Director: Chad Gracia
Certificate: N/A
Running Time: 80 minutes
Synopsis: Documentary maker, Chad Gracia returns to Cold War whisperings in Ukraine, as well as the current crisis, through an experimental artist who is searching for the truth about Chernobyl and the infamous Duga-3, AKA The Russian Woodpecker.
There’s a city in Ukraine, near the Belarus border, which is haunted. Its buildings are abandoned but still full of the detritus of civilization: broken chairs, piles of books, forgotten toys…gas masks. This ghost town is, of course, Chernobyl, evacuated in 1986 after the nuclear plant disaster.
Chad Gracia’s documentary, The Russian Woodpecker, follows avant-garde artist, Fedor Alexandrovich as he tirelessly searches for “the truth” of Chernobyl. It’s a story we’ve seen before—unconventional and wacky outsider refuses to believe the government’s lies and instead tries to uncover a conspiracy, knowing that “the truth is out there”. But truth is often stranger than fiction, and Alexandrovich builds a compelling case for the government’s involvement in the Chernobyl disaster, linked to Duga-3, the monstrously huge radar system and early warning network. Its purpose was rumoured to block Western radio frequencies, while its tapping sounds heard on shortwave radio created its nickname: the Russian Woodpecker.
Alexandrovich is something of a wandering prophet—an Elijah or even a Cassandra, gifted with seeing the future but cursed and driven mad as no one will believe it. In Alexandrovich’s case it’s fear which stops others believing. Interviews with his family reveal a history of terror, of people disappearing, of tapped phone lines and of raids in the middle of the night. The KGB isn’t a distant memory here, or the topic of Bond movies; lives are littered with examples of harassment and brutality, while the security agency still exists albeit in newer incarnations.
Gracia however, doesn’t set Alexandrovich up as a fool to be ridiculed. With his wild hair and eyes, this would have been easy to do (and perhaps too easy). Instead we willingly follow the artist as he relentlessly digs for the truth, even posing forthright questions to a whole bevvy of ex-Soviet bureaucrats. At some points his quest for answers is merged with brief examples of his art; in a visually arresting scene, Alexandrovich is wrapped in plastic and advances through the abandoned rooms of Chernobyl, burning stave in hand. In another, he scampers up Duga-3 like some kind of maniacal squirrel (and this thing is huge—it’s a similar height to the Great Pyramid of Giza). But it never becomes more about his art than the need for the truth—instead you could argue his art is bound up with this search. It’s what powers his creativity.
The Russian Woodpecker isn’t just about history however. The main narrative is bookended by recordings of recent anti-government protests in Kiev, where Alexandrovich even takes to the stage in Maidan Square to voice his politics. The violent footage is a stark reminder about the current situation with Ukraine and Russia, and serves as a grim warning. Gracia’s documentary is completely engaging, from its Cold War narratives and mythologies, to its X-Files-esque conspiracies, to its haunting cinematography. Ultimately, Alexandrovich himself is mesmerising in his presentation of his version of the “truth”. He is a harbinger of doom, leaving us with a final premonition that we are on the verge of World War 3. Madman or truth teller? Only time will tell.
