REVIEW: Լինում է, չի լինում [There Was, There Was Not] [2025]

Rating: NR | Runtime: 94 minutes
Release Date: October 10th, 2025 (USA)
Studio: Suncatcher Productions / Watermelon Pictures
Director(s): Emily Mkrtichian
Writer(s): Emily Mkrtichian

They live in a place that no longer exists.

It began as a documentary to tell the stories of four women helping to make their homeland of Artsakh a better place almost thirty years after war between Armenia and Azerbaijan ended in a tenuous peace circa 1994. The Soviet Union had given the area to the latter country upon dissolution despite its population being composed of ethnic Armenians, so the conflict ending in the creation of an independent republic almost feels unreal. Like a fairy tale of hope for the future. A story searching for its permanent happily ever after.

Director Emily Mkrtichian chose the title There Was, There Was Not to lean into this fact considering Armenian myths start with that phrase rather than our usual “Once upon a time …” Her film ultimately begins and ends with the words, “There was, there was not a Heaven, and it was called Artsakh.” And its first half reveals its beauty alongside the women striving to maintain it like Siranush Sargsyan via politics, Gayane Hambardzumyan and her Women’s Center, Svetlana Harutunyan defusing old land mines, and Sose Balasanyan’s Olympic judo aspirations.

The second half conversely depicts the shattering of that peace by an Azerbaijani attack to reclaim what it deems its property without any regard for the lives of those currently living upon it. Under this new phase of Armenian genocide, that same quartet continue their tireless work. Siranush pivots into journalism to shed light on the injustices being committed. Gayane keeps working to clothe and protect those forced to flee. Svetlana educates those who remain about the danger of unexploded ordinances. And Sose enlists to fight on the front line.

Mkrtichian could have fled with the footage she took in 2018 of her smiling subjects gradually pulling the needle away from patriarchal rule, but knew its narrative importance would inevitably be overshadowed by everything that occurred next. So, she decides to stay as well. To capture the escalating drama during 2020 through the eyes of those same dedicated souls as Artsakh moved towards what would become its final days. Surviving the shelling. Enduring the uncertainty of loved ones being killed. Wondering if it will ever end.

The shift is made with a brief intermission showing the four sitting in a chair amidst gorgeous foliage, each lamenting how they’ll never truly live freely again. All that promise of preserving a homeland for their children is gone in an instant once they’re forced to reconcile with the reality that Artsakh is no more. It doesn’t get more depressing than seeing Siranush on her family’s property post-war knowing it was no longer theirs or Gayane’s husband explaining how they should try not to think about Artsakh for at least another twenty years.

You want to go back to Gayane’s debate with other members of her center about what a woman’s right is or Sose sparring on the international stage, but Mkrtichian knows that the juxtaposition would lose its potency if she messed with the chronology. These are different people in the end and not just because of their displacement or career evolutions. They’ve each lost a piece of their identity. Those happy times have been taken from them, so they should remain as memories to us as well.

So, when Siranush looks at the bomb pamphlets Svetlana hands her, we feel the same sense of warped déjà vu recalling her election fliers one year prior. We reach backwards to squint and try to wrap our heads around how things could have turned upside down so fast. Because that’s the part of these stories that get forgotten amongst the casualties and destruction. The upheaval of everyday things we take for granted revealing how there are more ways to end a life than death. But also, the necessary courage to somehow keep going anyway.