QUICK’N DIRTY: LIVE FROM BERLIN

Sixty-four-year-old Angela Schanelec is a German actress and director, and one of the most prominent voices of the Berlin School (a loose 21th century film movement of critically-acclaimed German filmmakers broadly characterised by sharp and realistic movies). She is a regular at the Berlinale. Her previous movie Music premiered in the event’s Official Competition three years ago. It won the Silver Bear for Best Screenplay. I doubt her latest creation will reach the same heights.

This deceptively simple story takes place in the German capital. It begins inside an office. Crane operator Thomas (Vladimir Vulević) is very worried because he missed a call from his wife Carla (Agathe Bonitzer). Two coworkers attempt to comfort him. Next we see Carla weeping. Husband and wife walk down the street together. It turns out that Carla was involved in a horrible car crash, which claimed the life of the male sitting right next to her. She survived unscathed. She does not seem traumatised. Her behaviour is nervous and erratic for a very different reason: Thomas gave up dance lessons, leaving the poor woman to practise on her own, often in the arms of strangers (including the victim of the fatal crash). The bizarre demeanour has nothing to do with denial (the first stage of grief). Carla appears naturally dysfunctional and manipulative. As a consequence, Thomas’ head explodes (in the metaphorical sense), prompting his wife to call an ambulance.

The ensuing developments are barely coherent. Carla insists that a man should not wait for his child outside school. A male recalls the sexual encounter with a woman whose vagina was so hairy he could barely penetrate it. Peculiar friends come out of nowhere and mingle with the not-so-loving couple. The weather is hot, and the characters take long walks, ride bikes and engage in small talk. Aesthetically, My Wife Cries is a very austere endeavour, with mostly static medium and long shots of extensive duration (one of Schanelec’s trademarks). The music score is minimalistic, and visual effects non0existent. The objective of Schanelec and cinematographer Marius Panduru is to emphasise informality.

Schanelec creates a wilfully disjointed story with the purpose of eliciting reflection and curiosity. The conversations are aimless and extensive. There is a vague touch of Eric Rohmer, however devoid of serendipity and casualness. The interactions are strangely contrived and stilted. This is not poor acting, but a creative choice instead. Sadly, it doesn’t work. My Wife Cries feels like shallow intellectual titillation.

The story climaxes with Thomas, Carla and their friends dancing in circles to the sound of Leonard Cohen’s Lover, Lover, Lover. The Canadian singer begs his flame to return. A message for Thomas and Carla? That’s for viewers to decide. Is the film a comment on gender relations and sexuality? Frankly, I couldn’t be bothered to find an answer. The randomness of My Wife Cries is such that I simply lost interest.

My Wife Cries just premiered in the Official Competition of the 76th Berlinale.