Antonio Lukich’s Luxembourg, Luxembourg is a road movie unlike most. It doesn’t chase adventure or escape. It runs after a ghost—a father who abandoned two twin brothers long ago—and what it finds along the way is a mirror to a fractured identity: both personal and national.

Set against the post-Soviet backdrop of contemporary Ukraine, the film follows Kolya and Vasya, twin brothers with radically different personalities and paths. One’s a lawless hustler, the other a dutiful cop. When they learn that their estranged father is dying in Luxembourg, the news sets them off on a journey full of ambivalence, resentment, and absurdity. It’s a physical trip, yes—but above all, an emotional one through memory, masculinity, and the debris of a dysfunctional family.

Lukich balances a dry, almost surreal humor with profound melancholy. The use of real-life twin actors Amil and Ramil Nasirov adds a layer of authenticity, while the cinematography captures a Ukraine rarely shown: not one at war, but one tangled in bureaucracy, everyday absurdities and internal migration. Every frame carries the quiet tension of a country caught between past and future, between roots and departure.

Rather than glorifying the road or redemption, the film embraces contradiction and confusion. The father, like the title, is both distant and oddly present—an idea more than a man. Luxembourg becomes a metaphor, not just a destination, but a symbol of things longed for but never fully grasped.

With a tone that recalls early Aki Kaurismäki or even the Coen brothers at their gentlest, Luxembourg, Luxembourg is a gem of contemporary Ukrainian cinema, blending humor and pain with rare precision. It doesn’t offer closure, but instead an open window into how we carry our fathers, our failures, and our countries—whether we like it or not.