I've never heard an audience so silent.
When the credits rolled on a screening of 2000 metres to Andriivka, no-one in the Kyiv cinema moved. Their popcorn and beer were mostly untouched. The documentary by Mstyslav Chernov is a frontline film so intense you feel like you're trapped in the terrifying trenches alongside the soldiers.
Watching that in Ukraine, a country under fire, the intensity is multiplied.
At the start of Russia's full-scale invasion in 2022, as society mobilised to defend itself, Ukraine had little capacity for culture. Venues were closed or repurposed, some were attacked, and artists became refugees or soldiers. Almost four years on, the arts are back - but everything is now permeated by the war.
The change struck me on a recent trip to Kyiv. I realised that city walls were plastered with two kinds of poster: fundraisers for forces on the frontline - or films, plays and exhibitions about the war.
Andriivka wasn't the only hard hitting film on offer: there were also ads for Cuba and Alyaska, another powerful documentary that follows two female combat medics in a way that manages to be funny, frightening and tragic at the same time.
The old Lenin Museum, now Ukrainian House, was hosting a giant retrospective of the work of documentary photographer Oleksandr Glyadelov. Stretched over three floors of the spiralling modernist building, his images captured the span of Ukraine's struggle for independence: 35 years trying to wrest itself from Russian control.
Some I talked to in Kyiv shy away from all of this. War is their reality: it's what keeps them up at night, with the air defence guns and missile warnings. It's all over their social media feeds and it's in their fears for friends and family who are fighting. It is the last thing they want more of, on stage or screen. But others are clearly drawn to it.
It's not only the serious arts tackling the war these days. Musicals, the ultimate form of escapism, are in on the act too. Just over the road from the cinema, I spotted a banner for the latest offering from the Kyiv Opera: Patriot, a rock opera in two acts, which takes the hero on a journey through Ukraine's recent history - from revolution to war.
Director Petro Kachanov told me that even musical theatre has a mission now. We have to do everything to demonstrate that Russia is our age-old enemy, he was candid. This play is a tribute to those who died in this war.
The current explosion of documentaries is also reflecting the harsh realities faced by the Ukrainian people. While TV news channels tell reassuring stories in the name of unity, independent filmmakers zoom in on hardship; capturing the true cost of war and preserving the memories of those lost. Yet amidst the somber narratives, many in Ukraine still long for laughter and lighter fare as a form of respite. The arts in Ukraine continue to evolve, defining a culture deeply intertwined with the realities of conflict while yearning for peace and normalcy.
When the credits rolled on a screening of 2000 metres to Andriivka, no-one in the Kyiv cinema moved. Their popcorn and beer were mostly untouched. The documentary by Mstyslav Chernov is a frontline film so intense you feel like you're trapped in the terrifying trenches alongside the soldiers.
Watching that in Ukraine, a country under fire, the intensity is multiplied.
At the start of Russia's full-scale invasion in 2022, as society mobilised to defend itself, Ukraine had little capacity for culture. Venues were closed or repurposed, some were attacked, and artists became refugees or soldiers. Almost four years on, the arts are back - but everything is now permeated by the war.
The change struck me on a recent trip to Kyiv. I realised that city walls were plastered with two kinds of poster: fundraisers for forces on the frontline - or films, plays and exhibitions about the war.
Andriivka wasn't the only hard hitting film on offer: there were also ads for Cuba and Alyaska, another powerful documentary that follows two female combat medics in a way that manages to be funny, frightening and tragic at the same time.
The old Lenin Museum, now Ukrainian House, was hosting a giant retrospective of the work of documentary photographer Oleksandr Glyadelov. Stretched over three floors of the spiralling modernist building, his images captured the span of Ukraine's struggle for independence: 35 years trying to wrest itself from Russian control.
Some I talked to in Kyiv shy away from all of this. War is their reality: it's what keeps them up at night, with the air defence guns and missile warnings. It's all over their social media feeds and it's in their fears for friends and family who are fighting. It is the last thing they want more of, on stage or screen. But others are clearly drawn to it.
It's not only the serious arts tackling the war these days. Musicals, the ultimate form of escapism, are in on the act too. Just over the road from the cinema, I spotted a banner for the latest offering from the Kyiv Opera: Patriot, a rock opera in two acts, which takes the hero on a journey through Ukraine's recent history - from revolution to war.
Director Petro Kachanov told me that even musical theatre has a mission now. We have to do everything to demonstrate that Russia is our age-old enemy, he was candid. This play is a tribute to those who died in this war.
The current explosion of documentaries is also reflecting the harsh realities faced by the Ukrainian people. While TV news channels tell reassuring stories in the name of unity, independent filmmakers zoom in on hardship; capturing the true cost of war and preserving the memories of those lost. Yet amidst the somber narratives, many in Ukraine still long for laughter and lighter fare as a form of respite. The arts in Ukraine continue to evolve, defining a culture deeply intertwined with the realities of conflict while yearning for peace and normalcy.
