Jury Rechinsky: Sickfuckpeople

Dismounted and suspended, the dusk recklessly creeped in, enveloping the theatre, it played out a little, easing out the way just before plunging into the rawness of the reality of those who call streets home.

Agonizing and discomforting, Sickfuckpeople is a triptych portrayal of life of a group of improverished, drug-addicted homeless children living amid the filthiness of the Ukrainian basement. Directed by Jury Rechinsky and shot over several years, the film follows the Odessa street kids as they grow up and face their adult lives. Abiding to the clear three-part-structure, the film does not hold up suspense, giving away the most disturbing scene of the film within the first few minutes. Crimson rivers filling up the drained syringes, then passed around from one to another, they let the souls once pure sail in the highest spheres of delirium. The red balloon is carelessly dangling from the ceiling as only relic of the lost childhood.

Aghast and unnerved by the unraveled scene, I found myself wended into the second part of the film which follows Yegor on his journey to find his mother, who had abandoned him years ago. Yet, his endeavor deems to fail. Yegor is neither welcomed in the village, nor he receives the help he seeks. Forlorn in the bygone days, disillusioned once again, he takes the train … back to nowhere. As the story unfolds, you inadvertently arrive to third part of the film that depicts the petrifying life of a young girl who, notwithstanding the harsh reality of the streets, is happy because she is loved and is expecting a baby. But is there room for love or hope once outcast from home, family, and society at large? Is there a choice when there is a chance of your child facing the same if not worse, abominable and truly inhumane conditions?

Sickfuckpeople does not shy away from exposing the reality of the ones ruthlessly wretched by life. Much like life sometimes, the film is an entangled mosaic of undercut patches, bereft glances and bleak sighs, broken smiles and frail beauty. I left the theatre in dismay. Out in the daylight I was welcomed by an ever dulcet melody jolting from the tips of the fingers of the accordinist, playing nonchalantly as if nothing happened, prompting to remember the tragedy of life, which somehow gave that harrowing pain in my chest.

Austria/Ukraine, 2013, 75 min.


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Sevara Pan
Sevara Pan
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