‘August’: When a Remake Becomes a Manifesto of Normalisation of Armed Aggression, Imperialism, and Genocide

The new Russian film “August” is not merely a failed remake of the classic “In August of ’44“. It is a carefully constructed propaganda product that demonstrates the evolution of Russian cultural mobilisation during the period of full-scale war against Ukraine.

From Art to Militarism

If the original 2001 film relied on psychological depth and acting mastery, its modern version chooses the path of a Hollywood blockbuster – special effects, crowd scenes, spectacle instead of substance. This transformation is symptomatic: Putin’s regime no longer needs complex artistic statements; it needs simple military mythology understandable to the masses.

The choice of lead actor is symbolic – Sergei Bezrukov (‘Captain Alyokhin’, aka Sasha Bely), who in February 2022, after the full-scale invasion, read Pushkin’s “To the Slanderers of Russia” on federal channels. This choice is not accidental: it transforms the actor into a living symbol of continuity between 19th-century imperial aggression, Soviet expansionism, and modern Putinist war.

Geography as Ideology

The film creates a spatial mythology characteristic of Russian consciousness. “A mysterious forest in western Belarus, larger than France” – this is not just cinematic exaggeration. It is a reproduction of the basic imperial narrative about the boundlessness of “our” space versus the cramped nature of “their” world. The West is always small, limited, while Russia is immeasurable expanses that justify any violence.

In these “boundless” forests hide “nationalists” and “survivors” – a direct projection onto contemporary Ukraine. The forest as a space of “guerrilla warfare” is transformed into a metaphor for the necessity of “cleansing,” the “final solution” to the problem of resistance. This is cinematic legitimization of genocide.

The Ukrainian as a Secondary Character in His Own History

The image of the Ukrainian chauffeur Khyzhnyak is a classic colonial reduction. A Ukrainian can only be an auxiliary figure, a driver who transports the Russian hero to his great deeds. He is “a bit dim” – a stereotype rooted in Russian culture.

But the most dangerous element is not the stereotype itself, but the message placed in the mouth of the “Ukrainian” character: “endure a little, and after the war everything will be fine”. This is a key narrative of Putin’s propaganda, directed at both internal and external consumption.

Patience as a Strategy of Capitulation

The phrase “endure a little” is not simply a call for endurance. It is a proposal of capitulation, disguised as pragmatism. The film offers Russians the expectation of quick victory, and others – acceptance of the inevitability of Russian hegemony. “After the war there will be idyll within the framework of the Russian world” – a promise of peace in exchange for refusing resistance.

This rhetoric resonates with Western calls for “compromise” and “realistic diplomacy,” which actually mean recognising Russia’s right to foreign territories and imposing its will on neighbours. The film legitimises this position through the viewer’s emotional acceptance of the “reasonableness” of the Ukrainian character who calls for submission.

Conclusion: Decolonisation Begins with Refusal of Criticism

“August” is not just cinema. It is an instrument of cultural warfare, the effectiveness of which should not be underestimated. Films form emotional structures that prove more resistant than rational arguments. A viewer who has accepted the narrative about “endure a little” is already psychologically prepared to accept capitulation.

Countering such propaganda requires not only its exposure but also the creation of alternative cultural products that would articulate the values of resistance, freedom, and dignity. Ukrainian cinema has a chance to become not just a response to Russian propaganda, but a model of decolonized culture that refuses imperial myths altogether.

As long as Russian society consumes such films without critical reflection, it remains captive to colonial consciousness, which makes possible both Bucha and Mariupol and countless other crimes. Russia’s decolonisation must begin with the rejection of culture that legitimises violence and imperial expansion.