The Ghosts of History: When Borscht Meets Betrayal in 'Demons'
There’s something haunting about a film that uses borscht as a metaphor for cultural identity. Personally, I think it’s a stroke of genius. Natalka Vorozhbyt’s Demons isn’t just a movie—it’s a seance, summoning the ghosts of Russia and Ukraine’s shared and contested past. The trailer alone is a feast of symbolism: blood, graves, a flying vehicle, and yes, that iconic beet soup. But what makes this particularly fascinating is how Vorozhbyt uses these elements not just as props, but as characters in their own right.
A Village, a Drifter, and a Nation’s Soul
Slavik, the Russian drifter, arrives in a Ukrainian village like a storm cloud on the horizon. From my perspective, he’s not just a man—he’s an embodiment of Russia’s historical shadow over Ukraine. Nina, his host, represents Ukraine’s resilience, her independence a quiet defiance. Their relationship starts as an unlikely love story, but quickly sours into betrayal. What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just a personal drama; it’s a microcosm of geopolitical tensions. The village itself feels alive, a character with its own rules and secrets. Witches next door? The dead speaking to the living? If you take a step back and think about it, this isn’t just folklore—it’s a commentary on how history haunts us, how the past refuses to stay buried.
Borscht as a Battleground
One thing that immediately stands out is the use of borscht as a symbol. It’s a dish both countries claim as their own, a culinary tug-of-war. In the film, it’s more than food—it’s identity, contested and shared. This raises a deeper question: Can two nations ever truly separate their histories when they’ve been so intertwined? What this really suggests is that cultural identity isn’t just about ownership; it’s about survival. The violence against a TV set in the trailer isn’t just random—it’s a rejection of the narratives imposed by media, by history, by power.
The Metaphors We Live By
Vorozhbyt’s film operates on multiple levels, which is both its strength and its challenge. On the surface, it’s a gothic drama. But dig deeper, and it’s a socio-political allegory. A detail that I find especially interesting is how the supernatural elements aren’t just for show—they’re a way to externalize the internal conflicts of the characters and the nations they represent. The flying vehicle, for instance, feels like a metaphor for Ukraine’s aspirations to break free from its historical constraints. Yet, it’s also fragile, vulnerable to crashing. This duality is what makes Demons so compelling—it’s not just telling a story; it’s asking us to confront our own biases and assumptions.
The Weight of History, the Hope of Cinema
What makes Demons stand out in the current cinematic landscape is its refusal to simplify. It doesn’t offer easy answers or clear villains. Instead, it invites us to sit with the complexity of its themes. In my opinion, this is where cinema excels—not in providing solutions, but in holding a mirror to our collective psyche. The film’s premiere at the Locarno Film Festival feels fitting; it’s a platform that celebrates bold, thought-provoking storytelling.
Final Thoughts: A Film That Stays With You
As the credits roll, I suspect Demons will linger in the minds of its viewers. It’s not just a film about Russia and Ukraine—it’s a film about the human condition, about how we grapple with betrayal, identity, and the weight of history. Personally, I think it’s a masterpiece of metaphor, a work that transcends its subject matter to speak to universal truths. What this really suggests is that cinema, at its best, isn’t just entertainment—it’s a tool for empathy, a way to bridge divides, even if only for the runtime of a film.
So, the next time you see borscht on a menu, remember: it’s more than a soup. It’s a story, a struggle, a symbol. And Demons? It’s a film that reminds us that sometimes, the most haunting stories are the ones that feel all too real.
