_**A somber and occasionally captivating film—one that I respected more than enjoyed.**_ Drawing inspiration from Svetlana Alexievich’s oral history, _The Unwomanly Face of War_, and directed by Kantemir Balagov alongside Aleksandr Terekhov, _Dylda_ explores the lingering trauma experienced by Russian women after World War II. Alexievich's book, initially published in a censored version in 1985 before its uncensored release in 2017, recounts the experiences of female soldiers, a subject Soviet authorities once discouraged her from pursuing. Sara Danius, chair of the Swedish Academy when Alexievich received the 2015 Nobel Prize in Literature, described her work as "_a monument to courage and suffering in our time_." _Dylda_ delivers on that promise of suffering, with moments of courage woven throughout. While many films have depicted men struggling to readjust after combat, this one focuses on two women grappling with the debilitating effects of post-traumatic stress disorder—a condition poorly understood at the time. Despite appreciating the filmmakers’ sincerity and evident artistry (particularly in its stunning visuals), I found _Dylda_ somewhat underwhelming, falling short of the potential suggested by its individual strengths. The film is set in Leningrad, 1945, as the city attempts to recover from the longest siege in history – a period of 872 days that began on September 8, 1941 and ended January 27, 1944, resulting in an estimated 1.2 million to 5.5 million deaths. We are introduced to Iya (Viktoriya Miroshnichenko, in a remarkable debut), a former soldier suffering from concussion-induced PTSD that causes episodes of paralysis. Working as a nurse in a hospital for wounded soldiers, she is close to Stepan (Konstantin Balakirev), a patient paralyzed from the neck down, and Nikolay (Andrey Bykov), the hospital administrator. Life with her son, Pashka (Timofey Glazkov), is difficult but manageable until a tragic accident alters their course. The return of Masha (Vasilisa Perelygina, also delivering an exceptional debut performance), a former comrade who may be in love with Iya, brings fresh complications; Masha’s own PTSD manifests as cruelty and selfishness, pushing Iya toward a potentially destructive path. _Dylda_ is visually striking. Balagov establishes his artistic style immediately through the opening shot: before any visuals appear, we hear an unusual sound that proves to be Iya experiencing a seizure. The film then reveals her in the midst of it. Even with no context, viewers learn crucial information about the character. Sergey Ivanov’s production design is also noteworthy; the hospital, apartment, and streets each contribute to the story's atmosphere—the hospital is underfunded, the apartment modest but welcoming, and the streets cold and desolate, bearing the scars of the siege. Remarkably, these exteriors were constructed sets rather than actual locations, enhancing their impact. Those who appreciated Dante Ferretti’s work on _Gangs of New York_ will find much to admire here. Olga Smirnova's costume design complements the production design, creating a pervasive sense of melancholy and resilience. The film’s color palette reinforces this tone; it is largely devoid of vibrant hues, dominated by grays, dirty yellows, white, and an unsettling green. The absence of blues, purples, and reds contributes to the overall somberness.

Source on TMDB