In a rapidly unfolding controversy that has gripped Ukraine’s cultural sector, several prominent theaters across the country have suspended or canceled productions based on the works of American filmmaker Woody Allen. The move comes in direct response to Allen’s virtual participation in the Moscow International Film Week in August 2025, a decision that has sparked fierce backlash from Ukrainian officials, artists, and the wider public.
The first domino to fall was Kyiv’s Molodyi Theater, which announced on August 26, 2025, that it would halt all performances of Riverside Drive, an adaptation of Allen’s work that had been scheduled for September 18. In a sharply worded statement, the theater declared, “We condemn the participation of American director Woody Allen in the Moscow International Film Week. Culture cannot serve as a cover for crimes.” The message was clear: any connection to what they termed the “culture of the aggressor state” was now deemed unacceptable.
This was not an isolated action. The Chernivtsi Regional Olga Kobylianska Music and Drama Theater had already canceled its production of Ex-comedy of a Summer Night, or How Foolish the Whole Human Race Is, also penned by Allen. Their rationale? The theater “does not tolerate any direct or indirect links with hostile culture,” inviting audiences to return their tickets or exchange them for alternative performances. In Lviv, the Maria Zankovetska National Theater took similar steps, temporarily suspending the musical Bullets Over Broadway. That show, based on the screenplay of Allen’s film but adapted for Broadway by a team of authors and producers, was replaced in the schedule by the Ukrainian musical Chervona Ruta. Ticket holders were assured their purchases would be honored for the new performance.
The Zankovetska Theater administration explained its stance, noting, “We condemn the participation of American director Woody Allen in the Moscow International Film Week. Bullets Over Broadway is based on the screenplay of his film but is not an entirely original work—it was adapted for Broadway by a team of authors and producers. Nevertheless, we decided to suspend the production until we receive clarification from the rights holders.”
These cultural decisions were not made in a vacuum. The Ukrainian Ministry of Foreign Affairs issued a scathing social media post, calling Allen’s appearance at the Moscow festival “a disgrace and an insult to the sacrifice of Ukrainian actors and filmmakers who have been killed or injured by Russian war criminals in their ongoing war against Ukraine.” The ministry’s statement continued, “Culture must never be used to whitewash crimes or serve as a propaganda tool. We strongly condemn Woody Allen’s decision to bless Moscow’s bloody festival with his address.”
The Ukrainian government’s official X (formerly Twitter) account also joined the fray, posting a photoshopped parody of Allen’s film Vicky Cristina Barcelona. In the image, Allen’s face replaces Scarlett Johansson’s, while Russian President Vladimir Putin lurks ominously in the background, the movie’s title cheekily altered to “Vladimir Woody Moscow.” The meme quickly went viral, with social media users weighing in with a mix of outrage, sarcasm, and dark humor. Some commenters remarked, “Can’t cancel someone who’s already cancelled,” while others pointed to Allen’s controversial personal history, with one bluntly stating, “He married his daughter.”
Despite the mounting criticism, Allen did not shy away from the controversy. In a statement delivered by his assistant to CNN, the director addressed the uproar: “When it comes to the conflict in Ukraine, I believe strongly that Vladimir Putin is totally in the wrong. The war he has caused is appalling.” Allen went on to argue, “But, whatever politicians have done, I don’t feel cutting off artistic conversations is ever a good way to help.”
Allen’s comments echoed his earlier public stance, where he categorically condemned Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine but maintained that cultural dialogue should not be suspended. He stressed that “cutting off artistic conversations was never a good way to help,” a sentiment that, while perhaps well-intentioned, failed to resonate with many Ukrainian cultural institutions and officials. The Molodyi Theater, for example, was unequivocal in its response, asserting that “culture cannot serve as a cover for crimes.”
Allen’s virtual appearance at the Moscow International Film Week was itself a subdued affair. He praised classic Soviet cinema, including the eight-hour adaptation of War and Peace, and shared insights into his directorial process—all delivered via a screen that, as some critics joked, was “way too big for a Zoom session with an 89-year-old creep.” While Allen’s remarks focused on the art of filmmaking, the context in which they were delivered could not be separated from the ongoing war and the political significance attached to any cultural engagement with Russia.
The controversy has reignited longstanding debates about the role of art and artists in times of conflict. Is it possible—or even desirable—to separate the creator from the context in which their work is presented? For many in Ukraine, the answer appears to be a firm no, at least for now. Theaters and cultural institutions have drawn a clear line, arguing that even indirect links to Russian culture, or to those seen as legitimizing Russian platforms, are intolerable while the war continues.
Yet Allen’s defenders, both in Ukraine and abroad, point to the dangers of cultural isolation. They argue that art can serve as a bridge in times of division, and that shutting down artistic dialogue may do more harm than good in the long run. Allen himself has consistently maintained that “cultural dialogue should not be suspended,” even as he unequivocally condemns the Russian invasion.
Meanwhile, the backlash against Allen in Ukraine shows no sign of abating. Theaters have made it clear that their actions are not just symbolic; they are intended as a direct response to what they see as a betrayal of Ukrainian artists and a tacit endorsement of Russian propaganda. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ public condemnation and the viral social media campaign underscore the depth of feeling on the issue, as well as the high stakes involved for those working in Ukraine’s cultural sphere.
In a conflict where information, symbols, and cultural narratives are fiercely contested, the suspension of Woody Allen’s works from Ukrainian stages is more than just a matter of programming. It’s a reflection of a nation’s determination to assert its own cultural identity and to resist what it sees as attempts to “whitewash” aggression through the veneer of art. As the war grinds on, these choices—however painful or controversial—are likely to become only more pronounced.
For now, Ukrainian audiences will have to look elsewhere for their theater fix, as the country’s stages make a powerful statement about the intersection of art, politics, and the enduring cost of war.
