At its core, there’s something rather
touchingly idealistic about Abel Ferrara’s Turn in the Wound (and how
often does one think to describe Ferrara’s work in such terms?): a belief that
Russia’s atrocities in Ukraine might have been avoided if Putin’s worldview
weren’t so small, and in the expansive capacity of seasoned, evocative artistry.
That’s embodied here by Patti Smith, seen rehearsing and backstage and in
performance; one might initially assume she’s performing in Ukraine, but it’s
actually at the French Pompidou Centre, an assertion of the cultural heritage
that persists far from the battlefront (even as Smith’s darkly evocative lyrics
and storm-damaged presence and the swirling accompanying visuals seem in
productive conversation with Ferrara’s documenting of wartime atrocities and dislocations).
The film includes a brief meeting with President Zelensky, commenting on
Putin’s inability to perceive or value the rights and desires of Ukrainians,
and some piercing battlefield footage, a devastating tumble of mud and blood and fire and chaos; that aside though, it often feels somewhat
random in its content and assembly, seeming that Ferrara may have talked
to whomever happened to step before his camera (he includes a passage of
himself being interviewed on Ukrainian TV, disclaiming any particular agenda).
It all contributes to an overwhelming sense of almost unprocessable
wrongness, with multiple anecdotes of torture and deprivation at Russian hands, of their soldiers' savagery and recklessness: the film makes no claim to balance, whatever that would mean in this
context. One of its last interviewees, a man who lost an arm in combat, comments
on how his experiences have helped him mold a better attitude, an awareness that
things could always be worse than they are: it’s hardly a complex life lesson,
but Ferrara’s film is a penetrating counterpoint to a world that often seems
intent on smothering any such reflectiveness.
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