Julia Loktev’s follow-up to her five-hour documentary “My Undesirable Friends: Part I — Last Air in Moscow” delivers a sequel that is equally gripping, if not more intense, as it chronicles journalists fleeing the Russian government. While the first film concluded with the February 2022 invasion of Ukraine and the sudden flight of Loktev’s friends after they were labeled foreign agents for covering war crimes, “Part II – Exile” traces their subsequent diaspora across five chapters spanning 355 minutes.
Though the runtime may appear daunting, Loktev and co-editor Michael Taylor have constructed a conversational epic where every development carries significant weight. The narrative introduces both returning subjects from the first film and new characters who operate online tools to challenge authority. These individuals are portrayed as complex, driven, and often awkward, trapped in professional and personal impasses while grappling with the uncertainties of immigrant life.
The film opens with a concise five-minute recap, re-establishing the stakes as young reporters from outlets like TV RAIN scatter across Warsaw, Istanbul, Prague, and Tel Aviv. Carrying only small suitcases, they seek temporary refuge but continuously wrestle with ethical questions regarding their host countries’ politics versus their homeland’s. This setup forces the journalists, along with external critics, to scrutinize their own complicity and the potential consequences of their words, knowing that any misstep could lead to further expulsion.
Covering several years rather than the six months depicted in the predecessor, the sequel addresses major global events, including ongoing Russian aggression and the death of opposition leader Alexei Navalny. Subjects report on political poisonings and mass civilian graves either from the ground or remotely via anonymous sources. Some return to Kyiv, while others move further west to the United States, where they witness rising authoritarian tendencies.
Amidst these challenges, gallows humor provides occasional relief, though loneliness frequently permeates the screen. Twenty-something Ksenia Mironova advances her career while her fiancé remains imprisoned by the state. Older co-director Anna Nemzer faces the strain of repeatedly uprooting her teenage daughter, while anchors like Valeria Ratnikova contend with legal threats. Despite the dangers remaining acute for those covering the Ukrainian war zones, the journalists maintain that the victims of their reporting face far worse fates.
Loktev, operating largely as a one-woman crew, maintains an emotional proximity to her subjects, who feel comfortable enough to drop their guards before her smartphone. Alongside Taylor, she judiciously edits the footage, using jump-cuts to condense time without sacrificing clarity or momentum. The documentary exhibits a distinctly feminine intimacy, capturing candid moments of friendship and professional community that shade the political with personal familiarity.
As circumstances shift, Loktev and her colleagues remain constant pillars for one another. The film stands out for its unflinching examination of life in an ambiguous world and its simple yet powerful exploration of the psychological toll of political journalism. Serving as both a warning and a solace, it captures the relentless dedication of those sounding alarms, even as they question whether it is too late.
Five hours? Bold choice for a documentary, but Loktev makes every minute count. The emotional depth is extraordinary.
I didn’t expect to be so moved by journalists just talking to phones. The intimacy of it all is genuinely riveting.
Does anyone else feel uncomfortable watching this? It’s important, sure, but the loneliness radiates off the screen.