Ukrainian director Lesia Diak’s Dad’s Lullaby, is making its debut in the documentary competition of the Sarajevo Film Festival this month.
It is a story of Serhiy, a war veteran, who returns from the frontline haunted by loss and struggles to reconnect with his wife and their three sons. The film takes an unexpected turn when the veteran turns the camera on the director herself, who shares her own experiences of a break-up with another Ukrainian war veteran.
Diak co-produced Dad’s Lullaby through her company DramaFree, with Monica Lăzurean-Gorgan and Elena Martin from Romania’s Filmways and Hrvoje Osvadić for Croatia’s 15th Art Productions.
She talks to Screen about how she met the European co-producers of Dad’s Lullaby, the culture clash she experienced at Cannes, and what she learned from pitchinvg the film to people wtih different values to herself.
What complelled you to make Dad’s Lullaby?
In 2016 I started dating a soldier. It was not easy to wait for him, there was always a chance that he could lose his life. But once he returned, it was a big challenge for me. He felt the need to go back as paramedic after he finished his service, out of a strong feeling of brotherhood with other soldiers there and the wish to help people. I wanted to understand him and to be kind and soft but it led me to mental and emotional exhaustion. I was able to afford professional help from a therapist, but many people in this situation can’t.
I wanted to tell this story in an even more complex way, with a family with children. I was introduced to Nadiia and their sons through an NGO while Serhiy was still in the war zone, and I started my research with them. When he first came back on a leave in 2017, it became a lot more intense.
What was the biggest challenge in this whole process?
It was difficult, sometimes overwhelming. I had to come to terms with my own fears that were related to my past experience. I felt that I was a bit protected with the camera, because I was doing this film with a purpose. There were boundaries between me and the family, I never stayed over for the night. I think it’s a healthy way to make documentaries.
When returning home with my equipment, I would feel that I just wanted to cry, because when I was there in the apartment, I was someone who was witnessing, and I didn’t feel that I could express my sadness. I didn’t want to traumatise them. But I was very close to them and it turned out to be a healing experience.
At one point you and Serhiy switch places, he films you and asks you questions.
I wanted him to be able to express himself more and, in a way, he also wanted to help me. It was easier for him to speak about someone else’s life and to dig into my soul than to bring out some of his own emotions. It’s not the best footage cinematically, but there is something authentic about it, even the way he is holding the camera.
You are also the lead producer on the film. How did you meet your co-producers and raise the budget?
I tried hard to find a Ukrainian producer and the ones I approached didn’t say yes. There are not enough producers in Ukraine and often they don’t have the capacity to take on all the promising projects.
I wanted the film to have an international appeal, so I went to Doc Nomads, which provides a very strong umbrella and networking opportunities. Then I started applying for pitching events and workshops, and I met Monica [Lăzurean-Gorgan ]and Elena [Martin of Romanian company Filmways] at Docu Talents from the East at Sarajevo in 2022. They approached me and said, “We believe in your idea and your empathy. Let’s work together.”
Later I met up with Monica at IDFA [International Documentary Festival Amsterdam] and we started strategising. I learned a lot from her and she suggested the editor on the Romanian side, Andrei Gorgan. The four of us had the same understanding of documentary films, that they should be very truthful and authentic. We agreed that the film needed this dialogue between Serhiy and me.
Which other markets or funds did you go to and what were the most significant ones for the film?
For some of the funds I had to apply several times, like at IDFA Bertha Fund, where we received post-production support in 2022.
At Sarajevo’s Docu Rough Cut Boutique in 2023, I met Croatian director Goran Dević and producer Hrvoje Osvadić. They strongly believed in our project and Hrvoje joined us as co-producer. At Thessaloniki’s [industry programme] Agora the same year, we met people from Docs Up Fund from France and they decided to support us with an impact campaign.
And you went to Cannes?
Taking part in Cannes Docs in 2023 was very big for us, but I was conflicted with the whole celebration aspect of this festival. You have to be there and to socialise, while in my country filmmakers are dying in the war. It’s like living in two worlds at the same time.
I’ve experienced so many culture clashes. For example, at Paradiddle Pictures’ DocCelerator Story in 2022, I realised that many people did not completely understand how I perceived my main protagonist. They saw him as someone who was representing power because he was in the military, and there is this huge discourse of toxic masculinity going on. And to me, Serhiy was someone who sacrificed his personal happiness and everything he had.
It’s extremely powerful to go and pitch and then to hear that there are a lot of people whose values are clashing with your values. That’s probably why we are creating documentaries featuring complex characters.
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