Sundance ‘26: ‘HOW TO DIVORCE DURING THE WAR’ Sees Battle Breakout at Home and Abroad

The dissolution of a twelve-year marriage is a complicated thing, especially when you have a kid. Even moreso when you are facing the potential of impending war. Lithuanian couple Marija (Žygimantė Elena Jakštaitė) and Vytas (Marius Repšys) are stuck in a loveless marriage, but Marija’s, ahem, strongly-worded proposal for separation couldn’t have come at a worse time in Andrius Blaževičius’s How to Divorce During the War. As Russia invades Ukraine, Marija and Vytas find themselves stalled, trying to move forward into marital dissolution, while thrust into great sociopolitical uncertainty.

Even before the war, Marija is spiraling into an identity crisis. Tired of putting on airs, she’s finally able to admit that her and Vytas’s life is no longer exciting. Once there were wild nights and parties; now, their world runs on structure and routine. But such is the life of a parent. Even her cushy executive job as a branch leader at the Hungry Rabbit, a digital production company that churns out dumb, candy-colored viral videos, doesn’t provide a sense of purpose, though it does pay for the luxury apartment.

Marija claims there isn’t anyone else—a fool’s attempt to ease her own guilt—but there is. She’s secretly sleeping with her friend and lieutenant at work. Their openly-shared moral stance in support of Ukraine gets messy when it’s revealed that their parent company is paying taxes to Russia, effectively funding the war. In Vytas’s absence, Marija takes in a Ukrainian family; a gesture of solidarity. But over time, she begins to regret the decision, feeling as though her own home has been invaded.

Shot in grueling long takes that emphasize the lived-in discomfort, Blaževičius gives his actors space to dig their heels into the hurt and awkwardness of marital decay. The nervy score ratchets up the underlying anxiety with ruthless efficiency. This is an expertly constructed film that thrives in the small, petty injustices of a shared life: the unwashed dishes, the missing thank-you. These tiny slights pile up into monuments of ingratitude, a tsunami of unspoken resentment.

It’s funny, the little things that stay normal during great upheaval. Brushing your teeth. Changing your clothes. Ironing your shirts. (Who am I kidding? I’ve never ironed a shirt in my non-war torn life.) Maybe it’s the banality that keeps us sane, the small things that remain within our control. And so too do we begin to crave their comforts.

Blaževičius’s film is layered with depth and thematic heft, zeroing in on the minutiae we build our lives from and what they reveal. Take, for instance, how it quietly traces the way parental worldviews trickle down: Marija and Vytas’s daughter starts getting into fights at school after another kid calls Ukrainians Nazis. But she doesn’t deflect or reason. She reacts with violence. It’s a learned response, passed down like dinner table habits, except this one comes with bruises.

Eventually, Marija’s carefully curated new life begins to spiral. But she’s facing consequences entirely of her own making. Meanwhile, Vytas throws himself into protests, volunteer work, and political performance art. What first feels like a noble ascension quickly tips into something more desperate. As both stare down lives made worse by their parting, selfish reassessment beckons.

The impact is powered by a great turn from Jakštaitė, who’s equally convincing in her chilly detachment as she is in her little explosions, levies of want or withheld emotion finally breaking. Her performance captures the ache of someone who still wants to feel superior, even as she’s drowning. And when you’re used to the finer things, pretending you don’t need insulation from the world’s cruelty doesn’t make you better. It just makes you honest.

CONCLUSION: ‘How to Divorce During the War‘ is a powerful kitchen table drama that uses the backdrop of the Ukraine-Russia war to explore the quieter war of domestic selfishness, anchored by two strong leads and Andrius Blaževičius’s assured direction.