In the new documentary Intercepted, a chilling chorus of testimonies emerges, spoken in intimate conversations that reveal the brutal reality of war. A young man tells his partner a gruesome confession, describing how he killed others even as they begged for mercy. He adds that remorse never crossed his mind. A separate man recounts receiving a letter from his daughter urging him to kill all Ukrainians and return home. A mother urges her son to cook his enemies as if they were kebabs. These intimate recordings form the unsettling backbone of the film.
Intercepted, directed by journalist Oksana Karpovych, has just premiered at the Berlinale. Its spine is a collection of phone calls made by Russian soldiers stationed in Ukraine from March to November 2022. The Ukrainian intelligence services intercepted and published these conversations online, turning private moments into a public record of war.
Overall, the voices convey a blend of anger, fear, hatred, violence, and frustration. Some messages mirror the predictable concerns of a recruit calling home: anxious mothers worried about meals and sleep, and fathers urging their son to stay strong. Others show many soldiers convinced their mission lacks purpose and that they will not return home unless they are killed or wounded.
Some conversations reveal a brazen cruelty, with talk of using the insult khokhol, a pejorative that echoes the Nazi term untermenschen, dehumanizing language aimed at others. Soldiers describe orders to kill anyone who crosses their path, even a mother with children, and confess with a casual air to stealing makeup, computers, and sneakers from the dead. In several exchanges, the women on the line try to escalate the soldiers’ cruelty. A mother is asked, What are we doing here? She replies, We are killing fascists, which demonstrates how propaganda can poison perception and justify violence.
Intercepted pairs audio with stark imagery from Ukrainian regions scarred by war. The filmmaker follows the slow return to normal life, first through abandoned schools, ruined apartments, charred facades, and rows of homes where laundry still hangs in the wind despite the damage. As the film progresses, the visuals become more mundane and intimate: people pruning vines, swimming in a lake, or selling goods in a makeshift market. The conversations, meanwhile, drift toward remorse, fear, and fatalism, underscoring that the film is not a simple condemnation of all Russian soldiers but a reminder of how war dehumanizes everyone involved. This frame preserves the broader message that war corrodes humanity on all sides and leaves lasting scars on those who survive it.
The documentary makes a deliberate choice to juxtapose the grotesque with the everyday. It shows how ordinary life tries to persist even as the invaders’ voices grow softer, more anxious, and more resigned. In this way, Intercepted becomes a powerful examination of the corrosive power of propaganda and the unmasking effect of face-to-face testimony. The work suggests that the true horror lies not in sensational moments alone but in the gradual erosion of empathy that occurs when violence becomes routine and distant from the home front. It is a stark reminder of how easily language and fear can reshape perception, turning human beings into mere instruments of war.
As the film unfolds, the sense of immediacy deepens. The juxtaposition between ruined landscapes and glimpses of ordinary life intensifies the viewer’s awareness of the human cost. The intimate audio exchanges highlight the emotional toll on families, while the documentary’s careful pacing grants space for viewers to absorb the gravity of each confession. The result is a nuanced portrait that resists easy judgments and invites reflection on the dehumanizing mechanisms that accompany armed conflict. Intercepted stands as a sobering portrait of war, its reach into everyday life, and the enduring need to preserve our sense of humanity amidst devastation.