Film review: ‘Someone Else’s War’ A new documentary from Daniel Berger follows the family tragedies of two Kyrgyz men who died fighting in Ukraine in pursuit of Russian citizenship

Next week, Riga will host Artdocfest 2025, and one of the festival’s most striking pictures is Daniel Berger’s “Someone Else's War.” A native of Kyrgyzstan, Berger tells the story of two families whose sons died fighting in Ukraine after enlisting in Russia’s army, hoping to obtain Russian citizenship. Film critic Anton Dolin reviews this remarkable documentary.

From the opening shot of a flock of sheep moving across a picturesque landscape, Someone Else's War is a visually stunning film. The imagery is unambiguous given the film’s central theme: a submissive herd follows the shepherd, never asking where or why — sacrificial animals, led to slaughter. An excruciatingly long scene halfway through the film of sheep being slaughtered for a ritual feast later reinforces the foreshadowing.

Daniel Berger does not shy away from obvious metaphors — a forgivable offense in a debut effort that doesn’t diminish the picture’s profound impact. His protagonists — unseen save for some photos in official parade uniforms — are two soldiers born in Kyrgyzstan who fought in the Russian army and died in the first months of the invasion of Ukraine. But Someone Else's War focuses on the fate of their parents.

“We carry on quietly, but there’s no joy, just an emptiness,” Rustam’s father tells Berger, who stays silent behind the camera. Rustam was 20 years old when he enlisted and went to the front, hoping to secure Russian citizenship. He was killed 20 days later.

Berger visualizes this emptiness with clinical precision. The grieving father wanders aimlessly through the deserted hallways of a school after hours. He fills the void by creating a kind of shrine to his son. “Military duty,” “Honor and fate,” “We remember! We are proud!” — these clichéd slogans, inscribed on a wall adorned with portraits and medals, resemble ritual incantations. The living person they honor is missing; even his ghost does not appear. Only a faint trace remains — in the faltering speech of his parents as they sip tea at a lavishly set table against the backdrop of an ornate carpet.

Another soldier, Egemberdi, once stood up to a rude man in a supermarket, his nephews recall. Other than that, little is known about him. All that remains are a cup he once gave his mother and a mobile phone that no longer powers on or holds a charge. The family tried to hack the device and learn at least something about its owner, but nothing worked. Egemberdi managed to obtain Russian citizenship and was conscripted immediately. Four months later, he was forced to sign a contract and deployed to the front, where he was killed 12 days later. Now, his family slaughters a ram and discusses who will recite the Quran as the animal’s blood is spilled. The prayer asks to “keep our land safe from wars and tragedies.”

Berger doesn’t deal in analysis or generalizations. The silence of the people on screen — they don’t even try to find words for what has happened and resort instead to platitudes — speaks louder than any commentary. This film, focused on pointless sacrifices, finds its emotional core in emptiness. Even the hollow consolation of pseudo-patriotic rhetoric is absent in these remote Kyrgyz villages. Yes, Russian state programming still hums on their televisions, but it’s mostly entertainment and comedy shows.

The climax of Someone Else's War follows Rustam’s father and Egemberdi’s mother and brother as they travel to Moscow, where preparations for Victory Day celebrations are in full swing (the visit takes place in 2023). Egemberdi’s relatives will join the Immortal Regiment parade, disappearing into the crowd under the banner of the “Bishkek and Kyrgyzstan Diocese,” alongside the victims and veterans of wars past and present. Rustam’s father will cling to the belief that he’ll wave to his family from Red Square, standing beside Putin, but reality shatters these hopes.

The bitter aftermath leaves us only with further entropy and the natural progression of an everyday tragedy lost in statistics. In fact, the tragedy was not even officially acknowledged: in an on-screen title card, we learn that 50 soldiers from Kyrgyzstan were killed in the first six months of the Ukraine war (Rustam and Egemberdi were the first on the list), but then Russia’s Defense Ministry classified the casualty data. Barely audible in the film’s closing scene, we hear another incantation at another funeral: “Everything will be fine.”

Aside from propaganda movies, cinema about Russia’s ongoing war in Ukraine is virtually nonexistent — a testament to censorship at work. Filmed just outside Russia, Someone Else's War helps fill this void.