In The Rearview (Kinoteka 2024)(Review)

When Maciek Hamela was shooting this documentary on the roads between Ukraine and Poland there was probably still hope that this would remain a relatively short-lived war. Indeed, several of Hamela’s passengers – refugees carried in his volunteer’s van from urban and rural areas across the nation – often speak of their return, occasionally with a sense of immediacy. There was so much hope then, but on the 24th of February this year (2024), we passed the second anniversary of the start of the conflict, and the German military have admitted that a telephone call intercepted and leaked by the Kremlin is legitimate. This leak confirmed the presence of British soldiers on the ground in Ukraine and advised on the use of missiles to strike Russian targets, suggesting that the war has, if anything, expanded and shows no signs of reaching a conclusion.

I wonder just how much of the still-surviving cities and civilian infrastructure we see in this film will remain when all is done, and if those who we hear dreaming of their return will ever actually be able to go back.

What’s most valuable about Hamela’s work, even amongst the slate of documentaries and other sources of footage emerging from the invasion (including the most famous example – the Oscar-nominated 20 Days in Mariupol), is its direct formulation of the people’s experiences of the war through its focused minimalism. Those in the backseats are offered a chance to recount their tales from the early days of the invasion, as well as their plans for the future, and the static shots taken from the front passenger’s seat are like a perspective-flipped variation on the famous Iranian taxi films of Kiarostami and Panahi.

As a child I was struck by my grandmother’s account of the Nazi invasion of France, a story that continues to haunt me to this day as it reminds me what is already considered simply as ‘history’ is tied to my own family’s story. As an infant in Normandy, she and her family fled their small village ahead of the troops after hearing rumours that the Nazis were intent on murdering the children of entire towns, eventually taking refuge in a remote abandoned farmhouse. In The Rearview‘s passengers occupy a similar space to that of my own family during that time, and we’re allowed to watch people undertake similar missions as a ‘new normal’ is birthed.

The passenger’s perceptions are (re-)constructed from hearsay, rumour, anecdote, and facts that are often recounted with a dazed, straightforward frankness – a deceptive stoicism that covers the myriad feelings caused by the loss of security and certainty. From the first days of the invasion the violence has become deeply encoded in society, affecting children in particular – many of whom have begun adding all-conquering guns into games of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and when asked what happens if they’re struck by shells will answer “We’ll die. That’s all”. The passenger’s stories are predictably unpredictable, highlighting the enforced implementation of new and horrible things as a norm – which is perhaps a necessary submission to the “state of war” and its consequences. As the bombs continue to fall, the landscape and the lives upon which they land are changed, and will continue to change.

During Hamela’s journeys he comes across bridges that he only realises have been struck when he begins to cross them, and discovers tanks lining backwater roads that double as important transport routes for military and civilian aid – some of which have land mines buried in them. Since the start of the invasion six million Ukrainians have fled their country, eight million more have been displaced, and the civilian death toll (at the time the documentary was made), was estimated to be around 10,582. That number doesn’t include the many people killed who volunteered or were conscripted for military service, and nothing retains its original appearance. 


This is the sort of film that unfortunately invites a sort of platitude that’s distasteful at best, or a sign of moral failure at its worst, and upon full consideration people can say things like “We’re reminded of the humanity of those affected”, “We find again what we have in common with those whose suffering may seem remote”, and even “The human cost of war is revealed to us”. There’s a presumption that we’ve somehow forgotten these things, and the suggestion that we need an intermediary to act as a translator for human suffering, or that spectacles allow us to see the full detail of the blurry Other.

There’s also the idea that we’re so lost in the spectacle that knowledge, empathy, and even reality entirely eludes us, and that without a periodic forced re-anchoring we’re in danger of ignoring specifics in favour of universality (which may be part of the ongoing theatre of generalised humanity), thus divesting the original work of much of its meaning. It’s an assumption that carries another assumption that this intermediary will constitute a perfectly neutral passeur, when we know that states often like to position themselves in this role.

Hamela’s film is all about specificity, and within the structure of a mainstream documentary he’s found a way to allow the victims of invasion and war to speak for, and of, themselves – encompassing this within a unique transitory moment.

I’ve seen several complaints online that call the film overly repetitive, as if these viewers are somehow offended that drama has been replaced by drudgery, or that experiences and feelings inherent in necessary and determined actions form a scripted despair (when in truth it’s caused by the poetics of war). This repetitiveness and the (infinite), variety within it are important if we’re still to believe in the reality of truth – even when its edited and mediated. The people tell and show us what they do (all the while not wanting to reveal of themselves), and the multitude of voices includes the singularly omnipresent narrator.

Billy’s Archive – In the Rearview (2023)