‘Timestamp’ Review: A Beautifully Observed Ukrainian Doc on the Perils and Pleasures of Schooltime in Wartime

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In “Timestamp,” the latest documentary, we witness the reality of life in Ukraine as Russia’s relentless war continues to inflict damage. This film joins other powerful documentaries like “20 Days in Mariupol,” “Porcelain War,” and Sergei Loznitsa’s “The Invasion,” forming a significant artistic and journalistic record of this ongoing tragedy. Together, they create a heavy curtain of sorrow, yet “Timestamp” offers a ray of hope that seems genuine and well-deserved. The film centers on the young people who yearn for the present to become their past, and those helping them prepare for whatever may come next. Despite the destruction portrayed in “Timestamp,” there’s a glimmer of optimism that shines through.

This year’s Berlinale competition features only one documentary, “Timestamp,” which is the second film by director Gornostai following her first feature, “Stop-Zemlia.” The latter was a heartfelt coming-of-age story that won top honors in the Generation 14plus strand of the same festival in 2021 and had a multi-platform U.S. release the next year. Superficially, “Timestamp” might appear to be a departure from Gornostai’s usual style as it is an unscripted documentary, but the tender, compassionate perspective she brings to her subjects connects it to her previous work. The film’s beautiful visuals, captured by DP Oleksandr Roshchyn, also lend continuity between the two films. Above all, “Timestamp” underscores Gornostai as a gifted storyteller of youth and its complexities, showcasing her ability to portray both its struggles and its joy, even amidst difficult circumstances.

In this documentary spanning 125 minutes, the filmmaker chooses to forgo narration or commentary, instead positioning the camera in various elementary and high schools spread across the nation. Titles on screen show their locations and distances from conflict zones. The film captures both traditional school routines that endure amidst war, as well as new ones that quickly become commonplace. Filming occurred between March 2023 and June 2024, but Gornostai and editor Nikon Romanchenko do not strictly adhere to a chronological timeline. Instead, the film generally follows the progression of a school year, reaching its climax with the emotional mix of anticipation and apprehension that comes with graduation – a significant milestone in these challenging times.

The film “Timestamp” begins with a somber sequence showing quiet, empty school hallways, but this peaceful scene is disrupted by the lively noise of a bustling gym class filled with long, awkward limbs darting across worn wooden floors. Later in the movie, another gymnasium appears, this one destroyed and littered with shattered glass. Throughout the film, there are frequent shifts and repetitions in atmosphere between typical educational settings, emphasizing their vulnerability under the circumstances. In the classroom, whether it’s a creative art class for young students or a more serious, thought-provoking history lesson on totalitarianism, the day’s activities start with a moment of silence for the deceased and are often interrupted by air raid alarms.

The piercing, amplifying alarms serve as the recurring auditory theme throughout the movie, standing out starkly against Alexey Shmurak’s unanticipated a cappella soundtrack that echoes like a human choir in the midst of turmoil. Each alarm triggers a hasty evacuation of children and staff to confined safe spaces, where some determined teachers try to carry on with their lessons amidst the cacophony of other classes and study materials. At first, the evacuations seem filled with tangible fear, even a twisted sense of excitement, but as they occur more frequently, the threat transforms into aggravated monotony.

Regarding teachers, they swiftly adjust their lesson plans to suit the current situation, making every effort to create a sense of normalcy. In a cheerful, educational manner similar to explaining traffic signals, kindergarteners are taught the importance of not picking up street objects that aren’t theirs. Older students receive a detailed and somewhat alarming instruction on how to assemble and use a rifle, though any attempt at military propaganda is undermined by the gloomy reality. During a special gathering, a young woman soldier answers questions from children, finding it difficult to convey optimism: “We don’t,” she replies straightforwardly when asked about coping in combat.

In another setting, a group of innocent-looking children sing a poignantly practiced anti-war ballad for their teachers, and their pure, heartfelt expressions echo the lyrics that pierce one’s soul: “Who can restore the radiant smile of the mother who lost her child in war?” This is just one instance among many in “Timestamp” where we witness life lessons being imparted in an unexpected sequence – whether it’s within the classroom walls or, regrettably, during the most unwelcomed type of excursion, a funeral for our cherished principal who perished in an explosion.

It’s not just a harsh, early transition into adult life that’s portrayed here. Moments of happiness, fun, and excitement are also included: like a birthday party happening in lockdown, with cake, or a traditional dance at a graduation ceremony for high school seniors. A soldier tells the class of 2023 towards the end, “This is your life – it’s all for you,” yet one can feel the determined youngsters pondering how much they’ll have left to enjoy in the future.

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2025-02-20 18:16