Architecton: A Meditation on Beauty, Decay, and Progress
Constantin Peyfuss
Article
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Share this story ...
It begins with ruins. Viktor Kossakovsky’s Architecton opens in a hushed sweep through the wreckage of Ukrainian apartment blocks, their walls split open by Russian bombs, exposing kitchens, bedrooms, and living rooms to the wind. It is an unflinching image of fragility: homes stripped of their function, reduced to rubble, yet still clinging to the orderly grid of their original design. The camera moves deliberately, almost tenderly, forcing us to take stock of what has been lost—not only in these lives interrupted but also in the ambitions of the structures themselves.
This is the tone that defines Architecton, a film both monumental in its scope and mournful in its critique. Across ninety-eight hypnotic minutes, Kossakovsky takes us on a journey through the life cycle of stone and concrete, from raw material to architectural triumph to inevitable decay. The film is wordless for long stretches, save for the occasional musings of Italian architect Michele De Lucchi, whose reflections lend the film a philosophical weight. “We don’t just design buildings,” he observes. “We design the behavior of people.”
But the designs, Architecton suggests, are failing—not only the people who inhabit them but also the planet itself.
Architecton: A Concrete Warning for a Crumbling World
Humanity’s greatest enemy is itself. That much is clear in Architecton, Victor Kossakovsky’s latest cinematic offering. The Russian filmmaker’s 98-minute documentary is a hypnotic, poetic exploration of the destruction we have wrought upon our planet—one bag of cement at a time.
The imagery is stunning, even as it disturbs. From the gaping wounds of Austria’s Erzberg mine to the bombed-out remains of Ukrainian housing blocks, to the rubble left behind in Mersin, Turkey, after the devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake in February 2023, Kossakovsky captures the apocalyptic reality of human progress. Slow-motion shots and sweeping drone footage transform scenes of devastation into a grotesque kind of beauty, the horror softened by a haunting visual rhythm.
At its heart, Architecton is an indictment of concrete—the second most consumed substance on Earth after water. Kossakovsky’s camera takes us on a meditative journey through quarries, crushing plants, and cement factories. We see kilometre-long freight trains hauling stone, bright yellow excavators clawing at the earth, and the eerie precision of a 3D concrete printer as it extrudes layers of grey.
A remarkable exploration of the materials that shape our world: concrete and its timeless predecessor, stone.
The Rise and Fall of Concrete
But what stands out most in Architecton is the way it reclaims concrete’s narrative. Once a symbol of human ingenuity and permanence, it is now a reminder of our hubris. The film lingers on the aftermath: demolition sites where broken chunks of concrete are dumped like lifeless corpses, classified as hazardous waste. Stone, once considered eternal, is shown to have a life cycle—a birth and a death, both defined by human hands.
Italian architect Michele De Lucchi lends his voice to this reflection, appearing in the film to discuss the contradictions of working with stone.
“We’ve developed a certain sensitivity for animals and plants, but this film brings even stone to life, giving it an almost organic character.”
Seen constructing a stone circle at his home near Lake Maggiore, De Lucchi confronts the dissonance between permanence and waste. “Why do we build such ugly, disposable buildings when we know how to create something beautiful? I’m currently designing a skyscraper in Milan, and honestly, I’m ashamed of it.”
It’s a poignant moment, capturing the cognitive dissonance many architects must feel as they grapple with the environmental cost of their creations.
What Comes After Concrete?
Architecton doesn’t just critique; it provokes. The film’s closing statement—“After water, concrete is the most widely used substance on Earth”—is a quiet gut punch, leaving viewers with a question: What comes next?
Developers and architects have alternatives if they are willing to embrace them. Biocomposite materials like hempcrete and mycelium offer sustainable solutions that sequester carbon rather than emit it. Circular construction practices, which recycle and repurpose demolition waste, could drastically reduce the impact of new builds.
"I appeal to scientists and engineers: we must mobilize eight billion minds to find a substitute for concrete. We need to discover something that allows us to build structures that last, all while respecting nature." — Victor Kossakovsky
Urban greening strategies, from vertical gardens to permeable pavements, can help cities breathe again, reducing heat and allowing water to flow naturally through the earth. And even technologies like 3D printing—depicted ominously in the film—could be harnessed for good, using local materials or geopolymers to create less wasteful designs.
A Stark Warning, a Quiet Hope
The tone of Architecton is unmistakably bleak, recalling Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi with its sparse narration, dramatic score, and sweeping critique of humanity’s excesses. Yet, like Reggio’s work, Kossakovsky’s documentary contains a seed of hope—an implicit challenge to rethink our relationship with the materials that shape our world.
Concrete may be ubiquitous, but it doesn’t have to be our legacy. By shifting away from the disposable mindset that drives much of today’s construction, architects and developers can begin to create structures that respect the planet rather than exploit it.
Rocks and stone connect the disparate societies, from ghostly monoliths stuck in the earth to tragic heaps of concrete rubble waiting to be hauled off and repurposed anew. Through Kossakovsky’s inquisitive lens, the grandeur and folly of humanity and its precarious relationship with nature posits the urgent question: How do we build, and how can we build better, before it’s too late?
Architecton: A Meditation on Beauty, Decay, and Progress
Constantin Peyfuss
Article
,
Share this story ...
It begins with ruins. Viktor Kossakovsky’s Architecton opens in a hushed sweep through the wreckage of Ukrainian apartment blocks, their walls split open by Russian bombs, exposing kitchens, bedrooms, and living rooms to the wind. It is an unflinching image of fragility: homes stripped of their function, reduced to rubble, yet still clinging to the orderly grid of their original design. The camera moves deliberately, almost tenderly, forcing us to take stock of what has been lost—not only in these lives interrupted but also in the ambitions of the structures themselves.
This is the tone that defines Architecton, a film both monumental in its scope and mournful in its critique. Across ninety-eight hypnotic minutes, Kossakovsky takes us on a journey through the life cycle of stone and concrete, from raw material to architectural triumph to inevitable decay. The film is wordless for long stretches, save for the occasional musings of Italian architect Michele De Lucchi, whose reflections lend the film a philosophical weight. “We don’t just design buildings,” he observes. “We design the behavior of people.”
But the designs, Architecton suggests, are failing—not only the people who inhabit them but also the planet itself.
Architecton: A Concrete Warning for a Crumbling World
Humanity’s greatest enemy is itself. That much is clear in Architecton, Victor Kossakovsky’s latest cinematic offering. The Russian filmmaker’s 98-minute documentary is a hypnotic, poetic exploration of the destruction we have wrought upon our planet—one bag of cement at a time.
The imagery is stunning, even as it disturbs. From the gaping wounds of Austria’s Erzberg mine to the bombed-out remains of Ukrainian housing blocks, to the rubble left behind in Mersin, Turkey, after the devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake in February 2023, Kossakovsky captures the apocalyptic reality of human progress. Slow-motion shots and sweeping drone footage transform scenes of devastation into a grotesque kind of beauty, the horror softened by a haunting visual rhythm.
At its heart, Architecton is an indictment of concrete—the second most consumed substance on Earth after water. Kossakovsky’s camera takes us on a meditative journey through quarries, crushing plants, and cement factories. We see kilometre-long freight trains hauling stone, bright yellow excavators clawing at the earth, and the eerie precision of a 3D concrete printer as it extrudes layers of grey.
A remarkable exploration of the materials that shape our world: concrete and its timeless predecessor, stone.
The Rise and Fall of Concrete
But what stands out most in Architecton is the way it reclaims concrete’s narrative. Once a symbol of human ingenuity and permanence, it is now a reminder of our hubris. The film lingers on the aftermath: demolition sites where broken chunks of concrete are dumped like lifeless corpses, classified as hazardous waste. Stone, once considered eternal, is shown to have a life cycle—a birth and a death, both defined by human hands.
Italian architect Michele De Lucchi lends his voice to this reflection, appearing in the film to discuss the contradictions of working with stone.
“We’ve developed a certain sensitivity for animals and plants, but this film brings even stone to life, giving it an almost organic character.”
Seen constructing a stone circle at his home near Lake Maggiore, De Lucchi confronts the dissonance between permanence and waste. “Why do we build such ugly, disposable buildings when we know how to create something beautiful? I’m currently designing a skyscraper in Milan, and honestly, I’m ashamed of it.”
It’s a poignant moment, capturing the cognitive dissonance many architects must feel as they grapple with the environmental cost of their creations.
What Comes After Concrete?
Architecton doesn’t just critique; it provokes. The film’s closing statement—“After water, concrete is the most widely used substance on Earth”—is a quiet gut punch, leaving viewers with a question: What comes next?
Developers and architects have alternatives if they are willing to embrace them. Biocomposite materials like hempcrete and mycelium offer sustainable solutions that sequester carbon rather than emit it. Circular construction practices, which recycle and repurpose demolition waste, could drastically reduce the impact of new builds.
"I appeal to scientists and engineers: we must mobilize eight billion minds to find a substitute for concrete. We need to discover something that allows us to build structures that last, all while respecting nature." — Victor Kossakovsky
Urban greening strategies, from vertical gardens to permeable pavements, can help cities breathe again, reducing heat and allowing water to flow naturally through the earth. And even technologies like 3D printing—depicted ominously in the film—could be harnessed for good, using local materials or geopolymers to create less wasteful designs.
A Stark Warning, a Quiet Hope
The tone of Architecton is unmistakably bleak, recalling Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi with its sparse narration, dramatic score, and sweeping critique of humanity’s excesses. Yet, like Reggio’s work, Kossakovsky’s documentary contains a seed of hope—an implicit challenge to rethink our relationship with the materials that shape our world.
Concrete may be ubiquitous, but it doesn’t have to be our legacy. By shifting away from the disposable mindset that drives much of today’s construction, architects and developers can begin to create structures that respect the planet rather than exploit it.
Rocks and stone connect the disparate societies, from ghostly monoliths stuck in the earth to tragic heaps of concrete rubble waiting to be hauled off and repurposed anew. Through Kossakovsky’s inquisitive lens, the grandeur and folly of humanity and its precarious relationship with nature posits the urgent question: How do we build, and how can we build better, before it’s too late?
Architecton: A Meditation on Beauty, Decay, and Progress
It begins with ruins. Viktor Kossakovsky’s Architecton opens in a hushed sweep through the wreckage of Ukrainian apartment blocks, their walls split open by Russian bombs, exposing kitchens, bedrooms, and living rooms to the wind. It is an unflinching image of fragility: homes stripped of their function, reduced to rubble, yet still clinging to the orderly grid of their original design. The camera moves deliberately, almost tenderly, forcing us to take stock of what has been lost—not only in these lives interrupted but also in the ambitions of the structures themselves.
This is the tone that defines Architecton, a film both monumental in its scope and mournful in its critique. Across ninety-eight hypnotic minutes, Kossakovsky takes us on a journey through the life cycle of stone and concrete, from raw material to architectural triumph to inevitable decay. The film is wordless for long stretches, save for the occasional musings of Italian architect Michele De Lucchi, whose reflections lend the film a philosophical weight. “We don’t just design buildings,” he observes. “We design the behavior of people.”
But the designs, Architecton suggests, are failing—not only the people who inhabit them but also the planet itself.
Architecton: A Concrete Warning for a Crumbling World
Humanity’s greatest enemy is itself. That much is clear in Architecton, Victor Kossakovsky’s latest cinematic offering. The Russian filmmaker’s 98-minute documentary is a hypnotic, poetic exploration of the destruction we have wrought upon our planet—one bag of cement at a time.
The imagery is stunning, even as it disturbs. From the gaping wounds of Austria’s Erzberg mine to the bombed-out remains of Ukrainian housing blocks, to the rubble left behind in Mersin, Turkey, after the devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake in February 2023, Kossakovsky captures the apocalyptic reality of human progress. Slow-motion shots and sweeping drone footage transform scenes of devastation into a grotesque kind of beauty, the horror softened by a haunting visual rhythm.
At its heart, Architecton is an indictment of concrete—the second most consumed substance on Earth after water. Kossakovsky’s camera takes us on a meditative journey through quarries, crushing plants, and cement factories. We see kilometre-long freight trains hauling stone, bright yellow excavators clawing at the earth, and the eerie precision of a 3D concrete printer as it extrudes layers of grey.
A remarkable exploration of the materials that shape our world: concrete and its timeless predecessor, stone.
The Rise and Fall of Concrete
But what stands out most in Architecton is the way it reclaims concrete’s narrative. Once a symbol of human ingenuity and permanence, it is now a reminder of our hubris. The film lingers on the aftermath: demolition sites where broken chunks of concrete are dumped like lifeless corpses, classified as hazardous waste. Stone, once considered eternal, is shown to have a life cycle—a birth and a death, both defined by human hands.
Italian architect Michele De Lucchi lends his voice to this reflection, appearing in the film to discuss the contradictions of working with stone.
“We’ve developed a certain sensitivity for animals and plants, but this film brings even stone to life, giving it an almost organic character.”
Seen constructing a stone circle at his home near Lake Maggiore, De Lucchi confronts the dissonance between permanence and waste. “Why do we build such ugly, disposable buildings when we know how to create something beautiful? I’m currently designing a skyscraper in Milan, and honestly, I’m ashamed of it.”
It’s a poignant moment, capturing the cognitive dissonance many architects must feel as they grapple with the environmental cost of their creations.
What Comes After Concrete?
Architecton doesn’t just critique; it provokes. The film’s closing statement—“After water, concrete is the most widely used substance on Earth”—is a quiet gut punch, leaving viewers with a question: What comes next?
Developers and architects have alternatives if they are willing to embrace them. Biocomposite materials like hempcrete and mycelium offer sustainable solutions that sequester carbon rather than emit it. Circular construction practices, which recycle and repurpose demolition waste, could drastically reduce the impact of new builds.
"I appeal to scientists and engineers: we must mobilize eight billion minds to find a substitute for concrete. We need to discover something that allows us to build structures that last, all while respecting nature." — Victor Kossakovsky
Urban greening strategies, from vertical gardens to permeable pavements, can help cities breathe again, reducing heat and allowing water to flow naturally through the earth. And even technologies like 3D printing—depicted ominously in the film—could be harnessed for good, using local materials or geopolymers to create less wasteful designs.
A Stark Warning, a Quiet Hope
The tone of Architecton is unmistakably bleak, recalling Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi with its sparse narration, dramatic score, and sweeping critique of humanity’s excesses. Yet, like Reggio’s work, Kossakovsky’s documentary contains a seed of hope—an implicit challenge to rethink our relationship with the materials that shape our world.
Concrete may be ubiquitous, but it doesn’t have to be our legacy. By shifting away from the disposable mindset that drives much of today’s construction, architects and developers can begin to create structures that respect the planet rather than exploit it.
Rocks and stone connect the disparate societies, from ghostly monoliths stuck in the earth to tragic heaps of concrete rubble waiting to be hauled off and repurposed anew. Through Kossakovsky’s inquisitive lens, the grandeur and folly of humanity and its precarious relationship with nature posits the urgent question: How do we build, and how can we build better, before it’s too late?
It begins with ruins. Viktor Kossakovsky’s Architecton opens in a hushed sweep through the wreckage of Ukrainian apartment blocks, their walls split open by Russian bombs, exposing kitchens, bedrooms, and living rooms to the wind. It is an unflinching image of fragility: homes stripped of their function, reduced to rubble, yet still clinging to the orderly grid of their original design. The camera moves deliberately, almost tenderly, forcing us to take stock of what has been lost—not only in these lives interrupted but also in the ambitions of the structures themselves.
This is the tone that defines Architecton, a film both monumental in its scope and mournful in its critique. Across ninety-eight hypnotic minutes, Kossakovsky takes us on a journey through the life cycle of stone and concrete, from raw material to architectural triumph to inevitable decay. The film is wordless for long stretches, save for the occasional musings of Italian architect Michele De Lucchi, whose reflections lend the film a philosophical weight. “We don’t just design buildings,” he observes. “We design the behavior of people.”
But the designs, Architecton suggests, are failing—not only the people who inhabit them but also the planet itself.
It begins with ruins. Viktor Kossakovsky’s Architecton opens in a hushed sweep through the wreckage of Ukrainian apartment blocks, their walls split open by Russian bombs, exposing kitchens, bedrooms, and living rooms to the wind. It is an unflinching image of fragility: homes stripped of their function, reduced to rubble, yet still clinging to the orderly grid of their original design. The camera moves deliberately, almost tenderly, forcing us to take stock of what has been lost—not only in these lives interrupted but also in the ambitions of the structures themselves.
This is the tone that defines Architecton, a film both monumental in its scope and mournful in its critique. Across ninety-eight hypnotic minutes, Kossakovsky takes us on a journey through the life cycle of stone and concrete, from raw material to architectural triumph to inevitable decay. The film is wordless for long stretches, save for the occasional musings of Italian architect Michele De Lucchi, whose reflections lend the film a philosophical weight. “We don’t just design buildings,” he observes. “We design the behavior of people.”
But the designs, Architecton suggests, are failing—not only the people who inhabit them but also the planet itself.
Architecton: A Concrete Warning for a Crumbling World
Humanity’s greatest enemy is itself. That much is clear in Architecton, Victor Kossakovsky’s latest cinematic offering. The Russian filmmaker’s 98-minute documentary is a hypnotic, poetic exploration of the destruction we have wrought upon our planet—one bag of cement at a time.
The imagery is stunning, even as it disturbs. From the gaping wounds of Austria’s Erzberg mine to the bombed-out remains of Ukrainian housing blocks, to the rubble left behind in Mersin, Turkey, after the devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake in February 2023, Kossakovsky captures the apocalyptic reality of human progress. Slow-motion shots and sweeping drone footage transform scenes of devastation into a grotesque kind of beauty, the horror softened by a haunting visual rhythm.
At its heart, Architecton is an indictment of concrete—the second most consumed substance on Earth after water. Kossakovsky’s camera takes us on a meditative journey through quarries, crushing plants, and cement factories. We see kilometre-long freight trains hauling stone, bright yellow excavators clawing at the earth, and the eerie precision of a 3D concrete printer as it extrudes layers of grey.
A remarkable exploration of the materials that shape our world: concrete and its timeless predecessor, stone.
The Rise and Fall of Concrete
But what stands out most in Architecton is the way it reclaims concrete’s narrative. Once a symbol of human ingenuity and permanence, it is now a reminder of our hubris. The film lingers on the aftermath: demolition sites where broken chunks of concrete are dumped like lifeless corpses, classified as hazardous waste. Stone, once considered eternal, is shown to have a life cycle—a birth and a death, both defined by human hands.
Italian architect Michele De Lucchi lends his voice to this reflection, appearing in the film to discuss the contradictions of working with stone.
“We’ve developed a certain sensitivity for animals and plants, but this film brings even stone to life, giving it an almost organic character.”
Seen constructing a stone circle at his home near Lake Maggiore, De Lucchi confronts the dissonance between permanence and waste. “Why do we build such ugly, disposable buildings when we know how to create something beautiful? I’m currently designing a skyscraper in Milan, and honestly, I’m ashamed of it.”
It’s a poignant moment, capturing the cognitive dissonance many architects must feel as they grapple with the environmental cost of their creations.
What Comes After Concrete?
Architecton doesn’t just critique; it provokes. The film’s closing statement—“After water, concrete is the most widely used substance on Earth”—is a quiet gut punch, leaving viewers with a question: What comes next?
Developers and architects have alternatives if they are willing to embrace them. Biocomposite materials like hempcrete and mycelium offer sustainable solutions that sequester carbon rather than emit it. Circular construction practices, which recycle and repurpose demolition waste, could drastically reduce the impact of new builds.
"I appeal to scientists and engineers: we must mobilize eight billion minds to find a substitute for concrete. We need to discover something that allows us to build structures that last, all while respecting nature." — Victor Kossakovsky
Urban greening strategies, from vertical gardens to permeable pavements, can help cities breathe again, reducing heat and allowing water to flow naturally through the earth. And even technologies like 3D printing—depicted ominously in the film—could be harnessed for good, using local materials or geopolymers to create less wasteful designs.
A Stark Warning, a Quiet Hope
The tone of Architecton is unmistakably bleak, recalling Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi with its sparse narration, dramatic score, and sweeping critique of humanity’s excesses. Yet, like Reggio’s work, Kossakovsky’s documentary contains a seed of hope—an implicit challenge to rethink our relationship with the materials that shape our world.
Concrete may be ubiquitous, but it doesn’t have to be our legacy. By shifting away from the disposable mindset that drives much of today’s construction, architects and developers can begin to create structures that respect the planet rather than exploit it.
Rocks and stone connect the disparate societies, from ghostly monoliths stuck in the earth to tragic heaps of concrete rubble waiting to be hauled off and repurposed anew. Through Kossakovsky’s inquisitive lens, the grandeur and folly of humanity and its precarious relationship with nature posits the urgent question: How do we build, and how can we build better, before it’s too late?
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Culture
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February 20, 2024
Architecton: A Meditation on Beauty, Decay, and Progress
Constantin Peyfuss
Article
,
Share this story ...
It begins with ruins. Viktor Kossakovsky’s Architecton opens in a hushed sweep through the wreckage of Ukrainian apartment blocks, their walls split open by Russian bombs, exposing kitchens, bedrooms, and living rooms to the wind. It is an unflinching image of fragility: homes stripped of their function, reduced to rubble, yet still clinging to the orderly grid of their original design. The camera moves deliberately, almost tenderly, forcing us to take stock of what has been lost—not only in these lives interrupted but also in the ambitions of the structures themselves.
This is the tone that defines Architecton, a film both monumental in its scope and mournful in its critique. Across ninety-eight hypnotic minutes, Kossakovsky takes us on a journey through the life cycle of stone and concrete, from raw material to architectural triumph to inevitable decay. The film is wordless for long stretches, save for the occasional musings of Italian architect Michele De Lucchi, whose reflections lend the film a philosophical weight. “We don’t just design buildings,” he observes. “We design the behavior of people.”
But the designs, Architecton suggests, are failing—not only the people who inhabit them but also the planet itself.
Architecton: A Concrete Warning for a Crumbling World
Humanity’s greatest enemy is itself. That much is clear in Architecton, Victor Kossakovsky’s latest cinematic offering. The Russian filmmaker’s 98-minute documentary is a hypnotic, poetic exploration of the destruction we have wrought upon our planet—one bag of cement at a time.
The imagery is stunning, even as it disturbs. From the gaping wounds of Austria’s Erzberg mine to the bombed-out remains of Ukrainian housing blocks, to the rubble left behind in Mersin, Turkey, after the devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake in February 2023, Kossakovsky captures the apocalyptic reality of human progress. Slow-motion shots and sweeping drone footage transform scenes of devastation into a grotesque kind of beauty, the horror softened by a haunting visual rhythm.
At its heart, Architecton is an indictment of concrete—the second most consumed substance on Earth after water. Kossakovsky’s camera takes us on a meditative journey through quarries, crushing plants, and cement factories. We see kilometre-long freight trains hauling stone, bright yellow excavators clawing at the earth, and the eerie precision of a 3D concrete printer as it extrudes layers of grey.
A remarkable exploration of the materials that shape our world: concrete and its timeless predecessor, stone.
The Rise and Fall of Concrete
But what stands out most in Architecton is the way it reclaims concrete’s narrative. Once a symbol of human ingenuity and permanence, it is now a reminder of our hubris. The film lingers on the aftermath: demolition sites where broken chunks of concrete are dumped like lifeless corpses, classified as hazardous waste. Stone, once considered eternal, is shown to have a life cycle—a birth and a death, both defined by human hands.
Italian architect Michele De Lucchi lends his voice to this reflection, appearing in the film to discuss the contradictions of working with stone.
“We’ve developed a certain sensitivity for animals and plants, but this film brings even stone to life, giving it an almost organic character.”
Seen constructing a stone circle at his home near Lake Maggiore, De Lucchi confronts the dissonance between permanence and waste. “Why do we build such ugly, disposable buildings when we know how to create something beautiful? I’m currently designing a skyscraper in Milan, and honestly, I’m ashamed of it.”
It’s a poignant moment, capturing the cognitive dissonance many architects must feel as they grapple with the environmental cost of their creations.
What Comes After Concrete?
Architecton doesn’t just critique; it provokes. The film’s closing statement—“After water, concrete is the most widely used substance on Earth”—is a quiet gut punch, leaving viewers with a question: What comes next?
Developers and architects have alternatives if they are willing to embrace them. Biocomposite materials like hempcrete and mycelium offer sustainable solutions that sequester carbon rather than emit it. Circular construction practices, which recycle and repurpose demolition waste, could drastically reduce the impact of new builds.
"I appeal to scientists and engineers: we must mobilize eight billion minds to find a substitute for concrete. We need to discover something that allows us to build structures that last, all while respecting nature." — Victor Kossakovsky
Urban greening strategies, from vertical gardens to permeable pavements, can help cities breathe again, reducing heat and allowing water to flow naturally through the earth. And even technologies like 3D printing—depicted ominously in the film—could be harnessed for good, using local materials or geopolymers to create less wasteful designs.
A Stark Warning, a Quiet Hope
The tone of Architecton is unmistakably bleak, recalling Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi with its sparse narration, dramatic score, and sweeping critique of humanity’s excesses. Yet, like Reggio’s work, Kossakovsky’s documentary contains a seed of hope—an implicit challenge to rethink our relationship with the materials that shape our world.
Concrete may be ubiquitous, but it doesn’t have to be our legacy. By shifting away from the disposable mindset that drives much of today’s construction, architects and developers can begin to create structures that respect the planet rather than exploit it.
Rocks and stone connect the disparate societies, from ghostly monoliths stuck in the earth to tragic heaps of concrete rubble waiting to be hauled off and repurposed anew. Through Kossakovsky’s inquisitive lens, the grandeur and folly of humanity and its precarious relationship with nature posits the urgent question: How do we build, and how can we build better, before it’s too late?
Architecton: A Meditation on Beauty, Decay, and Progress
Constantin Peyfuss
Article
,
Share this story ...
It begins with ruins. Viktor Kossakovsky’s Architecton opens in a hushed sweep through the wreckage of Ukrainian apartment blocks, their walls split open by Russian bombs, exposing kitchens, bedrooms, and living rooms to the wind. It is an unflinching image of fragility: homes stripped of their function, reduced to rubble, yet still clinging to the orderly grid of their original design. The camera moves deliberately, almost tenderly, forcing us to take stock of what has been lost—not only in these lives interrupted but also in the ambitions of the structures themselves.
This is the tone that defines Architecton, a film both monumental in its scope and mournful in its critique. Across ninety-eight hypnotic minutes, Kossakovsky takes us on a journey through the life cycle of stone and concrete, from raw material to architectural triumph to inevitable decay. The film is wordless for long stretches, save for the occasional musings of Italian architect Michele De Lucchi, whose reflections lend the film a philosophical weight. “We don’t just design buildings,” he observes. “We design the behavior of people.”
But the designs, Architecton suggests, are failing—not only the people who inhabit them but also the planet itself.
Architecton: A Concrete Warning for a Crumbling World
Humanity’s greatest enemy is itself. That much is clear in Architecton, Victor Kossakovsky’s latest cinematic offering. The Russian filmmaker’s 98-minute documentary is a hypnotic, poetic exploration of the destruction we have wrought upon our planet—one bag of cement at a time.
The imagery is stunning, even as it disturbs. From the gaping wounds of Austria’s Erzberg mine to the bombed-out remains of Ukrainian housing blocks, to the rubble left behind in Mersin, Turkey, after the devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake in February 2023, Kossakovsky captures the apocalyptic reality of human progress. Slow-motion shots and sweeping drone footage transform scenes of devastation into a grotesque kind of beauty, the horror softened by a haunting visual rhythm.
At its heart, Architecton is an indictment of concrete—the second most consumed substance on Earth after water. Kossakovsky’s camera takes us on a meditative journey through quarries, crushing plants, and cement factories. We see kilometre-long freight trains hauling stone, bright yellow excavators clawing at the earth, and the eerie precision of a 3D concrete printer as it extrudes layers of grey.
A remarkable exploration of the materials that shape our world: concrete and its timeless predecessor, stone.
The Rise and Fall of Concrete
But what stands out most in Architecton is the way it reclaims concrete’s narrative. Once a symbol of human ingenuity and permanence, it is now a reminder of our hubris. The film lingers on the aftermath: demolition sites where broken chunks of concrete are dumped like lifeless corpses, classified as hazardous waste. Stone, once considered eternal, is shown to have a life cycle—a birth and a death, both defined by human hands.
Italian architect Michele De Lucchi lends his voice to this reflection, appearing in the film to discuss the contradictions of working with stone.
“We’ve developed a certain sensitivity for animals and plants, but this film brings even stone to life, giving it an almost organic character.”
Seen constructing a stone circle at his home near Lake Maggiore, De Lucchi confronts the dissonance between permanence and waste. “Why do we build such ugly, disposable buildings when we know how to create something beautiful? I’m currently designing a skyscraper in Milan, and honestly, I’m ashamed of it.”
It’s a poignant moment, capturing the cognitive dissonance many architects must feel as they grapple with the environmental cost of their creations.
What Comes After Concrete?
Architecton doesn’t just critique; it provokes. The film’s closing statement—“After water, concrete is the most widely used substance on Earth”—is a quiet gut punch, leaving viewers with a question: What comes next?
Developers and architects have alternatives if they are willing to embrace them. Biocomposite materials like hempcrete and mycelium offer sustainable solutions that sequester carbon rather than emit it. Circular construction practices, which recycle and repurpose demolition waste, could drastically reduce the impact of new builds.
"I appeal to scientists and engineers: we must mobilize eight billion minds to find a substitute for concrete. We need to discover something that allows us to build structures that last, all while respecting nature." — Victor Kossakovsky
Urban greening strategies, from vertical gardens to permeable pavements, can help cities breathe again, reducing heat and allowing water to flow naturally through the earth. And even technologies like 3D printing—depicted ominously in the film—could be harnessed for good, using local materials or geopolymers to create less wasteful designs.
A Stark Warning, a Quiet Hope
The tone of Architecton is unmistakably bleak, recalling Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi with its sparse narration, dramatic score, and sweeping critique of humanity’s excesses. Yet, like Reggio’s work, Kossakovsky’s documentary contains a seed of hope—an implicit challenge to rethink our relationship with the materials that shape our world.
Concrete may be ubiquitous, but it doesn’t have to be our legacy. By shifting away from the disposable mindset that drives much of today’s construction, architects and developers can begin to create structures that respect the planet rather than exploit it.
Rocks and stone connect the disparate societies, from ghostly monoliths stuck in the earth to tragic heaps of concrete rubble waiting to be hauled off and repurposed anew. Through Kossakovsky’s inquisitive lens, the grandeur and folly of humanity and its precarious relationship with nature posits the urgent question: How do we build, and how can we build better, before it’s too late?
It begins with ruins. Viktor Kossakovsky’s Architecton opens in a hushed sweep through the wreckage of Ukrainian apartment blocks, their walls split open by Russian bombs, exposing kitchens, bedrooms, and living rooms to the wind. It is an unflinching image of fragility: homes stripped of their function, reduced to rubble, yet still clinging to the orderly grid of their original design. The camera moves deliberately, almost tenderly, forcing us to take stock of what has been lost—not only in these lives interrupted but also in the ambitions of the structures themselves.
This is the tone that defines Architecton, a film both monumental in its scope and mournful in its critique. Across ninety-eight hypnotic minutes, Kossakovsky takes us on a journey through the life cycle of stone and concrete, from raw material to architectural triumph to inevitable decay. The film is wordless for long stretches, save for the occasional musings of Italian architect Michele De Lucchi, whose reflections lend the film a philosophical weight. “We don’t just design buildings,” he observes. “We design the behavior of people.”
But the designs, Architecton suggests, are failing—not only the people who inhabit them but also the planet itself.
Architecton: A Concrete Warning for a Crumbling World
Humanity’s greatest enemy is itself. That much is clear in Architecton, Victor Kossakovsky’s latest cinematic offering. The Russian filmmaker’s 98-minute documentary is a hypnotic, poetic exploration of the destruction we have wrought upon our planet—one bag of cement at a time.
The imagery is stunning, even as it disturbs. From the gaping wounds of Austria’s Erzberg mine to the bombed-out remains of Ukrainian housing blocks, to the rubble left behind in Mersin, Turkey, after the devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake in February 2023, Kossakovsky captures the apocalyptic reality of human progress. Slow-motion shots and sweeping drone footage transform scenes of devastation into a grotesque kind of beauty, the horror softened by a haunting visual rhythm.
At its heart, Architecton is an indictment of concrete—the second most consumed substance on Earth after water. Kossakovsky’s camera takes us on a meditative journey through quarries, crushing plants, and cement factories. We see kilometre-long freight trains hauling stone, bright yellow excavators clawing at the earth, and the eerie precision of a 3D concrete printer as it extrudes layers of grey.
A remarkable exploration of the materials that shape our world: concrete and its timeless predecessor, stone.
The Rise and Fall of Concrete
But what stands out most in Architecton is the way it reclaims concrete’s narrative. Once a symbol of human ingenuity and permanence, it is now a reminder of our hubris. The film lingers on the aftermath: demolition sites where broken chunks of concrete are dumped like lifeless corpses, classified as hazardous waste. Stone, once considered eternal, is shown to have a life cycle—a birth and a death, both defined by human hands.
Italian architect Michele De Lucchi lends his voice to this reflection, appearing in the film to discuss the contradictions of working with stone.
“We’ve developed a certain sensitivity for animals and plants, but this film brings even stone to life, giving it an almost organic character.”
Seen constructing a stone circle at his home near Lake Maggiore, De Lucchi confronts the dissonance between permanence and waste. “Why do we build such ugly, disposable buildings when we know how to create something beautiful? I’m currently designing a skyscraper in Milan, and honestly, I’m ashamed of it.”
It’s a poignant moment, capturing the cognitive dissonance many architects must feel as they grapple with the environmental cost of their creations.
What Comes After Concrete?
Architecton doesn’t just critique; it provokes. The film’s closing statement—“After water, concrete is the most widely used substance on Earth”—is a quiet gut punch, leaving viewers with a question: What comes next?
Developers and architects have alternatives if they are willing to embrace them. Biocomposite materials like hempcrete and mycelium offer sustainable solutions that sequester carbon rather than emit it. Circular construction practices, which recycle and repurpose demolition waste, could drastically reduce the impact of new builds.
"I appeal to scientists and engineers: we must mobilize eight billion minds to find a substitute for concrete. We need to discover something that allows us to build structures that last, all while respecting nature." — Victor Kossakovsky
Urban greening strategies, from vertical gardens to permeable pavements, can help cities breathe again, reducing heat and allowing water to flow naturally through the earth. And even technologies like 3D printing—depicted ominously in the film—could be harnessed for good, using local materials or geopolymers to create less wasteful designs.
A Stark Warning, a Quiet Hope
The tone of Architecton is unmistakably bleak, recalling Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi with its sparse narration, dramatic score, and sweeping critique of humanity’s excesses. Yet, like Reggio’s work, Kossakovsky’s documentary contains a seed of hope—an implicit challenge to rethink our relationship with the materials that shape our world.
Concrete may be ubiquitous, but it doesn’t have to be our legacy. By shifting away from the disposable mindset that drives much of today’s construction, architects and developers can begin to create structures that respect the planet rather than exploit it.
Rocks and stone connect the disparate societies, from ghostly monoliths stuck in the earth to tragic heaps of concrete rubble waiting to be hauled off and repurposed anew. Through Kossakovsky’s inquisitive lens, the grandeur and folly of humanity and its precarious relationship with nature posits the urgent question: How do we build, and how can we build better, before it’s too late?
