I remember sitting in the TIFF 2014 world premiere of Christian Petzold’s Phoenix, willing myself to let go. If you cannot suspend your disbelief and let Petzold take you by the hand, you will struggle to dive into his stories, which is true too for Petzold’s new Berlinale Competition contender Undine (and to a certain degree last year’s Transit, a relationship precursor to his latest). If you surrender to his curious storytelling, you are in for an intimately romantic and quietly humorous treat with Undine (trailer).
Sunday, February 23. 2020
Berlinale 2020: UNDINE #review
I remember sitting in the TIFF 2014 world premiere of Christian Petzold’s Phoenix, willing myself to let go. If you cannot suspend your disbelief and let Petzold take you by the hand, you will struggle to dive into his stories, which is true too for Petzold’s new Berlinale Competition contender Undine (and to a certain degree last year’s Transit, a relationship precursor to his latest). If you surrender to his curious storytelling, you are in for an intimately romantic and quietly humorous treat with Undine (trailer).
After his Ghost trilogy (Yella; Ghosts; The State I Am In) and explorations of 20th century European history with Barbara, Phoenix, and Transit —all love stories—, Petzold told The Film Experience that Undine is the beginning of a new trilogy about German myths. Like Transit (which made it onto Obama’s favourite film list), Undine is a literary adaptation, of Ingeborg Bachmann’s narration “Undine Leaves,” but Petzold puts his own spin on the gender perspective and power imbalance. “The breaking of this curse from a female perspective struck me as the right narrative approach,” Petzold said. Before a word is spoken at the beginning of the film, we see in Undine’s face what is about to happen. When her boyfriend leaves her, the curse of the German Romanticist mermaid tale awakens: Undine must kill the man who betrays her and return to the water. But then industrial diver Christoph steps into her life.
Christian Petzold returns to the Berlinale competition for the fifth time with the world premiere of Undine, bringing along his actors from last year's Transit: Paula Beer (Frantz; Never Look Away), Franz Rogowski (A Hidden Life; In the Aisles; also at the Berlinale 2020 in Black Milk), Maryam Zaree (System Crasher; Born in Evin). Plus an oversized catfish named Gunther.
Paula Beer is phenomenal from the first moment, to the point where she would deserve a Silver Beer as Best Actress. She reaches a whole new level of external and internal maturity, strongly reminiscent of Nina Hoss’ Barbara when she repeatedly stops in the hallway of the museum where she works and looks out of the window. In her young career, Beer has gone from earthy in Ozon’s Frantz to airy in Transit to fiery in Bad Banks and now to a tsunami in Undine. She creates a self-contained professional woman who is attractive by being intellectual and sensual at the same time, to the point where she uses a lecture on Berlin’s controversial palais restoration as pillow talk. “You say such clever things. And so many of them. And in such a beautiful way,” Christoph entices Undine, who works as a historian lecturing on Berlin’s urban development, one night.
We get two films in one, which does not always connect organically; in a way I would have preferred two films -- the exploration of Berlin’s urbanscape and built history, and the hermetic love story, which somewhat oddly escapes to Western Germany for some core scenes. “The characters live in a world demystified by capitalism, in which feelings have become wares you can return at Amazon. Perhaps these ghosts can bring back the magic; we have to find it in the spaces around us,” Petzold told Berlin’s Tagesspiegel, hinting at a political undercurrent that many will miss.
Like in Transit, the focus is on a chercher l'homme (and only later a chercher la femme) plot that oscillates between love and loss, immersed in a watery world that engulfs both protagonists as a symbol of transformation: in tears, running tabs, a restaurant aquarium, lakes, ponds, divers, a pool, the river Spree. This allows Petzold's regular and ever brilliant DoP Hans Fromm to channel the hypnotic blue-ish imagery from Transit (remember the train scene?) albeit minus the Mediterranean shimmer and more washed out and muddied. Under the umbrella of the fantastical framework, he playfully experiments with extreme close-ups, dizzying zoom, and underwater photography. Early on, he creates a spectacular aquarium scene, where Undine and Christoph are literally flooded by love, the aquarium’s toy diver magically coming to live as her real diver. The love story is so absolute, they will soon turn into Romeo and Juliet.
Guillermo del Toro’s Oscar winner The Shape of Water comes to mind, but Petzold’s style is more billowing, more blurred, also leaving many in the audience puzzled. It’s a film you have to feel and that will likely never give up all of its secrets. Just when you start to wonder, half way through, where all this love is leading, Petzold turns a few unexpected tricks. The last thing we see we see through Undine’s eyes. “Cinema shows humans who want to be human,” Petzold proclaims.
by Jutta Brendemühl
image courtesy of Berlinale
Christian Petzold returns to the Berlinale competition for the fifth time with the world premiere of Undine, bringing along his actors from last year's Transit: Paula Beer (Frantz; Never Look Away), Franz Rogowski (A Hidden Life; In the Aisles; also at the Berlinale 2020 in Black Milk), Maryam Zaree (System Crasher; Born in Evin). Plus an oversized catfish named Gunther.
Paula Beer is phenomenal from the first moment, to the point where she would deserve a Silver Beer as Best Actress. She reaches a whole new level of external and internal maturity, strongly reminiscent of Nina Hoss’ Barbara when she repeatedly stops in the hallway of the museum where she works and looks out of the window. In her young career, Beer has gone from earthy in Ozon’s Frantz to airy in Transit to fiery in Bad Banks and now to a tsunami in Undine. She creates a self-contained professional woman who is attractive by being intellectual and sensual at the same time, to the point where she uses a lecture on Berlin’s controversial palais restoration as pillow talk. “You say such clever things. And so many of them. And in such a beautiful way,” Christoph entices Undine, who works as a historian lecturing on Berlin’s urban development, one night.
We get two films in one, which does not always connect organically; in a way I would have preferred two films -- the exploration of Berlin’s urbanscape and built history, and the hermetic love story, which somewhat oddly escapes to Western Germany for some core scenes. “The characters live in a world demystified by capitalism, in which feelings have become wares you can return at Amazon. Perhaps these ghosts can bring back the magic; we have to find it in the spaces around us,” Petzold told Berlin’s Tagesspiegel, hinting at a political undercurrent that many will miss.
Like in Transit, the focus is on a chercher l'homme (and only later a chercher la femme) plot that oscillates between love and loss, immersed in a watery world that engulfs both protagonists as a symbol of transformation: in tears, running tabs, a restaurant aquarium, lakes, ponds, divers, a pool, the river Spree. This allows Petzold's regular and ever brilliant DoP Hans Fromm to channel the hypnotic blue-ish imagery from Transit (remember the train scene?) albeit minus the Mediterranean shimmer and more washed out and muddied. Under the umbrella of the fantastical framework, he playfully experiments with extreme close-ups, dizzying zoom, and underwater photography. Early on, he creates a spectacular aquarium scene, where Undine and Christoph are literally flooded by love, the aquarium’s toy diver magically coming to live as her real diver. The love story is so absolute, they will soon turn into Romeo and Juliet.
Guillermo del Toro’s Oscar winner The Shape of Water comes to mind, but Petzold’s style is more billowing, more blurred, also leaving many in the audience puzzled. It’s a film you have to feel and that will likely never give up all of its secrets. Just when you start to wonder, half way through, where all this love is leading, Petzold turns a few unexpected tricks. The last thing we see we see through Undine’s eyes. “Cinema shows humans who want to be human,” Petzold proclaims.
by Jutta Brendemühl
image courtesy of Berlinale
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