THE STORY – In Vilnius in 2022, Marija has a revelation that she wants to divorce her husband, Vytas, right before Russia invades Ukraine. Forced to confront their crumbling relationship, they navigate the process of divorce as it collides with the ongoing war.
THE CAST – Marius Repšys, Žygimantė Elena Jakštaitė, Amelija Adomaitytė, Indrė Patkauskaitė, & Gintarė Parulytė
THE TEAM – Andrius Blaževičius (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 108 Minutes
Writer-director Andrius Blaževičius, recipient of the Sundance Film Festival’s Best Directing Award in the World Cinema Dramatic competition, layers a stirring relationship drama with a geopolitical crisis in “How to Divorce During the War.” Moments before Russia invades Ukraine, Marija (Žygimantė Elena Jakštaitė) tells her husband, Vytas (Marius Repšys), that she wants a divorce. For Vytas, the news comes as a surprising disruption of the life he had built with Marija and their perceptive young daughter, Dovilė (Amelija Adomaitytė). But Marija had been brewing in discomfort for some time. She fell out of love with the cool, talented filmmaker she used to know, and no number of conversations with Vytas can change her decision to leave. With a remarkable level of restraint, “How to Divorce During the War” places us at the forefront of marital trouble as war erupts on the sidelines.
Russia’s invasion of Ukraine causes seismic uncertainty across the neighbouring Vilnius, Lithuania, which becomes a place of refuge for war-torn families. In the midst of this turmoil, Marija and Vytas navigate moral responsibilities, personal crises, and familial instability. Marija carries on with her executive position at Hungry Rabbit, a company that makes silly videos for social media. “The war is not here, so let’s go to work,” she stoically addresses her deeply concerned team members. Marija’s close friend, colleague, and secret lover, Jurate (Indre Patkauskaite), adds that everyone should turn off their phones to minimize stress. The irony of this line, given that companies like Hungry Rabbit rely on people’s digital consumption of mindless content, paves the way for sharp thematic explorations.
The film deftly uses the disintegration of a marriage, played with astounding realism by Jakštaitė and Repšys, to show the implications of letting tensions brew for the sake of comfort. In the context of an escalating war, a compelling family drama mirrors how people choose to engage with political crises depending on how it impacts them personally. The film unfolds through a series of decisions that echo complacency, selfishness, and compassion. With each added layer of family drama, the film centers on necessary and evergreen questions: What are we willing to give up, and disrupt, in order to usher real change? Are we coming from a place of authenticity, or checking boxes of performative activism? These questions ultimately reflect on the audience, holding a mirror to how we deal with accumulated stress individually and in our communities.
Among the film’s many illustrations of performative activism and misinformed judgment, the CEO of Hungry Rabbit becomes entangled in controversy when she refuses to address the company’s ties to Russia and downplays Marija’s concerns about keeping the Russia branch open. Marija swiftly resigns from Hungry Rabbit out of solidarity for Ukraine, but when the job rolls back around, the film smartly tests her convictions when faced with the pressure to conform. There’s also a powerful interrogation of Marija’s decision to welcome a Ukrainian family of three into her home. What begins as an inclination of compassion transforms into coldness, frustration, and apathy towards their presence. The film sits in moments of quiet probing, where Marija is left to face her unfiltered self in the mirror and reckon with the reflection.
The film raises crucial questions about the conflict people are willing to confront within themselves and their own families. When Vytas moves in with his parents, he bears witness to the moral decay they’ve undergone from using Russian propaganda as a news source. Vytas’s frustrations eventually spill into forms of activism in the community, as he begins volunteering at a food bank and participates in performance art protests. While the couple’s separate relationships with activism offer insightful commentary, the most intriguing yet under-utilized stance is taken by their daughter, Dovilė. Amidst familial and political tensions, Dovilė expresses tense emotions in the classroom. In a scene that insightfully conveys the child’s perspective, a teacher informs Marija about an incident at school in which Dovilė hit another student. While the film lets her character go under-explored overall, Amelija Adomaitytė delivers a scene-stealing performance and works wonders with a minimal presence.
From the mundane opening scenes of Vytas tidying the house, fiddling with a new desk chair, and browsing for hats online, Blaževičius sets a precedent of maintaining distance when observing characters. When Marija asks Vytas for a divorce, the foundation of their marriage implodes in a car. One long, continuous take captures years of resentment that had been bubbling underneath the couple’s united front. The drawn-out approach to this scene is a neat way of visualizing how emotional withdrawal impacts a relationship and leads to prolonged issues. Blaževičius also uses an effective cut from day to night, showing how quickly 12 years of marriage can pass someone by. Using a minimalist approach, Blaževičius builds excellent momentum in small moments and finds neat ways of capturing the emotional distance between characters. For instance, after telling their daughter about the divorce, Marija and Vytas isolate themselves in different rooms to mourn. Even while separated, they silence their cries so as not to disrupt the home.
Blaževičius’s approach leads to some emotionally distant scenes and creates a yearning for a stronger connection. However, he excels at capturing a universal discomfort at the film’s core: trying to go about our daily lives as we scroll through one global collapse after another. There’s a quietly impactful scene of a newly unemployed Marija scrolling on her phone, sitting in isolation and loneliness. This image recalls a scene from earlier in the film, when Marija observes a family member in a similar position and instructs them to stop doomscrolling. “How to Divorce During the War” excels as a profound exploration of navigating relationships in an increasingly fragmented world.
