Artistically, war comes in many different forms. There are the rousing battlefield films that show the harrowing conditions of warfare, the intimate chamber dramas that attempt to show the machinations that go into some of history’s most definitive moments, and the general psychological thriller that situates itself on the outskirts of the most prominent moments, but are just as haunting as the visceral, bloody conflicts we occasionally see represented on screen. In the Dusk (Lithuanian: Au Crépuscule), the deeply disturbing drama by Šarūnas Bartas, which looks into the struggle for independence from the Soviet Union that took place in the late 1940s across Lithuania, occupies many of these categories, but mainly aligns itself with the latter, since it takes the form of a very complex film that borders on becoming an unhinged horror, especially when it ventures deep into exploring a period of time in the nation’s history that is rarely given such a vivid platform on screen. Bartas made one of the year’s most terrifying films, a dark and brooding drama that employs a meditative approach to the psychology of war, focusing on the life of a young man who is thrown from a meagre, impoverished existence into the core of a struggle that is undoubtedly going to end in unhinged violence, where both his past and future are equally as grim. One of the most visceral works of wartime fiction of recent years, and a compelling glimpse into an area of history that doesn’t find its way into world cinema all that often, In the Dusk is an astonishing achievement – and for all of its faults, such as its laborious tone and often impenetrable approach to its social and political context that may be difficult for outside viewers, Bartas crafted a stunning drama that slithers into the hearts and minds of the viewer, taking us entirely by surprise and making sure that we understand that this isn’t mere fiction, but a harrowing demonstration of the failings of a system that purported to have its citizens’ wellbeing at heart.

Looking at films produced across the world over the last half-century, one of the more prominent themes when it comes to those focused on socio-political matters, is that of Communism, and the spread of it across Europe and the rest of the world, most prominently in the second half of the century. It’s a subject that facilitates a seemingly neverending amount of artistic discussion, because not only is it one of the most prominent cultural conflicts the world has ever seen, it was the catalyst for an endless number of conflicts, both physical and mentally, with numerous proxy wars, coming to the fore as a result of it. This means that we have only scratched the surface on looking at the influence of Communism around the world, and we occasionally have exciting new voices, normally from former Soviet Union countries, lending their perspective and providing context to their nations’ collective and individual histories during this distressing period in time. Bartas is barely a newcomer, but rather one of his country’s most established artistic voices, and someone who has dedicated much of his career to exploring different aspects of the human condition, normally filtering it through stories set in his native Lithuania, and whether it be directly looking at its history, or rather just focusing on a particular piece of the social milieu, there is always something to be said through his films, all of which adds up to hauntingly beautiful portrayals of a country that doesn’t find itself the subject of many films, at least not in such a thoroughly compelling and heartfelt way. In the Dusk may not be the definitive work on the Communist influence in Lithuania, especially since it focuses on a small group of characters in a limited number of locations – but allegory and allusion is very much a driving factor of a film like this, and through telling the tale of young Unte and his flirtations with rebels and their revolutionary way of life, Bartas is able to capture the spirit of a time in place with a relentless dedication that will be striking to every viewer who is willing to endure this incredibly difficult, and often unbelievably horrifying, work of social fiction.

In the Dusk is certainly not an easy film, but it’s one that can easily be called essential by virtue of its very honest approach to the material, and its undying commitment to saying something beyond the hackneyed maxim that Communism was a nefarious force. In fact, the specific aspects of this political system are relatively sparse in the film – they’re by no means absent, being the subject of some of the major moments, but the story doesn’t necessarily hinge on them as much as it does the aftershocks of implementing these changes, and how what was promised as a way of life designed to place everyone in even keel eventually became a deformed, hideous system that harmed far more people than it benefitted. Despite this being the undercurrent that pulsates strongly through the film, In the Dusk doesn’t depend on this context in any significant way, with the priority being placed instead on the more intimate details, and the aftermath that swept over many nations at the time. The story underpinning the film is strong enough to justify every choice the director makes in bringing it to the screen – centring this film on the perspective of a young man thrust into a position where he has to quickly mature evokes memories of seeing Aleksei Kravchenko in the incredible (but equally harrowing) Come and See, whose weather-worn face conveyed the trauma of entire armies who lost their lives through conflict. Marius Povilas Elijas Martynenko is a fascinating lead, and operating mainly as a silent observer, the young actor is more of a facilitator for much of the story, weaving himself into various situations and acting as the audience surrogate, showing us the trials and tribulations of these men and women that were placed in a precarious position of abiding by the laws of a system that inherently put them at a disadvantage, or finding their faith in the blood-stained forests that they would be taken to if they dared go against the status quo.

What is even more striking is that In the Dusk is one of the rare instances of a film existing at the perfect intersection between bleak, harrowing social commentary and gorgeous, stunning visual craft. Bartas is an expertly-trained filmmaker who knows that it isn’t always enough to have a strong story, but also the ability to make use of the tools available in the creation of a memorable experience. Working alongside cinematographer Eitvydas Doskus, the director is able to craft one of the year’s most beautifully-made films, which may be surprising considering how destitute the premise is. This isn’t to suggest that this is somehow a sumptuous work – it’s very much aligned with the aridness of the plot, with the dreary landscapes being portrayed with stunning simplicity, detail being infused into absolutely every frame. Art direction and costume design is often taken for granted, and we tend to only appreciate them when they are making a statement – and while we couldn’t consider In the Dusk to necessarily be the most lavish of works, the striking design propels the viewer into this world, each moment resounding with even more authenticity based on the steadfast commitment to creating as genuine a landscape as possible. Numerous moments in this film – both in terms of the narrative and the visual and aural execution of it – leaves one absolutely taken aback, which isn’t only the sign of a filmmaker taking advantage of the material and giving the viewer something memorable, but also contributes to a wide scope of contemporary artistry that finds the beauty in even the most torturous situations – there’s always room for hope, even when the circumstances are beyond mortifying.

In the Dusk isn’t a film that will necessarily find its way into the hearts of every viewer, especially since it has some moments of unhinged violence that will be alienating to anyone not acclimated to this brand of bleak, unflinching portrayal of war. However, this is not a film defined by a logical narrative, but rather a series of moments that converge into a stunning demonstration of human desperation, facilitated by a director whose intentions were incredibly clear, and never anything other than the most earnest, heartfelt and poignant. The characters are almost terrifyingly authentic – in addition to the aforementioned Marius Povilas Elijas Martynenko as the film’s de facto lead and the person through which we see most of the narrative unfolding, Arvydas Dapsys is stunning as his adoptive father, a man caught between being a law-abiding citizen, and a rebel fighting against a system he realizes is rigged against him. The film benefits from a very clear direction, which it accomplishes not by establishing a broad picture of a time or place, but rather capturing it in small increments, showing us the daily routine of a group of different characters, through which the film is able to make some profound statements that are more complex than we could ever imagine, based on a brief glance at what appears to be a beautiful but aimless film. Bartas truly created one of the most heartbreaking depictions of post-Second World War socio-cultural strife, and through a meditative, character-driven story, manages to impart weathered wisdom that shows a deep personal connection to the story, and a strong understanding that representing a particular period entails more than just hitting the same historical beats – one needs to make it accessible, introducing this world to novice viewers, and giving us the chance to get to know not only these characters, but the individuals they represent. Through its adherence to these principles, and its immense artistic integrity, it’s not difficult to proclaim In the Dusk simply one of the best films of the year.