25/11/2025 - Pamfir director Dmytro Sukholytkyy-Sobchuk documents a pacifist community dwelling in a river canyon in Western Ukraine

Dmytro Sukholytkyy-Sobchuk, whose debut feature, Pamfir [+see also:
film review
trailer
interview: Dmytro Sukholytkyy-Sobchuk
interview: Dmytro Sukholytkyy-Sobchuk
film profile], made waves in 2022 and was nominated for a European Film Award, presented his first full-length documentary, Silent Flood, as part of IDFA’s International Competition this year. Following the documentary short Liturgy of Anti-Tank Obstacles, commissioned by The New Yorker, Silent Flood marks a continuation of sorts for Sukholytkyy-Sobchuk, even though Pamfir was a work of fiction. Just as exacting and stylish as the prior film, Silent Flood may well be one of the year’s most aesthetically robust documentaries, while it never veers into over-aestheticisation. At its centre are people and their relationship with the landscape – a river canyon in Western Ukraine, where the soil knows floods and blood, since the front lines of both World Wars were drawn there.

The Ukrainian director keeps a distance in a way, as he and his collaborative cinematographers (Ivan Morarash, Oleksandr Korotun and Viacheslav Tsvietkov) prefer wide shots over close-ups, especially when it comes to nature; no voice-over or interference distracts the viewer from the people filmed, members of a pacifist community who reflect on the cycles of violent advances – be it the flooding of the Dniester River or armies at war – while raising children between those opposing forces.

Episodes framed as painterly tableaux showcase the camera’s masterful strokes, and while static long takes in wide landscape shots have made up the preferred aesthetic approach for a decent number of documentaries lately (Ukrainian ones, at that), Silent Flood translates the beauty that the community itself already sees. Film style, in this case, is very prominent, but the documentary is not stylised per se, as the shot scale and the distance of the camera lessen the traditional sense of detachment associated with stricter formalism. There’s also the villagers’ own voices as they narrate or converse, carried over and across the sequences to add not only to the film’s continuity, but also to its poetic cadence.

In addition to sculpting snapshots of village life through the ritualistic working of the land, in keeping with the sunrises and sunsets, the film also makes room for the intimacy of interior settings. One long dinner sequence, which takes place right after loaves of home-made bread have been delivered to the frontline, is a remarkable example of the “slice of life” approach taken by the documentary, while also showing an awareness of the ethical ground rules of filming. The camera is present, but never intrusive – it captures dinner-table conversations but doesn’t insist on filming faces, presumably out of respect and to safeguard those who expose themselves on the frontline. In the minutiae of what’s portrayed in the film, it’s clear that Dmytro Sukholytkyy-Sobchuk has a knack for amplifying personal stories through the cinematic medium, and this includes the tales told by and through the land itself. Silent Flood positions itself in the in-between space – the link between human and nature, as well as that between the past and the future.

Silent Flood was produced by TABOR (Ukraine) and Elemag Pictures (Germany).