Idi i smotri (Elem Klimov, 1985)

The mantle of the best ever war film is a heavy one to bear, and Come and See does suffer under the yoke: the categorisation imposes a host of quality control checks to do with verisimilitude, humanism and evenhandedness that it frankly doesn't pass. Klimov's partisan tale is very partisan, full of incomprehension at the inhuman invaders laying waste to all before them, and resorting in defeat to viewing it all through a smoky lens, a filter of symbolism. It's a coping mechanism born of absolute exigency: the Belarussian landscape has become so post-apocalyptic that normal colours, sounds and behaviours can't apply any more. We don't see most of it directly through the teenage protagonist's eyes, but the effect is the same as scene upon scene leads to centering on his face in horrified close-up.
It doesn't serve as documentary, then, being too caught up in its single, unreliable roaming perspective, increasingly surrealistic images coming thick and fast. But this also allows it to convey the horror of total war, by way of its impact on the vulnerable onlooker trying to look away, instead of the standard saturation bombardment of blood and guts. It has all the harrowing power of a nightmare you can't wake up from.

8/10