The subject of war is so frequently examined from every possible angle, whether in endeavours that veer towards the academic or artistic, that it seems like just about every potential story has been told, especially when it comes to conveying the message that war is not something to celebrate or view positively, but rather a destructive force responsible for the loss of countless lives and the annihilation of entire social systems. Yet, the stories that are less frequently found at the core of these discussions are those that take place in the margins, particularly those which blur the boundaries between the warring sides. The concept of “no man’s land” is a fascinating one, and many works about conflict tend to overlook these more ambiguous cases, whether referring to literal or metaphorical examples of neutrality. This is the germ of the idea behind Andrey Kurkov’s wonderful Grey Bees (Ukrainian: Серые пчелы), a well-received piece of literature in its home country which has now been adapted into a film of the same title, written and directed by Dmytro Moiseiev, who pieces together the various fascinating fragments of the original text and crafts them into a poignant character-driven drama. The film follows Sergiich and Pashka, two older men living in a small village in the Donbas, a region nestled between Ukraine and Russia, which has become the source of some additional conflict as both sides tussle to take ownership of the small but important piece of land. The two protagonists may exist in the same space, but are separated by their different origins – one is proudly Ukrainian, while the other has his roots in Russia, and are therefore ideologically divided. Regardless, neither has any vested interest in taking a side during the war and as the last remaining residents of their village, they are forced to become unlikely companions, a pairing that later proves to have unexpected consequences for both men as the military forces inch closer to their homes. A simple but effective character-driven drama that finds Moiseiev handling tricky material, the film deconstructs different perspectives on the invasion of Crimea, serving as a pointed and daring exploration of the conflict between Russia and Ukraine, shown through the eyes of two characters existing on the periphery.

Grey Bees is a film that can best be described as a tale of two countries. The story is centred around the dual perspectives offered by a pair of individuals who have resigned to live their remaining days in peace, refusing to hold too strong of an opinion on the social and cultural circumstances that surround them, choosing instead to live in relative solitude, keeping each other company despite technically existing on opposite ends of the ideological divide. It’s a clear example of a literary adaptation in which a simple premise is used to hint at deeper, more provocative meanings that become more obvious as the story progresses, which is certainly an intriguing way to look at this film and everything that it represents. The conflict between Russia and Ukraine has so many different components and is spread across several decades, condensing everything into a single narrative is logically impossible, and instead requires this kind of strong allegory to cast as wide a theoretical net as possible. Taken from a superbly-written fable focused on two men who set aside their differences and find value in their neighbour, who just so happen to be aligned (by origin rather than personal belief) with the very country that they should be rebelling against is a fascinating way of exploring humanity triumphing over military strength, and how the resilience of the human spirit is a far more powerful tool to change hearts and minds than any weapon of destruction. Arguably, this does seem like it trivializes the conflict and presents it as a purely two-sided battle where both parties are on equal footing, but as the film explores these ideas further, the clearer it becomes that something is lurking beneath the surface that emerges as the story becomes deeper and more provocative, a gradual shift that nonetheless outlines exactly the reasons why Grey Bees is such a layered work and one that is much more complex than a straightforward version of the odd couple scenario, which is what some may assume it to be at a cursory glance.

As we would expect, Grey Bees is a film where the premise can only work well if there is a clear vision that exists alongside – without the right approach, the film would be barely effective and start to feel somewhat one-dimensional, especially considering it is a relatively straightforward narrative at its foundation. However, it soon becomes extremely clear that there is much more to this film than initially meets the eye, which we discover by looking at how Moiseiev goes about bringing these ideas together. The execution of the story is as integral to the film as its underlying themes, and we discover many of the most moving moments are those that exist outside the boundaries of the narrative and instead hint at something slightly more complex. The film takes place at some point in 2014, so it immediately divorces itself from being directly in conversation with much of the current discourse (although it is quite clear that it is all part of one larger narrative that spans over a century of foreign relations between the two countries), and instead becomes a more intimate character study. It’s a far more atmospheric work, one in which the story is guided by a very specific mood that is relatively slow and measured, but never once unengaging or dull, which is clear evidence towards the director’s understanding of the material and how it evolves. Moiseiev also pays attention to every visual and aural detail – the design of this village and the homes of the two protagonists is meticulous, feeling authentic and earnest, especially in capturing that sense of existing in a place that seems to be suspended in time. The story also hinges on the use of silence as a narrative tool, and the simple lack of score creates a sense of isolation that is just as compelling as anything else contained within this magnificent film, proving that a more unfurnished approach can be beneficial when exploring such complex themes.

Grey Bees has a strong conceptual framework and is well-directed, but the element that truly makes a difference in evoking the underlying themes comes through in the performances. Characterization is vitally important to this story – there are only two main characters, with a few supporting parts weaving in and out when they are necessary, but essentially being nothing more than plot devices placed into the film to push the story forward and highlight the work being done by these two central actors. The director enlists a pair of veterans of regional cinema to play the two parts, with Viktor Zhdanov and Vladimir Yamnenko taking on the main roles and delivering stellar work. At a glance, these seem like relatively simple characters – they’re pleasantly polite country folk who intend to stay as far from the war as possible, choosing to instead focus their day-to-day energy on surviving what appears to be an icy winter, who is only made worse by the fact that they exist in a region cut off from all electricity and contact with the outside world, except the occasional visitor passing through this relatively barren landscape. However, it’s the smallest details that make these performances so captivating, both in isolation and when acting across from each other. The two protagonists are radically different in every conceivable way, one being quite a sombre, serious individual and the other having a more playful joie de vivre, but where they are both united in using these personas as a way of concealing their underlying melancholy and fear for the future. Both actors are wonderful, and their chemistry is remarkable – and it’s worth noting that despite the callous nature of the material, they both are dedicated to infusing the film with a true sense of heart and soul, which sometimes provides moments of much-needed humour in an otherwise quite bleak and austere film, which only benefits from their commitment to bringing this material to life.

Much like the majority of contemporary films about war (particularly those that are not designed around promoting conflict as some valorous endeavour, but rather a mechanism of global imperialism and the desperate scramble for power), Grey Bees does not take a clear stance in terms of the warring sides – although any knowledge of both the novel and the politics of the writer and director will make it clear what their personal feelings may have been – but rather offers a more neutral glimpse into the experiences of people who have very little desire to express a clear opinion, or even have even the slightest involvement in the conflict, which they view as unnecessary more than anything else. The glory of victory or the fear of annihilation is absent from their lives, and they only start to feel the impact of the war once it begins to creep into their personal domestic spaces, which conveys the message that even the most isolated of communities are influenced by the threat of war if it isn’t properly controlled. Simple and evocative in how it is structured, and driven by a genuine sense of human complexity, Grey Bees is a fascinating film that presents a clear story, designed as something we’d expect to find plucked from folklore, and relays it to a more contemporary set of themes that are recognizable for anyone who has paid attention to the continued conflict between the two countries, while still being a solid entry-point for those who are not familiar with the history of the two nations and their various interactions over the years. The violence and despair occur mostly offscreen, but it is still felt in every frame through the dense, complex atmosphere that drives this story – and it all ultimately becomes the foundation for a truly mesmerizing and deeply distressing examination of life during wartime.