Pamfir
[Pamfir], directed by Dmytro Sukholytkyy-Sobchuk, Ukraine / France / Poland / Chile / Luxembourg 2022, 102'
A masterly crime thriller, a picturesque Carpathian western or a folk tale on steroids? Enthusiastically received at Cannes, Pamfir draws abundantly on genre cinema, but – like the title character – breaks all the rules. It is the only way to survive in the depraved borderland with its corrupt cops and smugglers sneaking through the forest. Covered by the mists of Bukovina, immersed in mysterious local rituals and brutal arrangements, Dmytro Sukholytkyy-Sobchuk’s debut is a non-obvious portrait of the Ukrainian countryside and a universal story about unconditional love between a son who wants to be like his father and a father who will do everything to prevent his son from following in his footsteps.
The eponymous Pamfir, once a smuggler, now a labourer making a living in Poland, returns home to western Ukraine. He wants to spend the annual carnival in the village and, above all, to be with his wife and son. However, teenage Nazar gets into trouble and his father must repay his debt. Pamfir renews old contacts and accepts one last assignment. Little does he know that he is entering a world where everything can be smuggled in, except the good.
One of the best Ukrainian films of the year masterfully merges cinematic conventions, pagan myths and Ukrainian reality. In Pamfir, economic migration seems to be the only chance to escape the lack of prospects and ubiquitous corruption, but it separates families for years. We can also hear distant echoes of war, which add new and surprising meanings to the film. For although it does not talk about it directly, the visionary Pamfir has become a metaphor for the current situation.