I met Lesia Diak at the Doku Rough Cut Boutique workshop in Cluj in 2023. A young filmmaker, she appeared serious and was an attentive listener. Now, a year later, her film is set to premiere at the Sarajevo Film Festival. I sense it will travel far; I'm confident she'll make it to the European Film Awards. An interview is an opportunity to discuss both publishable and unpublishable matters, to foster mutual understanding. Lesia was generous and trusting. While speaking with her, I felt transported to the intimate moments captured in her film—the honest atmosphere of a small apartment and the intensity of the editing room. Lesia said, 'I need to have eye contact with my protagonist,' even as she operated the camera. Feeling responsible for sharing her subjects' private moments, she decided to reciprocate by revealing aspects of her own life as well.

What inspired you to create ‘Dad’s Lullaby’?

I’m not quite sure that ‘inspiration’ is the best word to use when talking about the reasoning behind the creation of ‘Dad’s Lullaby.’ I was in pain observing my boyfriend during his short rotations, when he was serving in the Ukrainian army in the East of Ukraine in 2017. The pain tripled when he came back to a ‘peaceful reality,’ and we could not reach an understanding; there was such a void in our communication. My words, my silences, other people’s words – everything would trigger and upset him, and I was the closest to deal with his reaction. The easy way would have been to leave the relationship, but I didn’t want to leave; I loved him. I wanted to try to make a film about this issue and to try to understand it deeply.

How did the film address the complex issue of war-related trauma and its impact on family dynamics?

When I started developing the project, I tried to be very gentle and not ask questions that could hurt anyone’s feelings. I consulted with a psychologist on how to approach filming kids. I was witnessing the life of this family but at the same time I tried not to intervene in their lives. I would never bring a big crew into their tiny flat; I was filming by myself. I would only come on the days when they allowed me to come. The characters were living their lives. I think that the fact that we were sharing space, time, and loneliness brought us closer. At some point in the life of the Zinchuk family, I became a family friend. Of course, for documentary filmmaking, it is a tricky path. You start wondering whether you’re compromising your art because you want to be a good friend.

Poster designed by Dasha Podoltseva

How did you prepare yourself mentally and emotionally for the exposure and vulnerability?

For the final year of my work in the communication agency ‘One Health,’ I worked on the communication of a project dedicated to mental health in Ukraine. I learned that speaking out about your issues makes you feel stronger. In 2019, I wrote a column about my depression, and it was published.

I also felt that, from an ethical point of view, I would feel better if I exposed myself as the family was filmed in a very intimate way, and I feel responsible for giving away private moments from their personal life. And I decided to give away my private life, too.

There is nothing to lose. My country suffered so many losses. I believe it is the right thing to do – to expose myself so that other people feel engaged in the Ukrainian story. We are releasing ‘Dad’s Lullaby’ four years after I finished the filming. I am in a safer place because that phase of my life and that break-up is not my present.

How did being part of the film influence your creative decisions during the production process?

Initially, I was not planning to be part of the film. Most of my material was filmed in an observational style. But in documentaries, not everything goes as planned. Towards the very end of production, I changed my approach towards a participatory film; I believed I needed to open up to Serhiy, and I saw that in that moment of sorrow he wasn’t very comfortable being filmed. I gave the camera to him and said that he could film me instead, if this would make him feel more at ease.

How has this unique experience of being both director and participant influenced your growth as a filmmaker?

I would say it pushed me to grow as a person, which is obviously beneficial for filmmaking. At first, it was a challenge to see myself on the screen in an editing room. Probably because I had a wrong image of myself, maybe I thought that I was prettier and smarter in real life. It took me some time to realise that the fragility of a young woman without makeup or things to hide is a beauty in itself.

I wish I could step into 28-year-old Lesia’s shoes again. I believe that both watching and making films have a huge healing potential in the long run, but in the short-term perspective, we can’t expect that from a film. When I think of survivors from Mariupol and the long lines for mental health care in Ukraine nowadays, I know that watching a documentary will be no cure for them.

What emotions did you experience the first time the camera was pointed at you?

I wasn’t really noticing it. I wasn’t concerned with being filmed. Documentary filmmakers should be at peace with being exposed. It’s about exposing people, so you know at some point you need to be documented as well. It’s a natural process. I didn’t really think a lot about it. But I think it was a more difficult moment when I was holding the camera and I was thinking, okay, I need to have eye contact with Serhii when I’m speaking to him. And eye contact was important, yes. Because once he was about to cry and he needed to speak about something really painful, I would rather focus on him instead of holding the camera. And it was a bit awkward.

How did you overcome this?

As you see in the film, he’s not always in the centre of the picture. I would opt for eye contact.

What were some of the most significant challenges you faced while making this film?

When Serhiy separated from the family and moved out of their home, he was feeling very down and didn’t want to socialise. He didn’t pick up the phone for half a year. But I felt that I needed to give more space to his vulnerability, that I needed to portray him with empathy, not just end the film with him leaving. I would formulate the most significant challenge like this: How to approach someone who is in grief after being separated from his family? I needed to have that final conversation, and I just knocked on the door of Serhiy’s parents’ house, where he was living, and he opened.

The other challenge came when we were showing the material during the Docu Rough Cut Boutique sessions. It came out that there are some things which are obvious for Ukrainians and other cultures that were affected by military conflicts, but not so obvious for people who have never experienced war. It was a challenge to make the visual language and the dialogues work for all audiences. However, it is an impossible task to cater to everyone’s needs. Watching a film is a subjective experience.

How about the editing process?

It was quite a journey to find an editor for ‘Dad’s Lullaby.’ During the production phase, I was editing the scene selection with Semen Mozgovyi.

Upon completion of my studies at DocNomads, I already started working with Monica, and she suggested Andrei Gorgan as an editor. We reached understanding with Andrei quite soon. He is very talented and humble. For Andrei, editing is his main craft, and he is truly devoted to it.

I think that in Monica and Andrei I found my allies in including me as a character present both visually and sound-wise. We were on common ground finding this decision organic for the story. The challenge was how to edit these dialogues in order to preserve their authenticity. We stayed with the approach of focusing on the bits where Serhiy talks about his backstory from the war front, and when his understanding of love and relationships collides with mine. Through challenging me, he challenges himself, and we realise that all these questions he asks me, he has asked himself many times before.

In the editing room, it wasn’t easy to look at myself and notice some of the reactions – for example, the expression of anger and frustration. But I managed to come to terms with it. The film needed this female director to be expressive, and I needed the viewers to realise her bitterness. We used the material showing me with facial expressions that I found unpleasant at first glance. Andrei helped me a lot to develop a distance while looking at myself in the editing room.

What impact do you hope ‘Dad’s Lullaby’ has on the current discourse surrounding the war and its consequences?

There are four levels for the impact, if not more: the international, the national, the local community level, and the individual level.

I know that there will be no impact of the film on international politics and on the destiny of Ukraine as a whole. My film will neither stop the war nor motivate the countries which are constantly creating hindrances for the weapon supply to Ukraine to simplify their inner processes. In terms of the community level, the film screenings and the discussions that  follow could give viewers a sense of togetherness, belonging, and sharing the pain. Will the film bring the couples who have similar stories back together? No. But it can create a space for dialogue, or for dialogue between those struggling to maintain relationships. In terms of individuals, I believe that the film can help people to cope with guilt and sadness, to realise that there is an external force – the war – and one single individual can’t cope with it. I do hope that my film could lead people to realise they need to ask for help from the community or mental health professionals.

I remember that once, after pitching my film in Thessaloniki, I overheard two ladies saying about my project, ‘How come he is so mean with the kids?’ I didn’t want to jump into their conversation, or to ask them where they came from. It is kind of simplistic to label people with the word ‘mean,’ though it is an instinctive response. It is much harder to try to understand different behaviour.

Being also the film’s main producer, what challenges did you face in balancing this role with your responsibilities as director?

A director needs to nurture their imagination; it is constant, very intense work, and it requires time for your mind to stay focused, and then time to rest and reinvigorate the capacity for creativity. A director needs time for emptiness, to gaze on the landscape, listen to the silence.

The producer is a business strategist that makes rational decisions. The producer needs lots of energy to drive the project, passion to develop it, to interact with experts in the field, potential partners, to present the project. A director needs a sense of security. They need to understand that things will happen. And the producer gives this feeling of security to the director. That’s a healthy way to make films. But in my case, I worked hard to enhance the film creatively, while at the same time trying to find partners in order to respond to all the needs of the film. I often remember the lyrics from Sinéad O’Connor’s song ‘8 Reasons’:

You know, I love to make music
But my head got wrecked by the business

The good thing is that at some point I had Monica, Elena, and Hrvoje, who could take control over certain areas of the project. This was bliss. Monica has been working as a director and producer of creative documentaries for more than 20 years. She knows the hidden obstacles, and she advised me on how to navigate them.

How many hours of filming did you have?

I filmed 100 hours over three years. 

Have you ever stayed over at the family’s house?

I always returned to my own place, in Kyiv. I aimed to establish a boundary. Observing what was happening in their house was sometimes upsetting, especially involving the kids, when they shared nightmares or missed their parents’ attention, who were busy working. There were different reasons. When their daughter was born, I cried inside with happiness, but didn’t show my tears. It was a complex emotional experience, very therapeutic for me as a filmmaker.

When I was 16, my mom went to work abroad, and I stayed with my father, witnessing his pain and responding to it. For men in Ukraine, it’s not easy when the woman goes abroad to work. He felt abandoned, and it was challenging for my father to raise teenagers, me and my brother. He was struggling a lot. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why I have such deep empathy for male characters in my film – and for men in general, because I witnessed it so closely, and it really broke my heart. When I witnessed similar experiences in the Zinchuk family, for instance why they are not more understanding of each other after this long separation, how they need to learn from scratch how to live their lives together again, it reminded me of many cases of separation, not least the case of my own family.

Are there any upcoming projects you can share?

At the moment, I am working on a short documentary, or docu-fiction, based on my personal analogue archive. I used an old analogue camera I had from my father for years. I participated in a residency in Finland focused on analogue film. I worked in the dark room, developed my own films, working with my hands, and it helped me recover my love for cinema. I’m currently editing this film, which is a story about a female artist who sacrificed personal happiness for the sake of her work, and I need to step out of myself to make this film good. The working title is ‘My days Are Being chopped.’

Are films made by women different?

There is a female perspective in documentary filmmaking, and it’s linked to the limits we have, in comparison with men, limits that family bonds or having a child place on us. We really need to be focused and close with the baby, with the child, if we have a family. And we can’t film in some situations that are accessible to male directors. We can’t film in a super dangerous environment, unless we have very good training. There are cases where female directors went to dangerous places, and it didn’t go well. At the same time, being a woman opens up other possibilities.

Thank you, Lesia, for the very inspiring discussion.

The conversation has been edited and condensed.

MAIN CHARACTERS

Serhiy Zinchuk, Nadiia Zinchuk, Olexandr Zinchuk, Artem Zinchuk, Nikita Zinchuk, Marharyta Zinchuk, Lesia Diak

Serhiy

A 45-year-old war veteran who served in eastern Ukraine for three years, Serhiy was a war commander, responsible for his soldiers’ lives. He is a person of heart, with a sense of dark  army humour and pessimistic views on humanity. He works night shifts at the supermarket to support his family. He is a loving father but the war experience prevents him from fulfilling his dream of living a peaceful life with his family.

Nadiia

Serhiy's wife cared for their three sons while he served in the war. She is a very strong woman, a mother both strict and tender. Raising three boys made her extremely resilient. It's difficult for her to express her emotions and fragility. She doesn't work outside the home and mostly performs parental duties. She rarely has time for herself, or time alone. She gives everything she has to her children.

Sasha (11)

Eleven years old, Sasha is an introverted pre-teen who keeps his emotions to himself. He is going through adolescent insecurities and understands better than his brothers how much their father has changed. The tension between Serhiy and his oldest son, Sasha, grows throughout the film. The more Serhiy demands from Sasha, the more the boy rebels. By the end of the film, Sasha's behaviour will have changed, showing increased aggression towards his youngest brothers. Sasha also takes on more responsibility in caring for his newborn sister.

Artem (8)

Eight-year-old Artem is the most vulnerable child in the family. He is a very reflective boy. He cries and disagrees with his parents and brothers. Artem is fascinated by his father and his stories from the war; he learns war songs written by soldiers of the Russian-Ukrainian conflict. This son of Serhiy's has great empathy for his dad.

Nikita (3)

Three years old, Nikita is the youngest and sunniest child. He is the most open among all the children and the most cherished by his parents. He also becomes affected by his dad and the violence of his older brothers.

Marharyta

The newborn daughter, Marharyta – the only daughter among sons – brings hope to the family.

Lesia

A 29-year-old woman, the film director, is going through a break-up with a war veteran. She is making a film about Serhiy's family to understand the impact of war on love and family relationships.

Producers Lesia Diak (main Producer), Monica Lăzurean-Gorgan, Elena Martin, Co-Producer Hrvoje Osvadić