Volodymyr Rashchuk is a well-known Ukrainian theatre and film actor, musician, and athlete originally from Mariupol. Together with his wife, Victoria, they volunteered to join a military unit in the early days of the Russian invasion in February 2022. Victoria was helping at the field kitchen while Volodymyr set off to face the Russian forces on the outskirts of Kyiv, from the side of Brovary.
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Volodymyr Rashchuk didn’t go to the military enlistment office because he lacked military experience and had a deferment due to his health. However, this did not prevent the actor, who would later receive a call sign “Artist”, from earning an officer rank in the S3 section of the 3rd Battalion “Svoboda”, a unit of the Ukrainian Armed Force’s Operational Support Brigade “Rubizh”. He has gone through Brovary, Irpin, Bucha, Hostomel, Rubizhne, Severodonetsk, Bakhmut, Kurdyumivka, Ozaryanivka, Spirne…
Rashchuk says that he is now fighting in one of the most motivated units because “we are all volunteers here”. “I didn’t come for the money. We came there as fully-fledged individuals who were self-sufficient in their fields. We are entrepreneurs, actors, architects, hustlers. There are all the different types of people who have proved themselves very effective in this war. Once, a fellow soldier came and asked, “How much money do you get?” I said, “Vasya, before the war, for one day of filming, I would be earning 18,000 hryvnias [approximately 440 euros. – ed. ]. And I was filming constantly. Six months straight with no days off. So, what do you think motivates me now? I came here to fight for Ukraine”.
Rashchuk continues to fight, while in the breaks between rotations on the front, he even manages to act in movies and perform on stage. It was on the film set that we were lucky to meet and have a conversation. Gradually, we talked about everything, but mainly about cinema and war – because it is our everyday life today.
Next is the direct speech:
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The film set after the trenches
It really triggers something. There’s Klava, an actress, sitting in the car. Suddenly, her cup fell down; she picked it up and said she would have to disinfect it to make sure it was clean to drink from it. And at that moment, I had a flashback of me drinking water from a puddle because I hadn’t had water for two days. I think to myself – we live in such different realities that it’s not just complicated, it’s practically impossible to explain. But there’s one story… I wouldn’t want girls and women to see things that my wife and daughter saw. My daughter now has such PTSD that she constantly trembles. She can’t film a video on her phone because her hands keep shaking. We’ve even consulted psychologists but to no avail.
I do feel like I live in different worlds. There’s one, and it seems to me that everyone should understand what happened to me. But that doesn’t always happen and it’s really hard this way. Sometimes, on a set, actors come to Kalashnikovs and start touching them. I say, “Hey, buddy, it’s been almost two years, and yet you still don’t know how it works?”
Now, there are those actors being filmed in military uniforms. They haven’t been anywhere, haven’t fought anywhere, haven’t held a weapon, and yet they are playing the roles of soldiers… Honestly, I think it’s disrespectful. Really, isn’t it better to invite a real-life soldier who will most certainly perform this role better than a professional actor? That’s my opinion.
Probably, I wouldn’t be able to handle any serious acting right now. But when it comes to buffoonery, satire — it’s just powerful. There [in the series “Code Name Tamada” – ed.] are such absurd circumstances the characters get into such comical situations. There is this character who hates Russians with all his heart and he has to get to the occupied territories to save the major’s daughter, who was evacuating people and got captured herself. And the only option is to do it under the guise of a DJ. In certain places, we completely rewrite the script because we want it to be realistic. Because not everyone understands what war is, and not everyone comprehends that it’s happening now.
What kind of movies should be made now?
I think it’s smart to unload the horrors we are facing onto people right now. I find it difficult to understand civilians. They are scared of explosions. And I think I have 420 strikes per hour in my sector alone. And we already have different realities directly. But I understand how difficult it is for people who have never lived through it and who have not made the decisions I had to make.
Churchill once said if we don’t have theatre, cinema and culture, then what are we fighting for? I’m having similar thoughts. More than anything, I really want Kyiv and all our cities to live peaceful lives as if there were no war. But on the other hand, I want societal awareness. For people to understand that the war is ongoing. And that every day, our guys are dying out there. They die in excruciating pain…
Once, when I returned from Bakhmut, I didn’t even get my car cleaned. I did this so that when I’m here, in a relatively ‘quiet’ environment, I don’t forget the price we are paying to have it. There’s such a stench of dampness, diesel, and blood. My girls sat down, and my daughter asked, “What’s that smell here?” “Sweetie, that’s the smell of war”, I said. There were still traces of blood, things we couldn’t wipe off the fabric. That’s how it is.
Regarding movies, I believe we don’t need graphics. Everyone is overwhelmed and burdened enough. Of course, everything must be well-documented and filmed so that these stories don’t just disappear because, no matter how you think about it, our guys are dying. We may not have enough time. And on some level of buffoonish satire, black humour, I think today it’s very relevant. We’re not beating ourselves up there. In Severodonetsk, we didn’t shower for 26 days. 26 days! We hit a bunch of their equipment there; we targeted Kadyrov’s Akhmat unit. But the point is that we kept joking through all this time. And these jokes bordered on the level of evil and boundless evil.
I’ll tell you a few stories. Our commander is passing through; we’re standing in the passage near the windows, and suddenly, they [Russians – ed.] launch grad rockets. You don’t know where it will land; those missiles scatter everywhere. He steps back and says, “Quickly, move away from the windows, now! Not because I care about you, just because there’s no one else”, and walks away. We’ll all die. We are sure about that 100 per cent. But what matters is how you’ll get there…
So, if we’re going to make a story about war, let’s make it a dark comedy. It shows the level of our spirit and our truly carefree and brave nature. We don’t care how many of you [Russians – ed.] are there because we’ll win anyway.
We need to make light films. But with substance. I don’t like the vain, empty sketches. I like it when jokes reach a true absurdity, prompting people to realise really deep things full of meaning. We, directors and creative people are ready for this, but first, the stars must align.
Profession
It helps a lot. Always. Everyone. It’s about communication, organising people, leading by example, making decisions. It’s the foundation that helped me grow from an infantryman to a squad and company commander; it taught me battalion management.
I worked at the Mariupol Theatre; I studied at Karpenko-Kary University for five years. For seventeen years, I worked at Lesya Ukrainka Theatre. I’ve had more than 20 leading roles performed in 28 plays per month. I have over 300 series, films, and everything that could be done over these years. I used to spend three months preparing for a movie; I took courses in extreme driving, became a professional stuntman, fell from the fourth floor, and learned to do anything myself. I trained with special forces, and even before the war, I knew how weapons worked, how an assault group operated, and how to clear the buildings. I know how to fight with cold weapons; I can ride a horse without a saddle. I know different languages. So, in a way, this is also my contribution to the profession. And I can work for 10 months without a day off. I’ll never say I’m tired – I will only be grateful for it. And when I see people not treating their profession the same way, it’s a betrayal for me. I honestly believe in it and act accordingly. When people don’t do that, it hurts me.
An actor is a person who is supposed to heal you. So, if you come to my play and you are hurting, your soul is in pain, I should share my emotions with you, and I hope that when you leave the play, you’ll heel. A musician has an instrument. He can change strings and tune it, and he’ll play. But for an actor, we keep it all inside. You can’t get sick, you can’t oversleep, you can’t do anything. These are all elements of the profession. You can’t be a jerk, you can’t treat people poorly because you work with them. These are the nuances. But if you don’t have that, what’s your weapon, what can you share, how can you heal a sick person?
Return
When the opportunity to act again arose, I decided to go all out. And it really started pouring in. I had a night shift from four in the evening until nine in the morning. And by ten, I had to be on another set. I move there, and there’s a full day until ten in the evening. And they ask me, can you handle it? It’s been more than a day since I slept. But one thing is doing military work that doesn’t bring you satisfaction, but you’re forced to do it, and here you’re practicing your profession. So, I go out, and it really feels like you’re on something, a lot of adrenaline. I go out and say, “God, thank you for giving me this day, thank you for giving me work.” Well, it’s pure bliss. People don’t appreciate this. They can’t understand how important it is.
About Language
The thing that annoys me the most in Kyiv is the language issue. I don’t understand why people are so obtuse. Why they don’t grasp the basics. And, perhaps, one shouldn’t rely on awareness here. On the state level, it should be prohibited. You will never get a job if you don’t know the state language. You will never achieve anything if you don’t command it fluently. Just like in any civilized country. But, unfortunately, in our case, things are completely different, and it hurts terribly.
Why did the war start? Because Putin got tricked. He thought that everything here was really bad, and not everything had been stolen by the “katsaps” (derogatory term for Russians). If another five years had passed, their propaganda would have eaten us alive, and they would have come in with a parade. He miscalculated the timing a bit. But they continue to work on it now. They have a very powerful propaganda machine, and they know how to do it. Now, with this Arestovych, Boyko, who appeared in the background, Loboda getting involved—complete madness. But the fact that they influence the masses, they have subscribers, they really hit their electorate. Because this idiot will definitely run for office. And this will be the next Party of Regions or Opposition Bloc. And that’s the beast that brought the war here.
About my own Ukrainization
There was this meme that you fell asleep on February 23rd and woke up on February 24th. That’s exactly what happened to me. We lived in Vyshhorod. We saw those helicopters going over the Kyiv Sea, shooting them down. And it just snapped in me. I continued to speak with a rustic, I don’t know what to call it, surzhyk, dialect, broken language, but I never switched to Russian. Never.
But let’s take the opposite perspective. We don’t have a direct connection with our ancestors who fought for the language, for Ukraine. There are no Sich Riflemen, no UPA here now. Just as they had no connection with the Cossacks or Kyivan Rus. But it’s something at the genetic level. It’s something in the blood. When you stand on the land and realize that you are Ukrainian. And in me, not right away of course, but over these two years, there has been a transformation. And a sense of who I am. I really went to war without thinking about it, only realizing it later. I was ready to die so that the Ukrainian nation would exist, as pompous as it may sound. And this is the idea of Ukrainian nationalists, for whom life itself has no value because language, culture, heritage, history, and land are more important. And we are truly like phoenixes. Ukrainians are phoenixes. A small group of people who are reborn from the ashes. And this ash is fertilized with the blood of our ancestors. And that is our strength. And I really, not right away of course, but on the level of intuition, felt this.
Language is the only thing that can unite us anywhere. For example, we were at war, and there are two Lemko villages. They attended the same school where Sosyura studied. The local population there speaks Ukrainian. This is in Luhansk. The key factor is whose side they are on. But in any case, language unites in this situation.
You know, as they say, during the war, guys in the trenches speak Russian, and that’s fine. But honestly, in our unit, there’s no one who would speak Russian by choice. None. Because if someone speaks Russian, that’s it. Either they end up in captivity or there’s a “problem” in the ranks.
It’s our identity. I swear, it hurts when people say, “Well, what’s the difference?” My birthday is on October 11th. And it was the first birthday when everyone congratulated me in Ukrainian, except for three people. My dad, who’s in Donetsk, my mom, who’s in Greece, and my sister, who’s in Frankfurt. Three people who congratulated me in Russian. Well, I can’t ask my parents because they are old. But I told my sister. And she says that it’s the language of my childhood; mom used to sing lullabies in Russian to me. I said, “Sister, you left the Mariupol drama theater five hours before the bomb hit, you left three days before Zaporizhia, and you traveled 60 out of 120 cars in the column.” It was a green corridor. And still, it’s “my problems.” She doesn’t learn. There are many people who are conscious, but there are also many who don’t understand. Therefore, it needs to be banned at the state level. There are no other options. Otherwise, there will be trouble.
About the war:
The outcome of the war greatly depends on the geopolitical dynamics and the situation on the front. As they say, winners are not judged. If we defeat the enemy, then the question will be open for us. But if something different happens, which I don’t even want to think about, then “Russia ends where the Russian language ends.”
During the times when they attacked Kyiv, all of Ukraine rallied together. If a driver can, has a car—he evacuates; if he can find socks—he finds them; if he can find a building—he finds it; if he can take up arms—he takes them and goes. No one thought that I didn’t understand anything in this. They just rallied and acted. That’s heroism. That’s the Nation. And in fact, that is statehood.
We were the first in the brigade to start using FPVeshki (presumably referring to UAVs). And it was so effective that now 300 per month is normal for us. We’ve burned 14 tanks, 30 armored vehicles. With our losses of 24 people in three months, we’ve eliminated about a thousand “bastards.” We are in a lowland, and they are 90 meters higher. They see everything with cameras, all our logistics, everything. A highly complicated territory. But with 24 losses and almost a thousand “bastards,” only those confirmed by drones that we saw.
But they won’t approve a UAV unit in our battalion. In the last rotation, we had a UAV platoon: large strike drones, mavyks with drops, reconnaissance drones, FPV, and plus storks (possibly another type of drone). We covered the front line, acted as counter-battery, and hit distant targets, transmitted coordinates, that’s how the war evolved. Now, without drones, you’re nobody. We planned and said that we need a company now. They tell us it’s impossible. We say that the staff needs to be expanded, that we need people for intelligence who will engage in espionage. They tell us there are such people in the brigade, what more do you want, where are you getting involved? And so on constantly. Now we found tracked vehicles for mine clearance, others for kamikaze attacks, and third ones as machine gunners and evacuators. They also prohibited us from buying them, although it’s our money. Although people are contributing for us, they go through the system. Now a small Soviet army is fighting a big Soviet army. But we have certain successes. But the “bastards” are learning.
