of emails and negotiations, until we finally got a contact for a European branch in the Czech Republic. Then a woman there connected us to an Eastern European branch. I checked the details — and saw a Russian phone number. I thought: “Here we go.” She apologised at length. That’s the level of disconnect from reality we’re dealing with.
Eventually, we managed to find the funds to purchase a lifetime licence for the archival material from Reuters – and it was very expensive.
And then it became clear why Reuters was even there, why they were allowed in. It turns out Reuters and the Soviet – later Russian – TASS news agency have been partners for over 80 years. Since the late 1920s, they’ve been exchanging information. Because, after all, it’s an information business. That alone gives you a snapshot of Russia’s long-term strategy and how it operates across countries – and how we don’t even appear in that picture.
When the world was first impressed by our heroism, our self-sacrifice, and the way we fought back during the first two years of the war, that admiration gradually faded. Now, only those with deep empathy still feel it. The general public? They no longer know. Or maybe they never truly did.
What about audiences in the US?
They live in the past – while we’re in the midst of global change. Many still hold onto old myths, trying to make sense of things as they go. Some even say, “Russia must be preserved.” And we explain: preserving Russia poses a danger – to you as well. The point is, America is a strategically vital territory, and we need to work with it seriously.
This requires a separate, systematic, long-term approach – regardless of whether Trump is in power or not. A significant number of Americans do support Ukraine, and we must support them in return. The main task here is communication and cultural diplomacy – that’s crucial. We have to show them why Russia’s presence on our land is not in their interest. After all, they would be very interested in seeing their enemies weakened.
Did you need to explain Ukraine’s situation in some countries by drawing parallels with their own history?
Yes, definitely. Our film screenings follow a set structure: screening, discussion, Q&A – and then a musical segment. That’s when I start telling the story behind each song, or who the author is, if it’s not one of mine. The message is simple: Ukraine isn’t just about war. It’s about culture. About music. About breathtaking landscapes. About vast cultural treasures that were hidden away under the weight of empire.
For instance, there’s a song called “We’ve Been Walking for a Long Time” dedicated to the Sixtiers. I talk about Alla Horska, Vasyl Stus, and how the regime destroyed our artists. And then I’ll sing something light-hearted by Ivasyuk – and tell the story of how the KGB killed him. Because this war isn’t just happening now. It hasn’t just been 11 years. It’s been going on for a very long time. This genocide is centuries-old.
Our culture is incredibly rich, but it was silenced. That’s why we cannot be Russians. There is a difference – and we are only now beginning to show the world who we really are.
And who comes to the screenings? Is it mostly Ukrainians or locals as well?
Mostly non-Ukrainians – Germans, Scots, British, Indians, Chinese, Pakistanis, and many others. There’s a real mix of nationalities – but this still needs to be scaled up. Take Florida, for example – a Trump-leaning region. A local TV channel came, shot a great story, interviewed me and members of the team, showed parts of the film – and this 25-minute segment was aired three times on that channel.
That’s when it became clear – working with America on a local level is far more effective. A state, a city – it has its own TV, its own community. And that small community gradually grows – until you can eventually bring someone like The New York Times to the final stage.
And all communication in the States has to be built almost entirely on private connections. Like a private museum where there are patrons who buy art – a circle, a community – as we saw with the Ukrainian Museum at Stanford. It’s a stunning museum in a vast estate – a private home with large halls, displays, and exhibits on the history of Easter eggs from every Region of Ukraine. The same goes for paintings, private collections, private institutions.
Universities were also fascinating. In the UK, I was especially struck by Oxford and Cambridge. Professors came to the screenings. At one of them, a professor who had always donated to humanitarian aid asked – where can I donate to weapons?
Or take our screening in London – at the Old Session House, an 18th-century courthouse where criminal hearings were once held. It was there that a young journalist named Dickens sat in on trials involving child gangs – and later wrote Oliver Twist. That’s where we showed the film.
And we have to be everywhere – art exhibitions, feature films, festivals, cultural days. There needs to be ongoing communication – joint projects, collaboration, and future plans.
Do you feel a change in interest in Ukraine in general in the fourth year of the full-scale war – especially in Europe?
Yes – people have shifted their focus to internal matters. And that’s natural. But this attention must be sustained. It has decreased – but it’s still there. Right now is the perfect moment for Ukrainian culture to take its rightful place – in Europe and globally. That should be our number one priority. And while it’s incredibly difficult, given the internal situation and certain limitations, we have to talk about it – change the conditions – and keep moving.
Ukrainian art must be present – and not just abroad. It also matters deeply inside the country. We have to stop living in a bubble of purely local culture – that’s a strategic mistake. As Valeriya Novodvorska once said wisely – “Take care of Ukraine, because it is the last hope of humanity.”
European societies are very relaxed – and I get it. No one wants endless tragedy. But we have to show the reality.
It’s not easy to show this story for ten months straight – to tell it, relive it, explain it every single time. But I feel the responsibility. If you’ve already created this story – it’s your duty to carry it. You must help as many people as possible to see it, understand it, and stay engaged. Because while the film is travelling – our people are still in captivity.
What are your intentions for the next screenings?
I want this film to be seen in as many civilised countries as possible. There are entire regions where Ukraine still isn’t represented – Latin America, India, parts of Asia. I’m always happy when our artists travel to distant countries – when we finally show our culture, which is so ancient. Empathy and cooperation can begin when people see the culture – when they understand it.
You made a screening at the Council of Europe and spoke to the government. What are they doing about the Azov case now – what processes are happening there?
That’s a good question. They’re making contact – and now there’s more professional communication. The Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs – they’re involved.
On 13 March in New York, there was a screening at the Scandinavian House. It marked the 85th anniversary of the start of the Finnish Winter War. The hall was full – representatives from all UN delegations were present. One young employee came up to me after – and just sobbed. He said how stupid they were to have let this happen.
Ukrainian Ombudsman Dmytro Lubinets was there. So was Deputy Foreign Minister Maryana Betza – she gave a speech. And there was Maryana Chechelyuk – a young woman who had just been released from Russian captivity after two years. She spoke, answered questions – and the audience was stunned.
It was an incredibly emotional moment. And then another step followed – that information made its way through internal, closed channels to some American politicians. For example, Bishop Borys Gudzyak was in Philadelphia and said he wanted to show the film to Trump supporters – because it mattered. Step by step – the process is moving forward.
But I’m thinking about a big tour of the United States – with deeper immersion into local contexts. We shouldn’t say something is unrealistic – we just need to roll up our sleeves and do the work.