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WOUNDED

"WOUNDED" is a powerful artistic documentary based on the stage play directed by Marta Pysanko. This film, directed by Marta Pysanko and Mykhailo Mastierovyi (mindik), captures the raw and heartfelt experiences of Ukrainians affected by the war, brought to life through real stories, modern poetry, and songs.

Featuring a versatile cast, "WOUNDED" portrays multiple perspectives of refugees, highlighting their resilience and emotional journey. The minimalist stage design and evocative visuals create an immersive experience, blending documentary filmmaking with artistic expression.

"WOUNDED" seeks to bridge the gap between those who have lived through war and those who have not, fostering empathy and understanding through the enduring power of storytelling and art.

  • Misha Mindik
    Director
    Mykhailo Mastierovyi
  • Marta Pysanko
    Director
  • Marta Pysanko
    Writer
  • Polina Okhrytkova
    Writer
  • Marta Pysanko
    Producer
  • Sofiia Kroshka
    Key Cast
  • Polina Kundirenko
    Key Cast
  • Yelyzaveta Khaleska
    Key Cast
  • Vlada Bilovodenko
    Key Cast
  • Milena Pysareva
    Key Cast
  • Dmytro Gavryliuk
    Key Cast
  • Tymofii Hrynkivskyi
    Key Cast
  • Tymofii Medoliz
    Key Cast
  • Sofiia Matsyshyna
    Key Cast
  • Project Type:
    Experimental, Short, Student
  • Runtime:
    34 minutes 10 seconds
  • Completion Date:
    May 28, 2024
  • Production Budget:
    1,500 EUR
  • Country of Origin:
    Ukraine
  • Country of Filming:
    Germany
  • Language:
    English
  • Shooting Format:
    Digital
  • Aspect Ratio:
    3:1
  • Film Color:
    Black & White and Color
  • First-time Filmmaker:
    Yes
  • Student Project:
    No
  • Digital Cinema Package:
    Unavailable
Director - Misha Mindik, Marta Pysanko
Director Statement

No metaphors work against an armed soldier. No poetry can save you from a tank that runs over your car as you are trying to take your kids away from the war. There is no room for poetry in the wreckage of your apartment block, where you were staying for days, incapable of saving your children from the basement underneath.

With each day, I find it harder to explain to outsiders how the war feels to us here, from the inside. Our very intention to explain fades. Our language loses clarity. Poetry is not for us anymore. When your husband is fighting at the war, your relatives suffer horrible occupation and your other relatives live under constant shelling in Kharkiv, it’s hardly possible to prove superior to all of that. In such a case, poetry takes on strange forms of either spontaneous prayers, sparing testimony, or even a curse upon the enemy. These are not the forms of poetry, the modern European culture is used to. They are ritualistic and functional, way too  primitive in their emotion, way too subjective, pathetic, and intolerant. It’s hardly possible to be tolerant towards your enemy, because after having killed once, he’ll continue with the next. You could hardly prove superior to this.

I don’t know any poetry that could heal this wound. This war is killing us all, each in their own way. Though we may look safe and sound, but we can’t get through life in brief dashes between air alarms and funerals. We startle from loud sounds. Our little kids have a background in hiding from bombs, and they no longer cry out of fear. In their childhood, they have already learned that the cry can cost their lives. And this is still not a metaphor.

War makes everything so straightforward that almost no room remains for poetry, only for testimony — "Slava"Ukraini!".