Porcelain War

One wouldn’t expect a film centered around a war as immediate and all-consuming as the one in Ukraine to feel so vivid, so full of color, so alive. And yet, that is the lasting power of Porcelain War. It is a documentary shaped not by despair, but by resilience—a film that, for all its brutal truths, pulses with hope.

The first half of Porcelain War carries a nearly childlike optimism, a pluckiness that makes the inevitable weight of its latter half all the more crushing. What begins as a portrait of artists, everyday people bound by a need to create, soon becomes something heavier: a meditation on war’s ability to transform, to strip away, to force civilians into warriors against the press of Russian advances. The documentary draws a striking parallel between art and resistance, returning to the idea again and again—just as a sculptor or painter is compelled to create, so too is a soldier compelled to defend their land. The film does not belabor the point, nor does it impose sentimentality. Instead, it allows these ideas to emerge organically, in ways that are as thought-provoking as they are unflinching.

This duality—of creation and destruction, of life and loss—is the film’s great strength. Neither side is given undue weight; rather, they exist in perfect, painful balance. Like sunlight filtering through the trees onto a meadow just beyond the reach of war, the film crafts images that are at once brutal and wondrous. The animation imposed on porcelain sculptures creates a haunting visual metaphor, transforming delicate figures into symbols of displacement, struggle, and the inexorable human urge to continue. There is a softness here, matched with a cold, coarse pain.

The film’s final words, projected onto a porcelain Pegasus, crystallize its message:

"No one knows what awaits Ukraine. It’s a story we are creating now by the actions we take. People have died for their families, their homes, to ensure their way of life continues when they are gone. In reality, no one comes back from war the same person they were. None of us will ever be the same as we were before. But the enemy is not as creative at being bad as good people are at being good. Now, a carpet of the future is being woven. The threads for it are drawn from past misfortunes and fortunes… Ukraine is like porcelain, easy to break, but impossible to destroy. If tomorrow comes, it will depend on how well we tie our boots today. If the future exists for us, if we don’t disappear… then it was worth it."

A fragile nation, but an unbreakable one. Porcelain War is a beautifully tragic piece of art.