Film Offers a Rare Insight Into the Plight of Moscow’s Street Children

In their brilliant documentary short, Children of Leningradsky, filmmakers Hanna Polak and Andrzej Celinski offer a remarkably honest, compelling journey into the hidden world of Moscow’s homeless children.

In post-Communist Russia, where alcoholism, abuse, hunger and poverty are rampant, an estimated 30,000 children have no one to rely on for survival but each other. Children of Leningradsky is an intricate tapestry, artfully weaving together brief vignettes of these children’s lives. Some people try to help them, gingerly putting coins into the outstretched hand of a child sleeping in the railway station underpass. Others, often the police, will randomly beat them, knowing full well that they can do so with impunity. The children then take out their frustrations on homeless older members of their social class, whom they typically assault in packs.

“This film is only the smallest part of reality that’s happening on the streets. Every subject that we’re talking about is just touched,” says Polak, who first came to know the children six years ago. In 1999, Polak found herself walking through a subway station in Moscow and was “shocked” to see children living there. “I was moved. It was impossible not to be moved when you see big groups of children coming to you,” she recalled.

Since that time, Polak dedicated herself to helping the children, including arranging clothes, food, and opportunities to leave the street. These activities are also touched upon in the film. She started up the non-profit organization, Active Child Aid, to help raise funds for her programs. Trying different media approaches to raise awareness about the children’s plight, Polak started by extensively using photography. Soon, she was inspired by a friend to try her hand at documentary filmmaking; the result is this 35 minute Oscar-nominated short. Polak is now attending the Moscow School of Cinematography and has several other film projects on the go.

While the film frankly depicts some of the horrors that comprise the children’s lives, it is never sensational and is generously compassionate. When 13-year old Artur looks straight at the camera and confesses, “When it is worst, we try to make money for food by prostitution,” it is clear that he deeply trusts the faces behind the camera. He goes on to explain that every single time he does this, he knows that he might not return alive.

On Moscow’s streets, such trust is a precious commodity. What is precisely most intriguing and effective about “Children of Leningradsky” is the obvious level of intimacy that the children have developed with Polak. She is able to capture such candid and borderless images and voices that it is difficult not to lose composure.

Fade in: A policeman beats a child and empties a tube of glue (which was bought by the child to be sniffed into oblivion) on his head and face, slapping him around in the process. The child moans again and again, helplessly struggling to remove the glue while others stand gaping. The sad irony is that the violence and abuse which typically lead the kids to leave their homes or orphanages in the first place ends up defining their lives on the unforgiving streets. During the filming of the documentary, at least one charismatic, young waif dies, an implicit result of her glue addiction.

Yet precious moments of childhood playfulness are captured in Children of Leningradsky as well. Polak’s journey takes us deep into the children’s hot-water pipe catacombs, which provide some of the only shelter from Moscow’s harsh winters. In these rat-infested sewers, through laughter and play the children struggle to retain some semblance of humanity. It’s rare that a film can so effectively portray the bleakness of the human condition, and yet intrinsically embody a message of hope.

Polak’s efforts have not been in vain. Several of the children, including some of the youth featured in Children of Leningradsky, have been adopted by caring families. Many others have received food, clothing, medical treatment, and other unexpected support.

When asked what the children think of the film, Polak responds with an anecdote: “Following the success of the movie, a reporter tracked down one of its young ‘stars.’ He tried to interview the boy, but all he received was some very guarded answers. When pressed, the young man finally exploded, ‘Don’t you understand, I just don’t want to remember!’”

His response highlights how Polak and Celinski’s compassionate approach yielded such a deeply moving and shockingly insightful film, in stark contrast to other sensational documentaries being produced today. It is Polak’s intimacy with her subject matter that allows Children of Leningradsky to break through many limitations typical to documentary filmmaking, and emerge as a rough-edged, brutally honest masterpiece. Children of Leningradsky premieres in the fall on Cinemax.