Documentary Film as Propaganda of Democracy: An Interview with David Borenstein
American director David Borenstein has created a probing look into the mechanisms of propaganda in the Russian education system. Among many other accolades, the film has received a BAFTA award and an Oscar nomination. In this interview, he discusses navigating Russian cultural nuances as an outsider, the theory of the Frankfurt School, and how his perception of contemporary Russia has evolved. The film Mr. Nobody Against Putin is currently available on VOD platforms.
Where did the initial idea for Mr. Nobody Against Putin come from? Did it emerge with the character of Pasha, or did you intend from the outset to make a film about Russian propaganda?
Both strands developed organically and eventually converged. The original impulse came from Pasha, who was looking for someone to document how propaganda was taking over his school before his eyes. When the idea reached me, I was immediately drawn to it, as I had previously worked on propaganda in both China and the United States. I had also devoted my thesis to ideology.
Over time, Pasha and I found common ground, and I realized he needed to be at the center of the story—even though he himself never tried to push his way into the film. That became my central directorial challenge.
“If I had forcibly imposed external filmmaking techniques onto an authentic story, it would have been a betrayal of Pasha.”
The film follows a fairly classical narrative structure, with a protagonist pursuing a goal, overcoming obstacles, and facing an antagonist in the form of a history teacher. Was this structure intentional from the beginning, or did it emerge in the editing room?
The narrative approach only took shape during the editing process. In general, some subjects allow for aesthetic experimentation, but the situation in Karabash was so inherently compelling that it would have been a mistake to dilute it with formal devices. Although the characters often felt as if they had stepped out of great Russian novels, Kafka, or the works of Jonathan Franzen—and carried a sense of literary inevitability—I realized in the editing room that the story needed to be told as clearly as possible. Imposing external filmmaking techniques onto such an authentic story would have been a betrayal of Pasha.
To what extent did you intervene in Pasha’s reality? Where does observation end and authorial intervention begin?
The film does not attempt to conceal these interventions. We were the ones who proposed the project to him and ultimately helped him escape from Russia. That was the only way the film could be completed. The project radically changed his life, and we openly acknowledge that—the film is, in many ways, a film about its own making.
Which filmmakers have most influenced your approach to cinematic language?
I’m drawn to a kaleidoscopic view of the world—films that connect the macro level with the microcosm of an individual and reveal the absurdity of human relationships. Stanley Kubrick has been a major influence; Barry Lyndon served as my primary reference for this film. Another key influence is Martin Scorsese—the opening of Mr. Nobody Against Putin is essentially a direct nod to Goodfellas. I also shared two important reference works with Pasha: 5 Broken Cameras by Guy Davidi, to show how an intimate first-person perspective can work, and the series How To with John Wilson, to inspire him with Wilson’s attention to detail and his ability to draw viewers into everyday life.
“There is no such thing as an ideologically neutral statement. Our film is openly subjective.”
Your film addresses propaganda, but isn’t documentary filmmaking itself always somewhat ideological? Isn’t it, in a way, a form of manipulating the truth?
Undoubtedly. John Grierson, often considered the father of documentary film, once defined it as “the propaganda of democracy.” And that is, in essence, what we do. There is no such thing as an ideologically neutral statement. Our film is openly subjective—we make no claim to objective reportage. Everything is filtered through Pasha’s perspective. A “neutral” documentary is, by definition, impossible.
As an American filmmaker based in Denmark, how did you navigate Russian cultural nuances?
It was a challenging process. For a long time, Pasha and I communicated solely through Google Translate, but machine translations proved completely inadequate, so we had to assemble a full team. Pasha would point out moments he felt were essential, and my assistant director, who is Russian, acted as our cultural mediator. My role was to bring an outsider’s perspective—a sense of wonder at the unfamiliarity of Karabash. In the end, we had to shape the material into a story that would be accessible to a global audience.
As an expert on propaganda, what do you see as distinctive about the Russian version?
My final university thesis focused on the Frankfurt School, particularly Herbert Marcuse and his One-Dimensional Man. I’ve always been interested in how what we consider “common sense” is constructed. While Chinese propaganda often works with fragments of truth and carefully crafted arguments designed to inspire, Russian propaganda is far more blunt. It doesn’t try to persuade you—it simply hammers away until you’re too exhausted to resist. That said, the most insidious propaganda is arguably our own Western version. It creates a digital simulacrum deeply embedded in late capitalism.
What from the experience of making the film will stay with you the longest?
Every documentary I make changes me as a person. I believe a documentary filmmaker should allow the world to change them—the film is merely a byproduct of that internal transformation. Encountering someone like Pasha, who risks his life for truth and integrity, leaves a lasting impact. Because of him, I’ve found myself asking what I am afraid to confront in my own life.