Review of 'My Undesirable Friends': repression against the Russian media, told in real time

Great documentaries are sometimes lucky accidents, the product of being in the right place at the right time and then having the means to produce something extraordinary from those unlikely circumstances. When director Julia Loktev traveled to Russia in October 2021, all she wanted to do was chronicle a handful of smart, tenacious journalists trying to tell the truth who, for their troubles, had been branded as foreign agents by Vladimir Putin's vengeful government. Little did I know that it would arrive just months before the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine. But thanks to a coincidence, he ended up having a front row seat to history.

He made the most of it: for five and a half hours without wasting a minute, “My Undesirable Friends: Part I – Last Air in Moscow” takes us inside TV Rain, Russia's last independent television channel. Divided into five chapters, the documentary begins when Loktev, who was born in the former Soviet Union before leaving when she was 9, returns to her homeland armed with an iPhone to follow veteran TV Rain reporter and presenter Anna Nemzer. Over the next four months, a period that ended shortly after the invasion began, Loktev joined not only Nemzer (who is credited as the film's co-director) but several other journalists who feared arrest for their reporting.

Loktev hasn't completed a film since 2011's “The Loneliest Planet,” starring Gael García Bernal and Hani Furstenberg as soon-to-be married lovers backpacking through the Georgian countryside, whose seemingly close bond is shattered after a heartbreaking encounter. In that film and his previous feature, 2006's “Day Night Day Night,” a documentary about an anonymous suicide bomber in New York, Loktev explored the mysteries of human behavior under pressure. But with “My Undesirable Friends,” he takes that fascination to a new level, presenting viewers with a group of compelling subjects, many of them women in their twenties, who open up for his camera while hanging out at TV Rain, their apartments or cafes, candidly processing their country's terrifying descent into authoritarianism in real time.

These intrepid journalists could not foresee the coming invasion, nor the brutal local crackdown on free speech in their wake, but Loktev makes those terrible certainties clear from the beginning, solemnly intoning in voiceover: “The world you are about to see no longer exists.” Since its premiere at last year's New York Film Festival, “My Undesirable Friends” has been compared to a horror movie and a political thriller, but perhaps more accurately it is a disaster movie, one in which you get to know the characters so intimately that, when the terrible event finally occurs, you care deeply about the outcome. (“My Undesirable Friends” is subtitled “Part I” because Loktev has almost finished a second installment, which catches up with the women after they flee Russia.)

By avoiding interviews with experts or historians, the documentary offers a kind of personal scrapbook of Loktev's subjects, showing what everyday life in an oppressive society is like: surprisingly banal with a constant hum of paranoia in the background. Each woman enters into an empathetic approach. Nemzer, who is slightly older than her colleagues, combines her demanding job with marriage and motherhood. Meanwhile, her younger co-worker, Ksenia Mironova, continues to diligently publish stories even though her fiancé, journalist Ivan Safronov, has been imprisoned for more than a year. (He would later be sentenced to 22 years.) Investigative journalist Alesya Marokhovskaya has a girlfriend, whose face we never see, and eventually details grim memories of a violent childhood. And then there's Marokhovskaya's best friend and partner, Irina Dolinina, fighting anxiety while her politically oblivious mother harangues her about not being able to find a man now that she's been labeled a foreign agent.

The stress and uncertainty of these conversations are palpable but, surprisingly, so is the sharp sense of humor. When a co-worker is temporarily locked up, Mironova plays pranks outside her prison while awaiting his release. Journalists wear their foreign agent designation like a badge of honor, mocking the comically long disclaimer text they are forced to post on their broadcasts, a dark coping mechanism to make sense of their tense, surreal moment.

“My Undesirable Friends” captures dark times with some of the funniest people you would ever wish to have as sisters in arms. Challenging, emotional and heartwarming, the film presents us with endearing patriots who love their country but hate their leaders, absorbing us in a fascinating story with a powerful undertow.

The public anticipates the terrifying future that awaits these journalists, making their tireless advocacy even more moving. If our 20s are a period of unbridled optimism, a hope that slowly fades as we age, “My Undesirable Friends” is a moving example of the resilience of youth. There is nothing naïve about these women who came of age during Putin's cruel regime, but they still believe they can change things. Although Loktev rarely inserts himself into this epic, we feel his admiration behind the camera. The film inspires as well as challenges: What were any of us doing at that age that was comparably heroic or significant? What are we doing now?

Those questions should remain with Americans watching this masterpiece. Loktev has made a film about Russia, but its themes extend far beyond that country's borders. During a year in which the worst-case scenarios of a second Trump presidency have become reality, “My Undesirable Friends” contains many echoes in our national news. The cancellation of comedy shows, the unfounded imprisonment of innocent people, rampant transphobia: Putin's playbook is now everyday life in this country. Some may want to avoid Loktev's film because of those desperate parallels. But that's just one more reason to accept “My Undesirable Friends.” Loktev did not set out to witness history, but what he got is an indispensable record and a rallying cry.