Twice have I cried in a theater for a documentary from beginning to end; the last one was 20 Days in Mariupol at Roxie, and this one.
It’s a little hard to imagine piercing together a literal teardown of your home while being part of it. At moments like this I can’t help but start questioning the meaning of our work - no one seems to have survived from documenting, and the only thing a camera from an outsider does seems to be hurting people.
