In a near future, after the war ends with a victory for Ukraine, young couple Aurora and Darko move in with her blind grandfather, Anton, after his stroke. Despite her initial reluctance, they adapt to life in his countryside home, surrounded by ghosts of war and signs of recent occupation. Aurora, a veterinarian, often finds herself away at work, grappling with grief over her father’s death and struggling in her relationships. Meanwhile, Darko embraces the new reality, bonding with Grandpa while caring for him and forming a garage band with local teens. When Anton suffers a severe stroke, their routine changes drastically, leading to conflicts, especially between Aurora and her mother, Varvara. Nevertheless, Aurora spends more time at home, trying to help. After Anton’s passing on Christmas Eve, Aurora and Darko realise he was the glue holding them together. While Darko chooses to leave for the city, Aurora decides to stay in the house and confront her fear of being alone.
Since time immemorial, the death of our loved ones – and our own – has catalysed personal change, prompted the search for meaning, and instilled a sense of urgency in the living. Since the beginning of the Russian-Ukrainian war, my perception of death has deepened significantly. However, as an author, I don’t wish to create a war film. Instead, I’m curious about how people will learn to coexist with the ghosts of war after it ends and how they can once again embrace the privilege of dying in a time of peace. Antonivka is a feature film with an improvisational element. The script features a defined narrative and detailed dialogue, but during rehearsals, I plan to rely on a treatment to cultivate the authentic flow of language. The story’s climax revolves around Grandpa Anton’s death, which ties together all plot lines. Yet, like the entire film, this event will be infused with light, warmth, and delicate humour, reflected in both dialogue and relationships.
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