How to Divorce During the War Review: Lithuania's Oscar Submission Sheds Light on the Absurdity Within a Tragic Reality

      Life must be pretty good if you're seeking a divorce simply out of boredom. Is that the sole reason for Marija’s (Žygimantė Elena Jakštaitė) choice? Not really. She's also developed feelings for someone else. However, one can’t shake the feeling that her boredom plays a role in that as well. After all, her answer to Vytas (Marius Repšys) when he asks how he can improve things is, “Be the man you were twelve years ago.” Back when he was engaging and enjoyable.

      Marija is the breadwinner, working as an executive at a marketing firm known for producing viral internet videos, while Vytas manages the household and cares for their daughter Dovile (Amelija Adomaityte). Has his transition into a stay-at-home dad extinguished the passion and creativity that was once characteristic of him as a filmmaker? Or did he choose this path to indulge his tendency to procrastinate? Regardless, they are undeniably stuck in a routine, simply getting by. Cue a conflict to add some excitement.

      Not quite. This characterization suggests that Andrius Blaževičius’ How to Divorce During the War is more comedic than it is a drama that isn’t shy about revealing the absurdity within its tragic backdrop. Marija asking Vytas for a divorce just before Russia invades Ukraine contains humor, yet it doesn’t diminish the gravity of the invasion. Instead, it positions the characters in a new scenario, resembling a “First World Problems” test.

      That perspective becomes less trivial given the genuine threat to Lithuania. Having been part of the Soviet Union, they are acutely aware of the tactics that leaders like Putin use to manipulate people into believing they need protection from external dangers, when they themselves are the real threat. What if Ukraine collapses? What if their own country becomes the next “territory” to be reclaimed? With refugees entering the picture, Marija and Vytas are deeply affected by this war.

      This serves as an insightful lens through which to examine the domestic disputes and selfishness we all face daily. What impact does it have on one’s sense of self to be cast out of one’s home because one’s spouse no longer loves them, while Ukrainians are fleeing theirs due to warfare? What occurs when one staunchly adheres to their morals, resigning from a job due to its role in the conflict, only to realize how much that job shaped their identity?

      Blaževičius incorporates numerous small details that expose the emotional and psychological burden. Learning that one’s parents have been consuming Russian propaganda for years. Understanding that altruism feels better in theory than in practice when the very kind family of refugees you’ve welcomed struggles to meet your household expectations. The trauma experienced by a child confronting chaos both inside her home and outside.

      The narrative takes a turn once Vytas moves out. Initially, he appears lost and lacking direction while Marija thrives. They both plunge into their new roles defined by the invasion as he volunteers and she leaves her job—both driven by empathy as much as a sense of purpose. Vytas’ new role reignites his creativity, leading him to become a minor celebrity while living out of his car. Meanwhile, Marija finds herself at home with an overwhelming sense of idleness.

      One might start to question whether Marina (Alla Bineeva) and her teenage refugee sons become an additional burden for Marija, especially since they seem not to “contribute.” And what of Vytas, who might be taking advantage of the turmoil—wittingly or unwittingly—to re-engage with his passions? It’s significant that, as we learn more about them, he speaks Russian to identify with the Ukrainians while Marija realizes her disdain for Russians stems from the personal upheaval they caused in her life.

      Consequently, it’s not surprising that Marija isn’t portrayed in the most flattering manner. There is a clear bias since her departure from Vytas positions him as a victim before she shifts her focus onto the true victims of this tragedy, as she has never wanted to be the one responsible for maintaining the household. Could Blaževičius have achieved a better balance? Perhaps. We definitely need the tension between political art and capitalism, but Marija just happens to find herself on the adverse side of both marriage and war.

      Overall, the situation is quite complicated. Blaževičius’ focus is less on our tendencies to champion others amid extreme violence, and more on our inclination to allow complacency to take hold. The separation provides Marija and Vytas with the adrenaline of war that revitalizes their enthusiasm for life, yet we know they are likely to regress to their old ways when challenges arise. After all, boredom serves as a form of comfort. Boring is the true refuge.

      Repšys and Jakštaitė skillfully navigate the intricate emotions, balancing the need to