Right off the bat, in My Undesirable Friends, filmmaker Julia Lotkev takes us on an intense, marathon-journey through the lives of brave Russian journalists trying to navigate the treacherous waters of Putin’s regime. Early in the film, a poignant conversation highlights how totalitarian governments are often depicted in films as outright oppressive, where everyone is visibly suffering. Yet, the reality is much different. On the surface, everything seems just fine—life goes on, but underneath, it’s a different story. She references diaries from 1937 where folks claimed they were living well, with trains running on time and women’s rights supposedly upheld under Stalin—all while the brutal Great Purge loomed nearby.
Fast forward to Moscow in October 2021, and the interviewee draws parallels to current times. While the city is bustling with vibrant cafes and beautiful parks, out of sight, state enemies are being arrested on dubious grounds. A chilling quote comes into play here: “the feeling that we are in a state of war and everyone else is not,” emphasizing the cognitive dissonance that many people experience in such oppressive environments. It’s an unsettling new norm, where life carries on amidst the simmering tension.
Clocking in at over five hours, My Undesirable Friends paints a profound picture of what a ‘free press’ means when it’s under constant threat. It focuses on a handful of determined female reporters who are relentlessly battling the state-controlled propaganda. Lotkev, who has Russian roots but now calls Brooklyn home, originally ventured to Moscow in 2021 to gather insights for a potential project inspired by a New York Times article about journalists challenging the system through independent outlets and podcasts like Hi, You’re a Foreign Agent. She turns to her old pal Anya Nezmer for helps, a veteran journalist who has been fearlessly calling out the regime.
The film shines a light on Anya, fellow podcasters Sonya Groysman and Olga Churakova, and online reporter Alesya Marokhovskaya, along with other courageous women navigating their mission as the constantly shifting landscape of the fourth estate looks dicey. There are moments of humor amidst the darkness, whether it be sharing anecdotes at get-togethers or slyly offering survival tips about avoiding arrest or strategic underwear choices for early-morning police interrogations—keeping things functional yet simple.
Even amidst the seriousness and justified panic, these journalists maintain an air of dark humor that keeps their spirits alive. Parodying the absurdity that their innocent content has to come with disclaimers concerning foreign funding is a melancholic joke—bitter yet necessary in this bizarre chemistry of journalism in Russia.
What’s brilliant about Lotkev’s approach is how deeply we connect with each woman over five substantial chapters—witnessing their camaraderie, personalities and layered experiences. Albeit taking place in a high-stakes environment, at moments it feels more like a thriller following misunderstood urban heroes fighting for truth and clarity. Of course, we’re aware of the heavy doom-laden shadow looming over discussions: the ongoing threat of bureaucracy, invasive surveillance, and the chilling effects of doublespeak that targets them as both journalists and individuals.
As we navigate through the 2021 fall, it becomes increasingly clear that these women’s realities are tipping into catastrophic times—hence shedding light on the insightful, if not fearful, reality they buildesteemed strides towards independence and exposure. We all brace ourselves for that moment in February 2022, fateful for them and everyone involved.
By the time war breaks out against Ukraine, the trustworthy platforms these journalists have worked for will be shut down as they flee from the increasing risk of oppression. Lotkev warns us about this outcome through her closing credits, coupled with clues that a Part 2 is in manaoment. We feel the creeping dread that transforms before our eyes, as whispers of a crackdown drown out any semblance faith in discourse. It’s chilling, and biting—yet only a part of the abrasive revelations of what real resilience entails.
At the film’s historic premier at the New York Film Festival, one couldn’t have fathomed how rapidly situations would stabilize. With its theatrical run set to amp up interest in critical discussions that so authentically reflect current events beyond borders, My Undesirable Friends stands as much a cry for awareness as it does a fresh, profound viewing experience. It’s undoubtedly one of the year’s hits, and sadly, a prescient warning for a much broader audience about political peril and its ramifications stretching further released spirits.
