In this interview, Ukrainian filmmaker Mariia Ponomarova discusses the harm Western filmmakers can do by extracting Ukrainian narratives in documentaries without meaningful collaboration with or benefit to Ukrainians. Our talk explores funding and distribution structures, the tokenistic use of Ukrainian co-directors, “parachute filmmaking”, positionality, and the real human costs of these practices.
Could you introduce yourself?
My name is Mariia Ponomarova. I was born and raised in Kyiv, and I’ve lived in the Netherlands for 11 years, since 2014. I studied here at the Netherlands Film Academy. I’m a film director, creative producer, and film industry worker.
We’re here to talk about what you’ve termed “Ukraine-washing.” Can you start by explaining what that means and how you see it manifesting?
Ukraine-washing is engaging in tokenism, doing something that would supposedly benefit Ukrainians, Ukraine, and Ukrainian narratives, when in reality, Ukrainians rarely benefit and are instead getting exploited. Essentially, when someone uses what’s going on in Ukraine, but lacks the in-depth knowledge or involvement that necessitates risk, time, and resources.
I think we should have moved past that by now; Edward Said published his works so long ago. We cannot use these orientalism and exoticism practices in the 21st century. No one expects an immediate cure, but we need to emphasize denormalizing it because it’s exhausting.
What are some problematic examples you’ve seen of extractive storytelling in telling Ukrainian narratives?
There’s a term, “parachuting,” where you come from above, you drop yourself in a context, you extract something, and you go back. You might have partners inside the country, but you’re not in real exchange with the place. A common example is that of the young, usually white, male Western filmmaker who, especially in the early stages of his career, decides to build a career on the suffering of others. They’ll be like, “I’m going to ask these Ukrainian people to help me make a film about them, and I’m doing them a favor, helping them to elevate their pain through my craft.” These filmmakers then claim they have distance: “You guys are too close; you can’t see it. I’m going to provide an objective approach.”
Why does objectivity become synonymous with powerful filmmaking? And why are subjective perspectives considered too emotional?
Maybe that’s another reason for this conversation, because it’s not about punishing people; it’s about saying, “let’s just make sure that you don’t get this idea again.”
Just recently, I was offered a role as a fixer [author’s note: in filmmaking, fixers are local professionals who act as logistical and organizational experts for productions shooting on location, often in foreign countries] on a film by an emerging Dutch filmmaker who’s been to Kharkiv for three weeks and is going back again. I’m genuinely very curious: what did this person know about Ukraine before 2022? Why do they think it’s their call to do it? And it’s a film financed by Dutch television. So why would Dutch television not acquire or commission a Ukrainian film on this topic? The film is on a topic that’s already been covered by Ukrainian filmmakers.
When people have access to Western funding, they can bring amazing equipment and employ the best Ukrainian cinematographers—if they’re not serving in the army. A significant number of Ukrainian film professionals have lost their lives due to the russian invasion. When films from Ukrainian makers, who took three times longer due to alerts and attacks, who are dealing with trauma one way or another, and struggling with other economic, physical, and psychological challenges, finally get to the market, they’re often told, “The market is oversaturated. Too late.”
Do you see this sort of “white savior” complex playing out when Western filmmakers approach Ukrainian narratives?
Yes. Western filmmakers often possess access to larger platforms due to certain privileges. They have this idea that “we will come and bring your stories to the wider world, and you will benefit from it,” but instead of truly amplifying them, they often just put them through their lens.
I do want to stray away from the widely used argument, “Do you think that only people from your own country can make films or any cultural products from your context?” No, of course not. Look at the example of the HBO series Chernobyl [Chornobyl, in Ukrainian]. The team behind the HBO series made an impact that benefited Ukrainian culture, despite being an English-language production. It was built on profound research and on communication with Ukrainian partners.
If you cannot do things well, perhaps it’s best not to engage in a wrongful portrayal, or one that you would not be able to stand behind.
I see numerous Dutch or other Western European films about displaced Ukrainians coming into their countries. These makers receive funding and are shown at major festivals, believing they’re justified in making these films because they’re covering their own backyard. But proximity doesn’t mean understanding. Would you make this film about these people if they weren’t displaced? Would you make this film if they were not vulnerable?
I know people who have also been involved in certain productions that had issues with how they treated the translators. Because, of course, the directors don’t speak the languages that the films are in, and they cannot grasp the nuances.
Most of the time, people use fixers. These people are taking so many risks for others. If they’re well treated, paid, and credited, great. But so many times they’re not. At the beginning of 2022, multiple fixers died at the hands of russians. They were exposing themselves to really, really dangerous situations; it’s not without cost. Unfortunately, it’s a way for them to survive financially due to a massive shortage of funding in Ukraine. Those people are absolutely noble and deserve all the praise; they are extremely hardworking. When a Western maker comes and says, “I’ll be fine, I’ll just get a fixer,” I’m curious about how they plan to treat them.
How do you view the role of funding structures, distribution networks, and maybe even Western audiences in perpetuating these problems?
There are, luckily, more and more mechanisms to prevent extractive filmmaking, but there is also a matter of cultural spend. If you want to make a film funded by, let’s say, the Netherlands, Belgium, or France, or anywhere else, and you need the Dutch, French, or Belgian spend. These cultural points are also achieved by the number of people in your crew. Let’s say you have a Dutch crew for the Dutch funding application. You’re good because you have people on board who will pay back their taxes in their country of residence. There is no malicious intent behind this. But there is a tokenistic strategy: They have a Dutch director and crew hiring a Ukrainian fixer. This person represents minimal spend, because fixers are almost never included in the final decision-making. Or the Ukrainians are all hired for technical roles. They’re not included in why you’re framing things a certain way or why you’re pressing record or not.
There are beautiful cases of truly fair and equitable co-productions where people find a way to secure money that is not tied to cultural spending. However, oftentimes, there are power dynamics at play, with senior makers bringing in an emerging Ukrainian filmmaker as co-director. For the Ukrainian professional, it feels like an elevation to their career, while the Western maker gains legitimacy. It can be a recipe for disaster unless done with time, effort, and awareness.
Are the Western filmmakers truly willing to listen, reshape, and be open to being confronted? As a Ukrainian creative, your dilemma is “Do I betray my own ethical stance or cultural perspective because otherwise we’re not going to make this film?” It’s hard because my Ukrainian colleagues want to progress in their craft, attend good festivals, and have access to distribution networks. They deserve that. But then they’re in this catch-22. I can also speak from experience, because I consulted on a couple of projects. I’m glad they asked me to because, in the end, these projects were great. Still, in the making, there were a couple of touchy subjects. I’m not an institution; I’m not someone who can have the last word in the conversation, but I can warn people about delicate moments. I certainly applaud people who at least understand that they want to do it right, even if they don’t know how to. Those who don’t want to create something that would, instead of paying tribute to the Ukrainian people, actually portray something odd or twisted.
If we are talking about many Ukrainians today, they’re usually a vulnerable person one way or another. But that does not make us easy material for other people’s stories.
There was a Danish filmmaker who made a film in Ukraine. It was super acclaimed, a festival darling. It’s a beautiful film, but during sound post-production, they decided to insert explosion blasts. They just added them for dramatic effect. And it provoked a debate among many of my colleagues, like “Oh, so blasts of explosions in our country are your narrative strengthening tool?” I get that it wasn’t cinema verité, not live-streaming, but there was a big ethical discussion. They didn’t have Ukrainian producers on board.
I have nothing against people paying tribute to or elevating Ukrainian voices, sharing Ukrainian stories, and making sure they’re present and visible. However, it cannot be taking space from actual Ukrainians who are struggling and finding ways to tell their stories or convey complex experiences.
You work with Dutch producer Noortje Wilschut on your film Patronymic. How is that collaboration different from what you’re describing?
It’s important to clarify the terms. I’m the writer and director of the film. Noortje is the lead producer of the film, and I am an executive producer. This means I initiated the project and contributed to its development and positioning. Noortje and I both take part in the decision-making process, yet the film largely reflects my own creative perspective, and I’m the driver of the narrative-building in this project.
Patronymic is a film that’s fully financed by the Netherlands. It’s a film about borderlines: a border between safety and unsafety, a border between places where part of my name exists or doesn’t. Patronymic isn’t just a story about Ukraine. It’s about many things that concern both places, the Netherlands and Ukraine.
Noortje is also my recurring collaborator. We’ve done films before together. Even though Noortje is not Ukrainian, she has previously worked on films within the Ukrainian context. Because it’s my family story, I do have executive power over the content of the film. Noortje and Family Affair Films can make their own best judgment on whether to support this film and offer a critical perspective on the script. Even though I have lived in the Netherlands for 11 years, I still benefit from this perspective, whether the story is relatable or not in a context different from my Ukrainian upbringing. For this, we also worked with the Dutch script consultant Tom Bakker. In this case, Noortje is not saving anyone because this film is not her attempt to remedy anything in Ukraine. It’s me coming back to my collaborator and saying, “I have this idea. Would you want to join me in this journey?”
Suppose a Western filmmaker who wants to approach a Ukrainian story is reading this. What would you advise them to do if they’re going to approach this process ethically?
Ideally, it always starts with acknowledging your positionality and what kind of privilege you might have. Ask yourself: “Is my interest based on contributing something or exploiting the topic? Am I going to add to the discussion? Beyond employing people, can I give them equity? Who else is already doing this work? If I do make this film, is there still room for others? Could I use my privilege in order to elevate makers from this community?” It’s great that you’re interested in this, but if you want to make a film and ask for resources, you need to ask yourself these questions.
If you want to help, there are many reasonable ways to do so, but filmmaking is not a remedy. Filmmaking is not humanitarian work.
I think it’s very important that you have a stake in the story you’re telling. If you tell someone else’s story poorly, “oops, bad luck for them”. If you tell a story you have a stake in poorly, you would also suffer from that misrepresentation. I would suggest doing a sense check to understand what kind of contribution you’re making, not only as “a gift to Ukrainians” but also to your own society. You can reflect on yourself in relation to us, or reflect on things we mutually share. Challenge your audience’s biases.
From the perspective of audience members, how can we become better consumers?
I think Ukrainians are fighting for dignity, for so-called European values, and for acknowledgement of the complexity of the Ukrainian context, rather than being compartmentalized into “the brave Ukrainians”, “the struggling Ukrainians”, or the “Ukrainian martyrs”.
It’s about recognizing that Ukrainians are good partners, interesting conversationalists, and possess expertise. We have expertise in fighting against the russian Empire for centuries. We need to be treated as equals. We also have very different perspectives. We’re a big country, both in terms of territory and population. The climate in the south of Crimea is very different from that in the middle of Ukraine, the Carpathian Mountains, or the east of Ukraine.
So, the right perspective for an audience is “I’m going to watch something about Ukraine, and I want to know who my neighbors are.” I think it’s important to recognize that we have something to learn from each other, something to share.
You shouldn’t feel that, “I didn’t know about this; I should have known.” You cannot be an expert on everything. But that’s why films are beautiful. Those made with a high degree of ethical reflection are windows into certain experiences. It’s absolutely fine to sit on your couch and watch a film. But I don’t think it’s really fine to soothe yourself by thinking, “I watched the film, I’ll stop worrying. I’ll stop voting. I’ll stop being actively engaged in change. ” Every film is an invitation to watch 50 other films about Ukraine and engage further.
Another common issue with Western audiences, who come from countries with an imperial past, is the question of fresh legitimacy. “Oh! Ukraine is now a legitimate place. You not only exist, but you can speak; we have to listen to you. But you’re the new kid on the block. Why would we listen to you?” I’m sorry, Kyiv actually existed long before Moscow.
It’s also the responsibility of people who are still employing russian cultural programmers, or russophiles in “Eurasian” studies, which are mostly russian studies. All these gatekeeping positions lack representation from Ukrainians, other Eastern Europeans, and people from the Caucasus. There is a need for more differentiation and context rather than grouping us together.
When you create a representation of people, you need to be super responsible. For some people, from faraway places, it’s going to be their entry into the Western consciousness. I’m not saying that it needs to be a complimentary portrayal. I don’t think it has to be about Ukrainians being perfect angels. But you should have a meaningful encounter.
For those who question why we shouldn’t hear the russian side of the story, why shouldn’t we platform russians who oppose Putin or who left russia, what would you say?
I think that it’s always about checking why we’d be—using the metaphor of a rapist, the victim, and the bystander—so interested in the perspective of the bystander who saw the rape happening and did what? When the annexation of Crimea happened, the Budapest memorandum was absolutely ignored. We’re living in a very particular timeline where people who benefited from certain economic realities remained in russia after all that, and then somehow woke up in 2022.
I’ll be completely transparent. I stopped going to russia in December 2015. It took me a full two years to realise that I’d have to stop going there, as it’s as it’s an aggressor country. The realisation didn’t happen immediately; the colonised attitude of having difficulty severing ties with your coloniser right away plays a role here. It’s not that I was immediately like, “no”. I have family there, unfortunately. I’m absolutely not in touch with them. I have a history of going there and knowing a lot of people there. It took me time to wake up, but I woke up.
To the question “we need to hear all stories”: you give certain voices a platform, and russians have had the spotlight for years. Now we’re building the agency of Ukrainians, yet for some reason, certain societies cannot deprioritize the citizens of a terrorist state. One example, of course, was the film Russians at War. It’s blatant propaganda, yet this film was still praised. It exploited the idea that “they cannot be that bad,” pushing the narrative of “let’s applaud the good russians who fled.” There is a Western bias that russians can’t be that bad because, of course, the West has such a history of handshaking russia.
I think any Georgian or Ukrainian would say to you it’s not about being against Putin, it’s about being against russian colonialism.
Do these “good russians” understand that they’re complicit? Do they understand that there is a degree of reparations that are expected from them? I absolutely acknowledge that a certain number of russian people who are very much engaged in the Ukrainian resistance have been exposed to suffering. But they have to remove themselves from the spotlight and willingly say, “It’s not my time to talk, I cannot be the dominant voice, it’s not about me…”
We’re talking about the killing of Ukrainians. So if they are not contributing to stopping that, I really have nothing to say, and that’s why I don’t think that these people have to be given a stage.
Is there a risk that these critiques might discourage cross-cultural filmmaking altogether? Where is the value in it?
I think it’s a bit different for fiction and documentary films, because documentary films often concern real people with real consequences. Your portrayal of their reality might physically affect them, their community, or even people’s voting habits. In fiction, cross-cultural filmmaking can be remedied in many parts of the process. You can catch it in the script stage or the filming stage. Chernobyl, the series, though it refers to actual events and people, is still a work of fiction. It’s a work that can be more conceptual, so you have a bit of leeway. In a documentary, there’s much less room for error.
Cross-cultural collaborations are beautiful because they often bring very different expertise. They bring very different strengths and can empower someone open to engaging and learning, and this can be a beautiful chemical reaction. But the asymmetries need to be acknowledged.
To wrap it up, beyond your film, Nice Ladies, are there any Ukrainian filmmakers or stories that you would like to highlight?
It’s my immense pleasure to say that there are many Ukrainian films and many Ukrainian productions that are doing an amazing job. I’ll just name a few films that have just been released this year, and you should keep an eye on them.
There is Divia, from Dmytro Hreshko, which premiered at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival. Militantropos is a feature film by TABOR production, which actually co-produced Nice Ladies on the Ukrainian side. Militantropos is part of a trilogy about how the invasion changes people from within, and it premiered in Cannes this year.
There are multiple fiction films in the circuit. One of them would be Honeymoon by Zhanna Ozirna, which premiered in Venice. There is Fixing the War, which is co-produced by Moon Man Productions. Additionally, there are other Moon Man film productions to watch out for.
There are also a couple of hybrid films in the making. For example, one is My Dear Vira, by Maryna Brodovska and Olga Chernykh. Olga’s previous feature documentary film, A Picture to Remember, opened the IDFA film festival in 2023. It’s really beautiful to be part of this landscape. There are also prominent voices in animation, as seen in the new film “Kyiv Cake” by Mykyta Lyskov, which competed at the prestigious festivals in Ottawa and Leipzig.
It’s beautiful to know that there are enough Ukrainian voices to support and enough Ukrainian makers to keep an eye on. If you’re in the Netherlands and you would like to see more Ukrainian works, keep an eye on Kyiv Critics Week. It’s an event happening in the Netherlands, organized by Ukrainian and Dutch organizers, expanding from Amsterdam to Rotterdam this year (and perhaps in the future). There are ways to support these films, such as requesting them for your film club, town, city, or any other space you have access to. You can organize something like this by reaching out to agents of these films or other rights holders. Always reach out to rights holders, never pirate. Pay for your content, it’s very important.
As a final note, I’m also excited to say that I’m preparing my next film. We’re now entering pre-production, the film is called Patronymic. I’m very excited, and I hope it will be released in 2026. It’s going to be an experimental documentary with some staged elements, shot here in the Netherlands. I’m very much looking forward to collaborating with my Dutch and Ukrainian colleagues. It’s very beautiful to exchange ideas. I’m also grateful for my supportive international community, who help me learn and grow as a professional.
No one is free until everyone is free. We need to be in solidarity with other people in struggle and try not to create unnecessary exceptionalism.
Also, I’m very grateful to VATAHA because one of the important things VATAHA does is keep finding ways to elevate Ukrainian voices, as well as people who are meaningfully engaging with Ukrainian culture. I believe that many Ukrainians are very happy to engage with the context of others, because again, there is power in synergy.
Watch Nice Ladies with Dutch subtitles or, if you are in the territory of Ukraine, in the original version. Read our previous interview with Mariia here, and follow Mariia on Instagram here.
These interviews were conducted on August 25 and October 5 and edited for clarity.