In an interview for the Lincoln Center, director Christian Petzold cites his mentor, Harun Farocki, while talking about his tendency to conceptualize his films as trilogies, to create links between them. His filmography is rich in undertones and all sorts of meta- and intertextual relationships between his movies. His latest, Undine, is the first of a series of stories that use the four elements as their leitmotif (the next film, it seems, will be dedicated to fire), but it also has an intertextual relationship to his previous effort – Transit (2018). Paula Beer and Franz Rogowski reprise the dynamics that their characters shared in the 2018 feature, in a mythical double of sorts, without, however, having the stories depend on each other. Undine does not depend on Transit, it’s a stand-alone story, but for those who have seen the previous film, the connections are clear, tracing a second mythology – that of Petzold himself.

“You shall love me forever, or you will die” is the pact that lies at the basis of the myth of Undine, best known from the novella penned by Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué, which went on to generate various other reinterpretations (such as opera, ballet, and so on), including a feminist reading in Ingeborg Bachmann’s Undine geht. In exchange for the promise of eternal love, Undine, a water spirit, leaves the lake where she dwells and offers to be next to you, in any way you please. If you change your mind, however, you must die. A story, just as how most folk and fairy tales tend to be, that isn’t very generous in terms of female self-determination. Practically, it’s the fetishistic image of a splendorous mythical creature that spends more time in the nude rather than dressed, and who wishes for nothing more than for the rule of the game to be upheld, and not necessarily due to any concrete personal aim.

In Christian Petzold’s Undine, the titular Undine takes the shape of a tour guide that works for the German Senate, tasked with presenting a series of dioramas that reproduce various parts of Berlin, while delivering speeches about the politicized history of the town build over what was once a swamp, while oscillating between two relationships – one with Johannes (Jacob Matschenz) and the other with Christoph (Franz Rogowski).

The film opens on a break-up, recorded on the visage of Paula Beer, who is framed in a close-up. “If you leave, I will have to kill you. You know that,” says Undine in the first few minutes, seemingly disproportionate in relationship with her subtle acting, the chic cafe that acts as the scene’s backdrop, and the film’s austere shots. This is where the fairy tale adapted by Christian Petzold and Undine’s magical realism begin. Contemporary, simple images, enriched by the aura of the past and that of mythology.

Even though the city has an important role to play in Petzold’s story, it is nature that is the bearer of magic. The same as in the films of Miguel Gomes or those of Apichatpong Weerasethakul, nature is a visual element that floats somewhere at the edge of the frame, contrasting with the urban backdrop, the cold colors, the drab framing. It’s hard to find a shot in Undine that doesn’t have a plant, water, or a combination thereof, in a shape or another, and if they are not present, the sequence is dominated by some small, totemic object, that is invested with supernatural powers (the figurine of a diver, for example, proves to play a decisive role in one of the characters’ lives). Besides, the thin line between life and death itself is crossed several times, both ways, constantly signaling that we are no longer on a plane of existence where these things matter, but rather on one that is supernatural, governed by symbols, magic, and mysticism.

If a given sequence may seem cold or aseptic, such as the scenes that feature Undine at work, its role is precisely to showcase a space that has been drained of any mysticism. Urbanization encroaches upon magical spaces. Talking about the history of Berlin, Undine discusses the concrete objects that intervene over the natural, magical space. Which is a possible explanation for the cold, slightly aggressive manner in which Beer delivers her lengthy presentations about the history of the city.

Water is, of course, the main leitmotif, and Petzold plants the seeds of symbols at every step, reinterpreting them – a fountain in a coffee shop, an aquarium, a reservoir, Berlin itself (which is built over a swamp). All of these are intersections between terrestrial day-to-day life and the supernaturally-endowed water. Christoph works as a utilitarian diver, while Undine is a tour guide to a series of scale models, both living in simulations of the other’s world. And their love story begins with a “baptism” brought on by the water that flows from a broken aquarium.

Without being in any sense minimalistic, Undine is crafted in a simple, austere directorial key, with an atmosphere that is very dense and well carried throughout the film. The mechanics that lie beneath the actions that transpire are simple, but their effects are much greater than that. Christoph and Undine’s love story is transposed into an intimacy that is built from simple yet expressive gestures, a choreography of embraces and touches. Petzold directs in details, in simple actions that immediately set the atmosphere. And Frank Rogowski and Paula Beer are the perfect actors for this, simple and connected, contained, executing each simple, natural and opaque action.

That being said, even though Petzold’s process is inspired by Bachmann’s feminist initiative, meaning that he also sets about coming up with a progressive perspective of a mythological figure that has been sculpted by the male gaze, character-Undine doesn’t have complex psychology or an unexpected character arc. In the end, she is still defined by her love stories, with occasional breaks dedicated to her job (which says a lot more about the film’s and its director’s thematic universe, than about her). Beer plants a little bit of the mystical, alienated roots of a mythological creature in her opaque performance of a character that is much rather reactive to the various events that happen to her, than coming across as autonomous and in control of her own destiny. Practically, Petzold sketches the passage from a character that is completely devoid of an inner life to a character that is governed by erotic impulses, that does everything for, or because of their partners.

“Undine” won the FIPRESCI award at the 2020 edition of the Berlinale and has won Paula Beer two awards – Best Actress at the aforementioned festival, as well as at the European Film Academy Awards. In Romania, the film is distributed by Independența Film and is available now in cinemas.

Alex Mircioi

Film and theatre critic, sometimes dabbles in theatre-making. Has written and edited texts for Film Menu and Acoperișul de Sticlă, and collaborated with a number of other cultural publications like AperiTIFF, Scena9, All About Romanian Cinema and Film. Desperately in love with female filmmakers and writers, could always go for a queer coming-of-age.