Ivan (Oleksandr Rudynskyi) helps his father in a military hospital located in a bunker on the front line of the War in Ukraine. When the wounded and the children are preparing to be evacuated, their vehicle is destroyed by a Russian drone. Ivan takes a rifle and walks alone toward the advancing Russian soldiers to stop them from capturing the bunker. Unfortunately, events unfold in tragic ways.
German director Franz Böhm was only 16 when he first tried his hand in the film industry. By the age of 20, he had already made his first short film. Böhm’s Rock. Paper, Scissors is a mature piece of filmmaking, which avoids the exoticisation of the War in Ukraine. Largely, this is because the story is based on the real life of a young man named Ivan, who helped his father in a hospital and, after his father’s tragic death, first became a volunteer and later went to the front. Sadly, in 2024 Ivan was killed in action, and he was only 18 years old. Unaware of his untimely and impending death, the director met with Ivan and consulted with him while working on the film. It is difficult to say whether this should be seen as “a stroke of fortune” or yet another tragic reminder of the brutal reality for young Ukrainian men.
One of the key achievements of Rock, Paper, Scissors lies in its emotional precision. Böhm refuses to manipulate the audience with cheap sentiment or patriotic rhetoric; instead, he builds empathy through quiet observation and attention to detail. The bunker is not just a setting but a living organism filled with fear, routine, exhaustion, and fragile hope. The camera often lingers on small gestures – a trembling hand, a stifled breath, a glance exchanged in silence – creating an intimate space where the viewer feels the unbearable weight of responsibility placed on very young shoulders. The film’s restrained visual language enhances its authenticity; there is no glossy heroism, only harsh reality, illuminated by brief moments of kindness and dignity.
The performances add significantly to the film’s power. Rudynskyi’s Ivan is not portrayed as a mythic warrior but as a real teenager, carrying trauma and determination in equal measure. His bravery is born not from abstraction, but from love – love for his father, for the people around him, and for the idea that someone must stand between them and death. This human grounding prevents the story from turning into melodrama; the tragedy resonates precisely because it feels painfully believable.
Equally impressive is how the film balances personal drama with broader political resonance. Böhm never loses sight of the fact that Ivan’s choice is not an isolated act, but part of a much larger narrative of a nation forced into resilience. Without lapsing into didacticiam, the film speaks volumes about sacrifice, moral courage, and the devastating cost of war. The use of sound – distant explosions, muffled cries, and sudden silence – reinforces the pervasiveness of danger and uncertainty. By the final scenes, Rock, Paper, Scissors leaves viewers not simply devastated, but deeply reflective, aware that its impact comes from truth rather than cinematic illusion.
Bafta-winning short film Rock, Paper, Scissors has now been shortlisted for the Academy Award for Best Live Action Short Film.
