Simon Lereng Wilmont

Right from the start of his career, Danish director Simon Lereng Wilmont has focused on the difficult lives of adolescents who actually have a secure existence, but whose situation is temporarily thrown off balance by external circumstances. However, his films are also about children who, due to their social environment, are unable to follow a normal path of development. Wilmot was one of the few filmmakers who ventured into the front-line region of eastern Ukraine right at the beginning of the annexation of Crimea. This resulted in his documentary „The Distant Barking of Dogs,“ which landed on the Oscar shortlist in 2019.

From Ralf Hermersdorfer

Mr. Wilmont, a few years after your first film project in Ukraine, even before the Russian attack in 2022, you returned to film life in a children's home in the city of Lysychansk. Your documentary is entitled „A House Made of Splinters“. You certainly mean this metaphorically, extending to the political situation in Ukraine.

While filming „The Distant Barking of Dogs“ and following the life and emotional relationship between a young boy and his grandmother in eastern Ukraine, the grandmother suddenly became very ill. I was genuinely afraid that she would die, because she had sole custody of the boy. Fortunately, after a long and serious illness, she recovered, and regardless of the outbreak of war in February 2022, both are doing well today. They now live in a relatively safe part of Ukraine, but the grandmother cannot completely escape that omnipresent question of what would happen to the boy after her passing. This led me to more in-depth research on orphanages in Ukraine, which eventually brought me to the northern areas of the former front line in eastern Ukraine, where there are countless minors without parental care. They live a daily life under permanent physical danger, characterized by instability and anxiety about the future. What is it like for children to grow up in a war zone? It was important to me to depict the circumstances they are exposed to at this impressionable age, between childhood and the early stages of adulthood.

For your second documentary from Ukraine, you stood behind the camera yourself and were thus directly confronted with the daily suffering of these children in the orphanage in Lysychansk. What did that do to you during the filming?

Throughout the entire project, I wasn't actually entirely alone, as I received incredible help from my Ukrainian assistant director, Asad Safarov. However, for a long time we were truly unsure whether to tell this story at all, given how much tragedy was involved. The emotionally touching scenes shown are only a fraction of what we experienced on the ground. It was devastating for the orphans, the worst days of their still-young lives. It took a heavy toll on us as well, because you grow closer to them every day and hope they get the chance at a normal life. But as the whole project progressed, we realized that there was no one else to draw attention to the plight of these children. And without highlighting their stories, nothing will ever change. From that moment on, we began to understand why we were even allowed into the orphanage by the civil administration. It was simply a cry for help.

The children come from broken homes, where daily violence and alcohol abuse play a role. And they themselves have virtually no chance of a fulfilling life. What gave you the sense of optimism to make a film like this in the first place?

These children suffer the most from the invisible, yet no longer-term and devastating consequences of war for civil society. Not only from the physical attacks within their own families, but also from the social consequences of the war raging on their doorstep. What impressed me the most is the magical ability these children possess to adapt to uncertainties. They are able to find something magical in life, even though they are constantly exposed to various disappointments. If they were given just a small chance to flourish, they could achieve the most important thing in life—namely, close, human, warm relationships. This hope for a better future for them convinced me to make such a film.

How long did you film there in the Lysychansk facility? And what was the relationship with the children in the home like when the camera was off?

Right from the beginning, I wanted to come regularly every other month and stay there at the children's home for a week or ten days in order to be able to show the progression of time as well. The filming ultimately lasted for nearly two years, which added up to a total of about four months on site. Most of the time is spent spreading a little joy and making the children happy through individual moments, insofar as that is even possible at all. If you want the children to trust you and let you into these very vulnerable situations, they need to understand exactly who you are and why you are there. They need to feel comfortable in your presence. So it is about being fundamentally honest and sincere with them. I have two children of my own who are about the same age as the Ukrainian children in the home, and I love spending time together with them. (laughs) The relationship with the children in Lysychansk was so good that the caregivers eventually started using us as a disciplinary measure. If they didn't behave, they wouldn't be allowed to have us visit anymore. Honesty and respect are the key to a foundation of trust, and that was the most important part of the documentary.

The film certainly opens many people's eyes to the precarious situation in Ukrainian orphanages. Has anything changed for the better there in the meantime?

Our film received a lot of acclaim because it premiered at the renowned Sundance Film Festival. That opened doors for us to speak with various politicians. We were even allowed to screen the film in Kyiv, where the Ukrainian president's ombudsperson for children's rights was present. She was completely enthusiastic about it and even wanted to screen it for Zelenskyy. I hope she has done so by now. In addition, some Ukrainian initiatives had adopted the film to advance their political agenda, which in my opinion is actually starting to work, as large, institutionalized state orphanages are now being closed in order to finally place these children with as many families as possible. This is intended to give the children a sense of family, which is simply not possible in these oversized residential groups.

From your personal experience: Were you able with your film to sustainably manage to make the children's suffering more bearable in any way?

That is a question I have often asked myself. You know, when I wake up at night and can't sleep anymore, I often think that this film could mean both hope and a kind of consequence. I hope it is seen as a kind of reminder to keep trying to improve the lives of these children in the future and to do something about the terrible social situation in Ukraine. Unfortunately, I cannot judge how successful that will be. I would also like to believe that it means hope for the institutional caregivers who pursue their daily work with great passion, and that it makes them realize how important their work really is for each individual child. It is important to me that the children know how great they are, and I hope that I was able to show them at least a slightly different perspective so that they perceive themselves in a different way. That they truly recognize their potential. That is my greatest hope.

© FILM OHNE GRENZEN e.V., 2023
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