Winner of the Grand Prix, Cannes’ second-most prestigious prize, Andrey Zvyagintsev’s “Minotaur” brings a new perspective to the Russo-Ukrainian War.

Set in Russia in 2022, as Russians flee across the Georgian border to avoid the draft, company director Gleb (Dmitriy Mazurov) is pressured to mobilize his own employees to fight while facing mounting conflict in his private life. As it follows Gleb, “Minotaur” proves to be a sensitive exploration of the all-encompassing disruption of war.

“Minotaur” opens on the perfect Russian family: Gleb, a successful businessman; his glamorous housewife Galina (Iris Lebedeva); and their young son, Serioja (Boris Kudrin). Despite having it all — a lavish house with large glass windows, luxury cars, and modern appliances — there is something about their life that feels stale and incomplete. This emptiness is brilliantly captured by production designer Andrey Ponkratov: the neutral gray and brown color palette across Gleb’s home and office conveys a sense of dissatisfaction. In other settings, like the secret getaway Galina visits for emotional escape, the set is more lively, featuring vivid pops of color and a more lived-in appearance.

Zvyagintsev and Ponkratov master exposition without weighing down the film with unnecessary dialogue. By using billboards promoting the invasion, television footage, and empty streets they reflect Russia’s waning morale for the war and foreshadow Gleb’s struggle to draft his own employees.

Mikhaïl Krichman’s cinematography and Ulyana Polyanskaya’s costume design also effectively mirror the film’s themes of dissatisfaction and emptiness. Krichman takes advantage of gloomy atmosphere, gray skies, colorless streets, and sparse greenery to capture the sense that something is missing in Gleb’s world. Polyanskaya’s costume design is equally effective. For Gleb and Galina, luxury yet utilitarian everyday wear symbolizes both their wealth and the absence of life and vibrancy in their relationship. Even in their most intimate moments, Galina never dresses casually, a reflection of her discomfort with the life she lives. As the film progresses, Gleb’s clothes become more wrinkled and worn, demonstrating his capitulation to the pressures of war.

Though “Minotaur” doesn’t boast any major flaws, the film doesn’t stand out against its peers premiering at Cannes. Compared to another Russo-Ukrainian War film, “Vesna,” “Minotaur” offers a different perspective on the conflict but doesn’t make any particularly innovative contributions. Though the film is technically sound and compelling plot-wise, it frequently falls stagnant. While the lack of development in parts of the plot seems like an impactful metaphor for the inefficiencies and loopholes created by corrupt government systems, there is insufficient emotional payoff for what the characters experience in the film. By the end of “Minotaur,” none of the characters are particularly resonant, and the audience lacks the emotional connection to them that would elevate the film from good to great.

Still, “Minotaur” features impressive performances by Mazurov and Lebedeva as Gleb and Galina. The two are convincingly unhappy, capturing the quiet misery and suppressed emotions required of their characters. As they push down stress and disdain for the sake of their child, their work, and their status, the two carry the emotional weight of an otherwise emotionless film.

Ultimately, “Minotaur” is a brave picture, showing audiences the civilian perspective of the tense beginnings of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Supported by an incredibly cohesive creative vision and production team, Zvyagintsev masterfully demonstrates the way war sucks the life out of everyone and everything around it.

—Staff writer Dzifa A. Ackuayi can be reached at [email protected].