[yasr_overall_rating]
A young Spanish woman who has recently moved to Berlin finds her flirtation with a local guy turn potentially deadly, as their night out with his friends reveals a dangerous secret.
Long, single-shot camera takes have been a popular cinematic technique since Hitchcock played with it in his classic “Rope,” where the mystery unravels like the titular coiled thread, in one continuous, seemingly unedited narrative. Hitch skillfully cut his shots by panning close over characters’ backs, or zooming in tight on objects, and while it’s quite obvious where the cuts occur to the desensitized eye of the current moviegoer, back in 1948 it was revolutionary, and paved the way to such contemporary classics as “Children of Men,” “Birdman,” “Gravity”… and the not-so-classic “The Silent House.” Sebastian Schipper’s “Victoria” doesn’t have the technical precision or production values of those Hollywood giants, but the lack of gloss plays in its favor. It’s not a mere gimmick; the “one-take” approach is crucial to the story.
Right off the bat, the film establishes its propulsive rhythm by plunging us into Berlin’s kaleidoscopic club scene, the electronic soundtrack’s four-by-four beat resembling the human pulse. Victoria (Laia Costa), recently relocated from Madrid, dances by herself, then flirts with the waiter, somewhat-desperately. She seeks a connection in a new city, which has left her alone and dejected – that is, until she meets the persistent and charming Sonne (Frederick Lau) on the way out of the club.
Sonne hangs out with his gang of self-proclaimed (on multiple occasions) “true Berliners”: hotheaded Boxer (Franz Rogowski), goofy Blinker (Burak Yigit), and increasingly wasted Fuss (Max Mauff). After casually trying to steal a car and escaping from its owner, they promise to show Victoria the “real Berlin.” Exhilarated by their acceptance, Victoria eagerly joins them, to soon discover that the “real Berlin” involves stealing booze from a liquor shop, whose elderly clerk is deep asleep. When Victoria questions the theft, Sonne assures her, “I’ll pay him back tomorrow. I’ve known him a very long time.” She’s not quite buying it, but goes along with it, even grabbing a bag of peanuts on the way out.
Sonne’s entourage of misfits is brash, intimidating, careless – but also goofy and intriguing. Sonne focuses on flirting with Victoria, while his gang bounces and causes havoc around him, shifting from playfulness to animosity within seconds – particularly the violence-prone Boxer. Police cars drive by, faceless cops eyeing them suspiciously, a foreboding presence.
Minor misdemeanors lead to bigger stakes, with Sonne eventually asking Victoria to take part in an impromptu heist. She sinks deeper and deeper into the quicksand, as the audience watches helplessly. The film does a great job evoking tension through language barrier: we understand what’s unraveling sooner than Victoria, who doesn’t speak German – another nifty ode to Hitchcock. We know the bomb is ticking under that table, always seconds ahead of the film’s hapless lead.
There are many standout sequences in “Victoria,” a few particularly worth pointing out, such as when the characters’ dialogue fades, and a minimalist piano score (courtesy of composer Nils Frahm) follows them for a while, making Victoria seem trapped, naive and helpless in the company of daunting hoodlums. There is also a beautiful little detour, when Victoria plays piano for Sonne – a tender moment, the calm before the storm. Other gripping scenes include a sudden panic attack; a car engine dying at a crucial moment; a breathless, white-knuckle escape, and the consequent prolonged chase sequence which, while lacking credibility at times, never loses momentum.
The cinematography by Sturla Brandth Grøvlen is spectacular. The single-take approach works seamlessly, making one forget they’re watching what is essentially an extended cinematic stunt – quite the feat. Without the experience or budgetary resources of, say, “Gravity”’s Emmanuel Lubezki, Grøvlen pulls it off with aplomb, demonstrating a proficiency that’s truly awe-inspiring. Whether or not digital editing trickery was used, the fact that my trained eye wasn’t able to tell makes “Victoria” a stunning technical achievement.
The unflinching, almost intrusive camerawork also serves the story, emphasizing its heroine’s claustrophobic spiral into the depths of immorality, and the film’s central theme of circular fate: we revisit locations, which all seem within driving distances of each other, but take on different connotations as the story progresses; the film ends virtually the same way it begins, with one major difference I won’t spoil here. “Victoria”’s “rope” forms an ouroboros, both visually and thematically.
Laia Costa in the titular role brings to mind Carey Mulligan with her doe eyes, an endearing fragility and reserves of hidden/unexpected strength. If there’s one nag, it’s Victoria’s naiveté, which at times approaches pure stupidity. There are several moments in the film where she should have just said “no.” Sonne even offers to take her back to safety at a crucial point, to which she firmly – and inexplicably – responds, “I want to go back with you.” Perhaps it’s an intentional choice, showing the lengths to which one would go to avoid solitude, but Victoria’s past is not clearly enough defined to make her actions justifiable. While there are definitely traces of attraction, she is not expressly in love with Sonne either; “love at first sight” would have at least provided a semblance of rationale.
That said, it was the filmmakers’ choice, and Costa manages to overcome her character’s lack of concrete motivation with a commanding, soulful performance. Frederick Lau almost steals scenes as the by turns mischievous, affectionate and precarious Sonne, the leader of the pack.
Schipper, a German director who has worked with Tom Tykwer on several occasions, clearly learned from the auteur, and brings an energy and flow to “Victoria” that brings to mind Tykwer’s “Run Lola Run.” The suspense builds fast, beat by beat, the director layering it on like a master pastry chef.
Despite my niggles with the protagonist’s (lack of) reasoning, “Victoria” does effectively demonstrate how easily susceptible we all find ourselves to perilous influences, especially when displaced, lost and alone. It’s also a visceral portrait of current-day Berlin’s seedier side, focusing on the lower-middle-class youth, its aimlessness and pathos. Above all, “Victoria” succeeds at being a thrill ride, and sustaining our breathless attention, in one take, for over two hours. It shows that, when used well, long takes can have a powerful and lasting effect. Bring on “The Revenant.”
In select theaters including the Angelika Dallas November 27th
