Zero Line: Inside the Russian War Review – Shocking Testimony from an Army Turning in on Itself | television

IIn the dying days of the Soviet Union, there was much talk about the “Afghan syndrome” within Russia. Thousands of veterans of the ill-fated war in Afghanistan were shocked, angry and denied any kind of aftercare. A mass epidemic of untreated PTSD has hit the streets. After watching this chilling documentary, it’s hard not to conclude that the country’s experience in the late 1980s in the aftermath of the conflict may have been just a test of what was to come.

Some of the people interviewed in Ben Steele’s film speak anonymously. Many show their faces but do not give names. A few are happy to have their full names mentioned, perhaps on the grounds that the Russian state has already done its worst. They are all impossible, heartbreakingly brave.

Shortly after the 2022 invasion of Ukraine, a wave of small anti-war demonstrations broke out in Russia. There’s footage of one here; In her heart is a young man named Artyom. According to his then-girlfriend (now wife) Sasha, Artyom “lived for poetry and creativity.” In the United Kingdom at that time, people marveled at the courage of these brave dissidents; Not only does he stare into the Putinist abyss, he dares to look up. This is what happened to them. We see Artyom again, now in detention and apologizing for his challenge. Sasha says: They tortured him and raped him. His gaunt features and desperate eyes told their own story.

Lots of resistance then. What this film dares to do is examine what happens to Russians who reluctantly try to comply and join the war effort. The zero in the title has two meanings. It’s a name – the “zero line” is the area of ​​conflict with the enemy. But it’s also a verb, part of military vernacular. It refers to the increasingly common practice of execution by special forces.

When soldiers try to escape, they are whistled. When a group of conscripted convicts reaches the front lines, they are whistled, their bank cards are confiscated and their accounts are emptied. When soldiers are seriously wounded, they are whistled – and it begins, almost, to seem like kindness. “He had five children,” explains one ex-soldier of one particular killing. There is compensation for the dead. But he continues, “There is no price for vegetables. So we put him on the ground, like a dog.” Early in the film, the same man points out, “Your enemy is in front of you. But your enemy is your leader behind you.” It soon becomes easy to see what he means. The Russian army seems almost completely lawless.

And so it continues. It’s a strange, balanced categorization of an almost routine horror. There are “meat storms” (the phrase refers to the tactic of simply throwing a large number of soldiers into certain battles). These things, in simple mathematical terms, can be successful. But the numbers involved are staggering; The kind of statistics you have to double check to make sure you’re reading them correctly. For example, every day in 2025 an estimated 900 to 1,500 Russians were killed or wounded. every day. The casual disregard for human life is eerily reminiscent of Stalin.

Given the sheer scale of this carnage, it is difficult to imagine that most families in Russia will ultimately not be affected. The documentary also touches on the frightening banality of life on the home front. Propaganda is broadcast on the news. Recruitment movies in which cute kids wait on station platforms, longing to jump into the arms of their heroic parents. The point of these films is supposed to personalize war, but as is generally the case with any enhancement surrounding authoritarian regimes, the actual effect is one of a dark absurdity that turns nauseating.

The real personal touches inevitably come from resistance, most of which is unimaginably horrific. The guy in the Joy Division t-shirt whose wife was sent to a penal colony for condemning Bucha’s real-life brutality show. A special needs teacher (and dancer) who was recruited and whose fellow recruits discovered photos of him performing – their response was to tie him to a tree, club him and urinate on him. He slashes his arms with a broken coffee jar to escape his tormentors.

As the credits roll, there’s a statement that seems almost comically unnecessary: ​​”We have contacted the Russian government for comment but have not yet received a response.” It’s a legal formality, but does it really matter what the Russian government says? We’ve certainly moved past that point and the result is a film that’s as important as it is difficult to watch. A piece of work that feels less like documentary filmmaking and more like evidence gathering.

The impact of this war was not limited to Ukrainians; It did its best to obliterate kindness, gentleness and sensitivity among its secondary victims, the Russian population itself. The war will eventually end, but for the people in this film, it will never end. The zero line will reach the home front, and, as happened in the late 1980s, the shock will continue. As Sasha sadly put it while traveling to visit Artyom in prison: “I love Russia. But Russia doesn’t seem to love me.”