Shadows of Sovereignty: Isabelle Stever’s ‘I Rarely Wake Up Dreaming’ and the Intersection of Queer Identity and War
The 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine has ignited a global cinematic response, primarily characterized by a surge in urgent, boots-on-the-ground nonfiction filmmaking. Documentaries like 20 Days in Mariupol and Songs of Slow Burning Earth have provided the world with visceral, unvarnished accounts of life under siege. However, the realm of narrative fiction has remained comparatively quiet, perhaps because the reality of the conflict is so overwhelming that dramatization feels premature.
Stepping into this void is I Rarely Wake Up Dreaming, a bold new German-Ukrainian co-production that premiered in the main competition at the Locarno Film Festival. Directed by German filmmaker Isabelle Stever and written by her wife, Ukrainian screenwriter Anna Melikova, the film moves beyond the front lines to explore the domestic and psychological casualties of war. It is an intimate, bracingly intersectional relationship drama that centers on a queer Kyiv couple whose attempt to flee the country is thwarted not just by falling missiles, but by the enduring weight of local prejudice.
Main Facts: A New Perspective on the Ukrainian Crisis
I Rarely Wake Up Dreaming marks a significant departure in tone and subject matter for Isabelle Stever, whose previous work, the 2022 incest drama Grand Jeté, was noted for its clinical provocation. Her latest effort is a warmer, albeit still aesthetically rigorous, exploration of human connection under duress.
The film follows Olya (played by Tania Myronyshena) and Oleh (Markus Bright), a couple whose lives are upended by the invasion. Their struggle is unique: Oleh is a trans man. In a country where masculinity is increasingly defined by military service and traditional gender roles, Oleh’s identity places him in a precarious "no-man’s-land" of bureaucracy and social stigma.
Produced by the legendary Tom Tykwer (Run Lola Run, Babylon Berlin), the film has already garnered significant industry attention. Shortly before its Locarno debut, the Paris-based sales agent Outplay Films—specializing in LGBTQ+ cinema—acquired the international rights. Given the topicality of the subject and the "imprimatur" of its high-profile production team, the film is poised for a robust festival run and potential U.S. distribution, following in the footsteps of Stever’s earlier works.
Chronology: From the Underground to the Border
The narrative of I Rarely Wake Up Dreaming is structured as a retrospective journey, piecing together the fragments of a relationship that was already under pressure before the first sirens sounded in Kyiv.
The Pre-War Foundation
The film establishes the couple’s history within Kyiv’s "small but throbbing" queer scene. Olya and Oleh met and fell in love when they both identified as women. Their bond remained steadfast through Oleh’s transition, a process that redefined their relationship in the eyes of the public but solidified their internal commitment. Olya eventually proposed to Oleh, a move that delighted her conservative suburban family, who remained blissfully unaware of Oleh’s trans identity, viewing him simply as a cisgender son-in-law.
The Catalyst of Invasion
The Russian invasion serves as the ultimate disruptor. As the city of Kyiv moves into a state of emergency, the couple realizes they must flee. However, the transition that brought Oleh personal peace becomes his greatest administrative obstacle. In a wartime environment where men are barred from leaving the country and are expected to register for the draft, Oleh’s legal and physical identity becomes a battleground.
The Bureaucratic Siege
The central conflict of the film’s middle act involves the couple’s attempt to cross the border. Here, Melikova’s script shines by highlighting the "absurdist tangle" of institutional transphobia. The military authorities, while recognizing Oleh as a man for the purposes of conscription, simultaneously reject the validity of his medical certifications regarding gender dysphoria. He is trapped in a paradox: the state demands he stay and fight as a man, yet refuses to afford him the basic dignity of his identity.
Supporting Data: Aesthetic Rigor and the Language of Distance
One of the most striking elements of I Rarely Wake Up Dreaming is its formalist approach to storytelling. Stever avoids the "shaky-cam" urgency common in war dramas, opting instead for a crisp, distanced aesthetic.
Visual Language
Cinematographer Volodymyr Usyk, who also lensed the celebrated 2024 documentary Songs of Slow Burning Earth, employs a visual strategy of obstruction. The principal characters are frequently shot through:
- Reflective surfaces and mirrors.
- Slivered views through doorways.
- The silhouettes of other people’s shoulders.
This choice reflects the "invisible" nature of the characters’ lives. In a society that chooses not to see them, the audience is forced to work to find them. This aesthetic rigor creates a sense of "cramped" space, mirroring the emotional and legal confinement felt by Oleh.
Sound and Performance
The film’s sound design, handled by Andreas Hildebrandt, is hauntingly sparse. There is no traditional musical score to guide the audience’s emotions. Instead, the raw, occasionally confrontational dialogue between Olya and Oleh—performed by non-professionals Myronyshena and Bright—takes center stage. Both actors bring a "lived experience" to their roles, using subtle gestures and mirrored body language to communicate a depth of intimacy that words often fail to capture.
Official Responses and Critical Reception
The reception at Locarno has highlighted the film’s importance as a counter-narrative to the standard war story. While many films focus on the external enemy, Stever and Melikova turn the lens inward, examining how a "collectively persecuted population" can still harbor "selective discrimination."
Critical Highlights
Critics have noted that while the film is more "humane" than Stever’s previous work, it remains uncompromising. The "bravura technique" of a specific tracking shot at the border has been singled out for praise. The shot uses the red and blue lights of state authorities to evoke the neon-streaked queer club nights of the couple’s past—a poignant reminder of the life they have lost.
Production and Industry Backing
The involvement of Tom Tykwer has provided the film with a level of prestige that ensures it will not be relegated to the fringes of the festival circuit. The acquisition by Outplay Films suggests a strong market for queer-oriented stories that tackle heavy geopolitical themes.
Implications: The Unseen Victims of National Crisis
I Rarely Wake Up Dreaming carries significant implications for how we understand the human cost of the war in Ukraine. It serves as a reminder that "victory" and "sovereignty" are complex concepts for those on the margins of society.
Redefining Masculinity
The film offers a profound critique of how masculinity is "defined and confined in the national psyche" during wartime. Oleh’s struggle illustrates how the state’s need for soldiers can steamroll individual identity, forcing a narrow, heteronormative definition of manhood upon those who have fought for a different kind of existence.
The Vulnerability of Minorities
As the conflict trudges on, the rights of minorities—be they ethnic, religious, or LGBTQ+—often become secondary to the national survival effort. Stever’s film foregrounds these "unorthodox found-family structures," suggesting that the true measure of a democracy is how it treats its most vulnerable members during its darkest hours.
A New Chapter in Ukrainian Cinema
The film marks a transition from the "what" of the war (the destruction, the statistics) to the "who." By focusing on a trans man and his partner, Stever and Melikova have expanded the boundaries of Ukrainian war stories. They remind the global audience that there are layers to the conflict that have yet to be explored by mainstream media.
In conclusion, I Rarely Wake Up Dreaming is a vital, if difficult, addition to the canon of contemporary European cinema. It challenges the audience to look past the headlines and into the "slivered" lives of those who are fighting two wars at once: one against an external invader, and another against the internal prejudices of their own home. As the credits roll, it becomes clear that while the physical war may one day end, the struggle for visibility and acceptance for people like Oleh and Olya is far from over.
