Three families inhabit an estate house, complete with charming red bricks, tall windows and a very spacious barn. It is only time that separates them.
The first story takes place at some point in the 19th century, and they speak a dialect of German barely comprehensible to the modern ear. Erika hops around the long corridors of a house on one leg and crutches: it looks like a tribute to the “dancing cripple” of RW Fassbinder’s Chinese Roulette (1976). Then she contemplates touching the body of a naked man in bed. Meanwhile, a man outside repeatedly screams: “Erika, get the pigs now”. Some of these strange developments will make sense later in the film, while others will remain as moot as the film title. Creepy Alma, a girl aged roughly eight with the perfectly braided hair buns and the perplexion of a ghost takes centre stage as she observe the adults haggle over their mortality. Her uncle Fritz has a leg amputated against his will, after a very questionable “work accident”.
The second story takes place in the GDR, and they now speak intelligible German. The house looks virtually the same from outside, bar a small, unfinished construction erected on the side. It is the cars and the clothes that give the clue as to the era. The knowledge that a river represents an internal border, and someone has made it do the West, serves to confirm that the action indeed happens in the now defunct Communist nation. A very stern mother anchors the story. Eccentric uncles and boisterous children complete the picture. The third story is the one least explored. It takes place in present-day Germany, around two girls who love dreamy indie rock, and enjoy swimming in the numerous lakes nearby,
Sound of Falling has a duration of 150 minutes, and it takes a long amount of time to work out roughly in which time period the various stories take place. This is intentional. Forty-one-year-old, Berlin-born filmmaker Mascha Schilinski sets out to confound viewers by playing with audio, colours and textures. The director consistently seeks to provoke viewers by giving them the opposite of what’s expected. Sound is removed at some of the most dramatic moments, while cracking noises and random humming are inserted when least expected. Sepia suddenly turns into vivid hues. Blurs and distortion effects pop up out of nowhere. All of this is achieved through elegant wizardry. Schilinski calmly navigates between gothic horror, Victor Ericean fantasy and Tarkovskian dreamscapes to breathtaking results. Some of the imagery is hauntingly memorable, in particular the two indie music scenes.
Thematically, this is a story about family, tradition, death and the inevitability of time. A constant focus on different parts of the human anatomy – a dirty foot, a missing leg, the eye of a corpse sewn open – make Sound of Falling a tactile experience. Handling fish and eel (on a bike even) becomes a proxy for sex and the penis – which are often discussed yet never shown. Uncle Fritz experiences phantom pains in his missing leg (as if the limb was still there), while his fully abled sister cannot feel neither one of her functioning legs for no apparent reason.
These phantom pains become representative of the film experience per se: viewers experience pleasure and suffering through responsive mimicry. In other words, we feel the pain of the characters who are no longer there. Sound of Falling is an extremely complex and multilayered exploration of our humanity, never afraid to tread the darkest corners of our existence. It is also a sombre and intricate portrait of a nation struggling to make sense of its fractured history. Just don’t try too hard to join the dots. Historicity, didacticism and literalism are not on Schilinski’s priority list. Expect a very demanding however extremely rewarding watch, as long as you keep your eyes wide open. Please sew them agape if necessary.
Sound of Falling premiered in the Official Competitio of the 78th Festival de Cannes, when this piece was originally written. Also showing in Karlovy Vary, Sarajevo, the BFI London Film Festival, and the Tallinn Black Nights
