Miriam Guttmann's documentary "Front Row" is an intricate portrayal of Ukrainian resilience, focusing on the United Ukrainian Ballet Company as they prepare for an emotionally charged performance amidst the backdrop of war. The film unfolds with deliberate precision, showing the raw dedication of dancers whose lives have been uprooted by conflict.

"Front Row" opens by observing the dancers exiled in the Netherlands, displaced from their home country due to the Russian invasion. The camera captures the rehearsals with unflinching detail. We see Alexis Tutunnique and Vladyslav Bondar questioning their purpose as artists when their country is in turmoil. These are not rhetorical questions; Guttmann takes us into their struggle, juxtaposing scenes of intense physical exertion with moments of stillness where the dancers contemplate their roles. There is no hyperbole here—just the stark contrast of dancers working in safety while knowing their families face uncertainty back home. The film takes on the notion of duty in times of crisis, challenging the binary of front-line heroism versus artistic contribution.

One of the film’s most striking moments occurs when Alexis discovers Oleksandr "Teren" Budko, a Ukrainian soldier who lost both his lower legs during combat. Alexis encounters Budko through social media, and Guttmann captures his initial fascination not as a simplistic call to action but as a genuine exploration of what resilience can mean beyond the battlefield. The subsequent invitation for Teren to join the ballet transcends mere symbolism. There is a specific scene where Budko, initially hesitant, steps into the rehearsal space, his gait awkward, his expression a mixture of determination and apprehension. Guttmann lingers on this moment, allowing the audience to witness the gravity of what it means for a man who was a barista and graphic designer before the war to now participate in an art form that demands precision and grace.

Guttmann's documentary draws a careful parallel between the battlefield and the stage without resorting to easy metaphors. There are scenes of Budko’s army unit in Ukraine—images of camaraderie, of drills, and the harsh realities of war. These moments are not meant to evoke drama but to give context to Budko's journey. When Budko begins rehearsing, the choreography is challenging, and his movements are initially halting. Unlike the polished dancers around him, Budko struggles, but that struggle is the essence of "Front Row." His vulnerability becomes part of the performance. The film finds its core not in celebrating triumph but in portraying the tension between imperfection and the idealized form ballet demands.

During my conversation with Miriam Guttmann, she mentioned how Budko's participation evolved the meaning of their performance. She pointed out, "When Budko joined, it wasn't about making a statement. It was about how each individual—whether a trained dancer or a soldier—finds their own way to contribute." This perspective runs through the film. Guttmann doesn’t attempt to dramatize Budko’s inclusion. Instead, she portrays the reactions of the other dancers, some of whom are initially skeptical. One ballerina bluntly questions why an untrained dancer should be part of a production that requires technical precision. Her objections are not cast as villainous but as an honest reflection of the discipline that defines ballet. Guttmann allows this skepticism to exist in the film without editorializing, which gives weight to the eventual acceptance of Budko by the company.

The performance of Giselle, which forms the climax of the documentary, is shot with intimate detail. The cinematography by Christiaan van Leeuwen avoids wide-angle, polished shots of the stage, opting instead for close-ups that emphasize the emotion on each dancer’s face and the sweat dripping down their necks. Budko’s role is not glorified; he is visibly out of sync at times, his prosthetics lying onstage during one segment, but the focus is not on achieving an ideal performance. Instead, the imperfections become the emotional centerpiece. Budko uses his upper body strength to perform a dumb show while his prosthetics are off, and the rawness of the moment becomes a statement in itself—one that resonates more powerfully than any polished movement could.

Bondar’s storyline is another compelling thread in "Front Row." He consistently worries about his father, who is actively serving in the Ukrainian military. A scene that stands out is a video call between Bondar and his father, where the elder Bondar recounts a close brush with death. The connection falters due to poor signal, and we see Bondar’s face tighten with anxiety before he returns to rehearsal. Guttmann captures this with a quiet restraint. The juxtaposition of Bondar’s fluid dance movements and the mental burden he carries is stark. It conveys a reality that the dancers cannot escape—their bodies are dedicated to art, but their minds are never far from home.

There is a moment when Alexis, while scrolling through social media, finds footage of Budko dancing with prosthetics. This scene highlights the modern-day connection between the front line and the global audience. The immediacy of seeing Budko's efforts online resonates with Alexis, who reaches out to invite Budko to join their ballet. Guttmann includes these modern forms of interaction, showing how technology becomes a bridge between disparate experiences—a soldier and a dancer, both finding ways to fight for their nation.

Budko’s first rehearsal is filmed in stark contrast to the rest of the company’s polished movements. His uncertainty is palpable. The dancers pause, watching him, as Budko removes his prosthetics, adjusting his balance. The choreography is clearly foreign to him, and there is tension in the room. The precision of ballet collides with Budko’s raw effort, and that collision is what gives the documentary its unique perspective. It is not about achieving perfection; it is about what art represents during war—an attempt to hold onto humanity.

When the company finally performs Giselle with Budko on stage, the scene does not follow the usual trajectory of triumph. Instead, Guttmann focuses on the audience reaction—faces registering the mixture of strength and fragility that Budko brings to the role. His scars are not hidden; his movements are not effortless. In one sequence, he pauses, removes his prosthetics, and uses his body to tell his story. The audience’s silence speaks volumes—this is not about beauty, it is about truth.

Guttmann also includes moments from Budko’s past as a soldier. These are not presented with the fanfare often associated with war documentaries. Instead, the footage shows the mundane aspects of a soldier’s life—training exercises, moments of rest, and camaraderie. This approach grounds Budko’s presence in the ballet. He is not defined by his injuries; he is defined by his resilience, just as the dancers are not defined by their distance from the battlefield but by their desire to represent their country.

Throughout "Front Row," Guttmann makes the decision to avoid the polished spectacle that often accompanies dance documentaries. The camera is handheld, close, and intimate, focusing on the faces of the dancers as much as their bodies. There is a deliberate choice to show sweat, exhaustion, and struggle. This documentary does not glorify the performance but rather presents it as an evolving, imperfect act of defiance.

The inclusion of a disciplined ballerina questioning Budko’s role adds an essential layer to the narrative. Ballet is an art form built on precision, and her objection speaks to the core of that philosophy. Guttmann does not dismiss her perspective; instead, she allows the conflict to unfold naturally. The other dancers slowly come to understand that Budko’s imperfections are not a hindrance but a testament to the strength of their collective performance. The adjustments they make to incorporate Budko are not compromises—they are acknowledgments of what the performance truly represents.

There is no triumphant resolution in "Front Row." The documentary ends with the company completing their performance, Budko standing alongside them, his breathing labored, his prosthetics visible. The applause is genuine but not overwhelming. Guttmann captures the dancers backstage, their faces a mixture of relief and contemplation. The performance is over, but the war continues, and their roles as artists remain uncertain. This lack of closure is what makes "Front Row" resonate. It is not about a final victory but about the ongoing struggle—both on stage and in the lives of those who are displaced by conflict.

TCG Score: ☆☆☆☆ [4/5] 

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