Ukraine’s lightning offensive in Kharkiv last week recaptured a large swath of territory and humiliated the Russian army. And in doing so, it ignited a very public debate in Russia – perhaps surprisingly so – over how the “special military operation,” as they still call it, is going.

There’s been a spectrum of responses to recent events in Ukraine, but for convenience they can be thought of as two groups: “hawks” and “doves.” Both see the need for drastic decisions to correct the course of the conflict – though they have very different ideas how.

Those who believe the war is a misbegotten enterprise that needs to end have existed from the operation’s outset. Their voices have become more urgent in the wake of the Kharkiv debacle.

On the other end, nationalist critics have long complained that Russia is fighting with one hand tied behind its back, trying to defeat an ever-growing Ukrainian army that enjoys full Western military support, while Russia uses the same force that it invaded Ukraine with almost seven months ago. Though most of the hawks are careful not to directly criticize the Kremlin or the military command, their voices have become more open and insistent since the Kharkiv defeat. That loss, as they see it, proved their point.

“People had gotten used to the war, the fact that it goes on day by day without generating any big news,” says Abbas Gallyamov, a former Putin speechwriter and expert on regional affairs. “Then, suddenly, everything changed. The status quo is overturned, authorities are shocked, and even the army people were apparently not ready for it. There is a similar change in the public mood. Loyalists are angry and disillusioned, while the opposition is inspired and energized.”

“We committed a mistake”

The scope of Russia’s military setback in the Kharkiv region is a matter of intense discussion, but few dispute that it was serious and will likely lead to key changes in the way Russia prosecutes the war.

Though the Russian Ministry of Defense was slow to admit that its forces were routed in a few days, Russian war correspondents on the ground did report events fairly accurately in real time. That’s an important point for gauging the public response; any Russian with internet access can learn about the conflict’s realities.

Gavriil Grigorov, Sputnik/Kremlin/AP

Russian President Vladimir Putin attends a meeting of his security council in Moscow, Sept. 9, 2022. Though they have been careful not to put the blame on him directly, nationalist critics have suggested that the president and military are going too soft in the war in Ukraine, and need to commit more forces with harsher tactics to win.

The consensus of Russian military experts appears to be that the defeat was a limited setback brought on by the error of failing to sufficiently man the long front lines, leaving the Kharkiv sector relatively undefended.

“We committed a mistake. We moved forward without leaving reserves behind to defend the positions,” says Viktor Litovkin, military affairs editor of the official TASS news agency. “The Americans analyzed our weaknesses using satellite intelligence, and informed the Ukrainians. So, yes, they successfully delivered a blow at our most vulnerable point – and they can be pleased with themselves. But they did not split up our lines or destroy our forces as they may have hoped to do. We will learn from our mistakes and move on.”

For the doves, it’s a clear sign that the war is a fool’s errand and it’s time to step up efforts to explain that to the public. Their channels of communication are limited, as authorities move swiftly to shut down any overt criticism of the war, most independent media have been driven off the airwaves or out of the country, and the state’s pro-war information machine is going full blast.

It’s too soon to note any possible shift in public opinion. The majority appears to support the ongoing war effort to some degree.

Still, a small handful of local council members in Moscow and St. Petersburg were able to issue strong anti-war public statements via social media that were seen by millions of Russians. A group of deputies in one St. Petersburg district issued an open letter to Vladimir Putin, accusing him of treason for prosecuting a disastrous war.

“The municipal council of Smolninskoye calls on you to stop the bloodshed. Immediately withdraw Russian troops from the territory of Ukraine and resign!” it said.

Those deputies have been hauled into court and fined under legislation that proscribes defaming Russian army and leadership, but they are still speaking freely.

Reached by the Monitor, one of the deputies, Nikita Yuferev, says they calculated the risks carefully before acting and decided the moment demanded that they speak out. “I think that people in the West overestimate our heroism,” he says. “It was well worth it. We had already expressed our anti-war position several times. But the effect it had now was far bigger than in the past. People who live in Russia are surrounded by propaganda to convince them that they have to support the operation, and our actions have demonstrated to them that they are not alone.

“We were brought up by the generation of our grandparents who were witnesses of the Second World War, and they longed for peace,” he says. “Perhaps that’s why the military actions were officially called a special operation. Many Russians perceived it as a police operation, as if our police went there to set things right. In my view it should never have been started.”

Boxed in by “angry patriots”

But the loudest and by far most influential voice belongs to the hawks, who argue that it’s time to take off the gloves in Ukraine. Among those figures are Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov, who said he would demand “explanations” for the defeat from the Defense Ministry. Even former President Dmitry Medvedev often seems to be channeling the hawkish view from his perch in the Kremlin’s Security Council.

The leader of Russia’s still-powerful Communist Party, Gennady Zyuganov, also appears to have joined the hawkish choir.

“In my opinion, over the past two months, the special operation in Ukraine and Donbas has turned into a war,” he said on his official website. “This war was declared against us by the Americans, united Europe, and NATO.”

These “angry patriots” are the people who most worry the Kremlin, and limit its ability to maneuver, according to political journalist Ekaterina Vinokurova. They include many public figures, war correspondents, parliamentarians, and “overplayed” loyalists, she wrote.

Viktor Baranets, a former Defense Ministry spokesman who is now a military columnist for the daily Komsomolskaya Pravda, seems typical of that group.

“We have to create a new army, add weapons, and begin everything anew,” he says. “We’ll deliver blows against the most sensitive arteries of Ukraine and not allow them a moment of peace. After what happened in Kharkiv, we are making adjustments to the operation, in terms of tactics and our use of missile strikes against certain targets. Having this experience as a hard lesson, we’ll survive and show them what we are capable of.”

In recent days the Russian military has indeed begun striking targets that seemed formerly off-limits, including electrical stations in eastern Ukraine – which plunged much of the region into darkness – and a critical river dam in the southern city of Kryvyi Rih.

“If we cut off the enemy’s electrical supply, we deprive him of the use of the railways through which he transports Western arms and mercenaries,” says Mr. Baranets.

“Something is going wrong”

Andrei Klimov, deputy head of the Federation Council’s international affairs committee, says that military methods must change, but the priority should not be to destroy Ukraine.

“We should not be in a hurry,” he says. “We could have already finished this if it were not for the involvement of NATO. It’s a specific kind of war, not with Ukraine, but NATO.”

One fairly mainstream dove, former liberal Duma deputy Boris Nadezhdin, actually managed to make a tough anti-war statement, in reference to the Kharkiv defeat, during a live panel discussion on the pro-Kremlin NTV network.

“I don’t think this is some kind of turning point, because it’s clear that Russia has the resources to carry on and can enlarge its presence in Ukraine,” Mr. Nadezhdin later told the Monitor. “But for the first time, everybody has recognized that something is going wrong, not according to plan. From the very beginning, the purposes of this operation have been unclear, and now we can all see that the Ukrainian army is a real force. So, society is split. People who support the operation want full mobilization. People who were against it want peace.”

Colette Davidson

People line up at La Filmothèque du Quartier Latin in Paris on Sept. 14, 2022. Some have come to see the American film "Thief," while others are waiting to watch a film by radical French-Swiss filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard, who died on Sept. 13, 2022.

A line snakes down the street outside La Filmothèque, one of Paris’ cult art-house cinemas in the famous Latin Quarter. A few people are here to watch “Vivre Sa Vie” (“My Life to Live”), the 1962 film by radical French-Swiss filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard, who died Tuesday at the age of 91.

But most are here for the classic American film “Thief,” directed by Michael Mann.

“I usually only watch old movies, ones that represent the golden age of cinema,” says Bernard Thoral, a regular cinemagoer. “I love American film noir. Godard? It’s not really my thing. I’ve never seen one of his movies.”

It might come as a surprise that any French cinemagoer would deign to watch an American film the day after the death of a cinematic legend such as Mr. Godard, who shaped the improvisational, informal, New Wave cinematic style in the 1960s, creating a veritable revolution in French filmmaking.

But American cinema has long been a hot cultural commodity in France, sparking a deep and long-standing love-hate relationship that has played out amicably – and defiantly – over the last century. France’s simultaneous fascination with, and disdain for, American culture has produced waves of both adoration and scorn, and ultimately, say some critics, made France a victim of American cultural imperialism.

The iconoclastic Mr. Godard epitomized this ambiguity, spending decades imitating, quoting, and paying homage to American cinema, before rejecting the “Americanization” of the world and falling out with the Hollywood machine.

“The French have a very contrasting image of the U.S.,” says Bruno Péquignot, professor emeritus of arts and culture at the Sorbonne Nouvelle University in Paris. They feel that “on one hand, its writers and filmmakers can be extremely subtle, intelligent, and capable of grasping nuance, and on the other they can be brutes, as if they just stepped out of a cave.”

Pierre Gleizes/AP/File

Movie director Jean-Luc Godard (left) and Israeli producer Menahem Golan gesture as they speak to the press in Cannes, France, in 1987. Mr. Godard, an icon of French New Wave film, revolutionized popular 1960s cinema.

The “cultural exception”

French cinema is revered both at home and abroad; going to a movie theater here is a sophisticated affair – no loud crunching of popcorn allowed. And until World War I, French cinema dominated markets around the world, supplying 60% to 70% of films shown globally. Then, however, its influence began to dwindle and the U.S. film industry became the most important in the world.

French cinema didn’t make its comeback until the late 1950s, when Mr. Godard entered the scene alongside fellow New Wave filmmakers François Truffaut, Jacques Rivette, and Claude Chabrol.

It was around that time that the French government decided that French culture needed protecting. French Culture Minister André Malraux promoted the idea of a French “cultural exception,” which gave cultural products a special status in international trade negotiations.

“Malraux was seen as a hero of French cinema, defending it against the ‘big, bad American cinema,’” says Jonathan Broda, a film historian at the International Film & Television School Paris. “I say that with irony, but American cinema still dominates French screens.”

Ever since the Malraux era, the authorities have been fighting to provide space for French culture to bloom. Jack Lang, culture minister in the mid-1980s and again in the early 1990s, was particularly critical of American dominance, calling for a “crusade” against this “financial and intellectual imperialism that ... grabs consciousness, ways of thinking, ways of living.”

By the early 1990s, American films accounted for more than 60% of French box-office revenues, according to the Ministry of Culture. In 2013, France’s then-Culture Minister Aurélie Filippetti successfully called for the audiovisual sector to be excluded from free trade negotiations between the United States and the European Union, so that it could enjoy government support. 

But despite government efforts and a revitalized French filmmaking industry, American cinema continues to reign. In 2019, only one French film was among the top 10 box-office hits in France – the rest were American, the majority distributed by Walt Disney Studios.

“More than any other medium, cinema epitomizes cultural imperialism,” says Mr. Broda. “If James Dean wore blue jeans, everyone wanted to wear blue jeans. If Marilyn Monroe drank Coca Cola, everyone drank it. Cinema has become the best ambassador of the American economy.”

Vianney Le Caer/Invision/AP/File

Cinematographer Fabrice Aragno (right) holds the special Palme d'Or award on behalf of director Jean-Luc Godard, on screen, for his film "The Image Book," which was presented by jury president Cate Blanchett (second from right) during the closing ceremony of the 71st annual Cannes Film Festival in southern France, May 19, 2018.

Eternally controversial

Mr. Godard had a similar fascination with American cinema, and his breakout film “A Bout de Souffle” (“Breathless”) took inspiration from the original U.S. version of “Scarface,” released in 1932. In 1968, he accompanied his film “La Chinoise” on a tour of American universities and met Black Panther activist Kathleen Cleaver in Oakland.

But he had already begun to mock certain aspects of American life in his 1963 film “Le Mépris” (“Contempt”), and when the Vietnam War broke out, Mr. Godard was not shy about expressing his opinions on America’s military involvement. By the 2000s the relationship had soured, and in 2010, when Mr. Godard was awarded an honorary Oscar for lifetime achievement, he said it meant “nothing” to him and did not go to collect it.

Though he remains a revered symbol of French cinema, Mr. Godard was eternally controversial, both politically and cinematically. (He once said that “a story should have a beginning, a middle and an end – but not necessarily in that order.”) Though two of his films won prizes at the Cannes Film Festival, they never received the top award, nor did he ever win a César, France’s equivalent of the Academy Awards.

At La Filmothèque, owner Jean-Max Causse is happy to see people turning out for Mr. Godard, even if he knows his films are not to everyone’s taste. Mr. Godard was one of Mr. Causse’s first customers when he opened his first cinema in central Paris in 1967. He remembers Mr. Truffaut arriving with Catherine Deneuve, and Mr. Godard complaining loudly about the volume of the music.

“He wasn’t as well liked as Truffaut, but like these other young filmmakers who had never been to film school, he shook up conventions,” says Mr. Causse. “French cinema is in a bit of a state of crisis right now. In the U.S., cinema is starting to rise from the ashes, but it’s the end of a certain era.” 

Christophe Kaprelian, a local photographer, came to see “Vivre Sa Vie” to pay homage to that era, and his respects to a legend.

“I love American classics by Hitchcock or Stanley Kubrick. They inspire me,” says Mr. Kaprelian, who goes to the cinema at least 10 times a month. “But today, I had to come see Godard on the big screen.”

My nephews visited the farm every summer, a respite for my sisters and a chance to show three city boys the joys of country living. Once adolescence got them in its grip, the tenor of the visits changed. Relentless competition over everything and the accompanying irritated insults became the soundtrack of my days. The summer the eldest turned 15, we (and by “we,” I mean me) built a baseball field as a memorial to my dad, a long-suffering Brooklyn Dodgers fan who taught me everything about the greatest game ever invented.

I imagined that a “Field of Dreams” of camaraderie would bloom, where someone could stop hating on their younger brother long enough to tell him what a great arm he had. They would feel what it’s like to connect on the sweet spot of the bat or get your glove on a line drive down the third base line in the nick of time. But the boys were interested only in what the team T-shirts should look like and in finding legit major league bases instead of the lame set I’d bought online.

I played my last mom card from atop the tractor the day “we” broke ground. “Boys, I shouldn’t have to ask for help; you should want to help.”

But I couldn’t sell it, and I was outnumbered.

Leveling the field with the bucket attachment was a struggle. There is no “gentle” setting on a John Deere. But in the end, the boys could practice fielding bad hops off the boulders I’d exposed.

Content with the good-enough ballfield, we played our inaugural game. It was summer. It was hot. Crabby teenage boys made Doubleday’s perfect invention a nightmare.

“Just swing at anything, jerk!”

“Walks are boring and stupid!”

“Why is the sun always in my eyes?”

“Do we have batting gloves?”

I was relegated to catcher – the position no one wanted because the quality of pitching was subpar, and the batter’s insults were relentless. “Do you even know what a strike zone is?” “Just throw it underhand, loser!”

The job of Daisy, our dog, was to snatch any baseballs not caught by someone sulking in the outfield and hide them in the tall grass. We instituted the Daisy Ball rule. If she got hold of the ball, you could take your base and any runners could advance. They’d scream “Daisy Ball!” in jubilant unison – the only rule they ever agreed upon.

Not entirely fed up with the endless arguing and complaining, I decided we’d have a home run derby the following week. If you hit the ball into the pond about 150 feet from home plate, you got a $25 iTunes gift card. I wanted them to pitch to one another, to encourage and support. It didn’t matter to me who won, but it mattered a lot to them. They went out there every evening after dinner and hit buckets of balls. Their caustic remarks were delightfully silenced by the crack of rawhide on ash – or metal, if you’re gonna cheat, jerk.

The quietest nephew ran in one night after everyone else had given up.

“Aunt Amy, Aunt Amy – I did it! I got one in the pond! I kept throwing balls up in the air and I finally hit one. It was pretty much a rocket right into the pond.”

“That’s incredible!” I said. “Let’s go up and fish it out so you can sign it.”

“No, no, it’s OK,” he said hastily. “It’s too dark. We’ll go look for it tomorrow.”

It was then that I knew.

Later, with everyone in bed, including me, I heard a tiny knock on my door.

“Aunt Amy, are you awake?”

“Barely honey, come on in.”

The door opened. The quiet nephew came in and sat at the foot of my bed.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Oh dear, what’s wrong?” I said.

“I have something to tell you, but it’s kind of embarrassing.”

He turned away.

“I didn’t hit the ball in the pond,” he said. “I wanted to, and I tried really hard, but I didn’t. I don’t know why I lied.”

“Oh, honey, I knew it when you said you didn’t want to go find it.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I wanted you to know what it feels like to have a lie roll around in your head. I wanted you to know how good it is to tell the truth, no matter what. Do you feel better?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then I’m happy to announce that you are the winner of the home run derby.”

“But I didn’t put it in the pond.”

“But you told a hard truth,” I said, “and that’s a whole lot more important.”

“I love you, Aunt Amy.”

“I love you too. Take out the garbage before you go to bed,” I said.

He didn’t.