Rejecting conventional storytelling
I saw someone describe "The Girl and the Spider" as a "triumph of nonsensical filmmaking," clearly meant in a negative way-and I have to say, I found that frustrating.
To me, the film is anything but nonsensical. Yes, it resists conventional storytelling, but that's part of what makes it so fascinating. The Zürcher brothers aren't trying to tell a plot-driven story with neat resolutions. Instead, they're exploring the emotional textures of a moment-what's felt rather than said, what's observed rather than explained.
The film operates more like chamber music than traditional drama-composed of small gestures, glances, spatial relationships, and silences. It's elliptical, atmospheric, and deeply attuned to the undercurrents between people. Calling it "nonsensical" misses the point; it's simply using a different cinematic language, one that favors ambiguity, subtlety, and emotional resonance over clarity and exposition.
One element that really lingered with me was the spider itself. It's a quiet, almost peripheral presence, but it carries a surprising symbolic weight. Spiders are creatures of connection-they weave webs, often invisible but intricately structured. That feels like a perfect metaphor for the relationships in the film: fragile, complex, and filled with tension.
The spider's unassuming presence mirrors the emotional dynamics between the characters-especially the unspoken ties between Lisa and Mara. It's not just a visual detail; it's a silent emblem of everything that's left unsaid.
In that sense, "The Girl and the Spider" may not follow traditional logic, but it makes its own kind of poetic, emotional sense. And for viewers open to that wavelength, it's a deeply rewarding experience.
To me, the film is anything but nonsensical. Yes, it resists conventional storytelling, but that's part of what makes it so fascinating. The Zürcher brothers aren't trying to tell a plot-driven story with neat resolutions. Instead, they're exploring the emotional textures of a moment-what's felt rather than said, what's observed rather than explained.
The film operates more like chamber music than traditional drama-composed of small gestures, glances, spatial relationships, and silences. It's elliptical, atmospheric, and deeply attuned to the undercurrents between people. Calling it "nonsensical" misses the point; it's simply using a different cinematic language, one that favors ambiguity, subtlety, and emotional resonance over clarity and exposition.
One element that really lingered with me was the spider itself. It's a quiet, almost peripheral presence, but it carries a surprising symbolic weight. Spiders are creatures of connection-they weave webs, often invisible but intricately structured. That feels like a perfect metaphor for the relationships in the film: fragile, complex, and filled with tension.
The spider's unassuming presence mirrors the emotional dynamics between the characters-especially the unspoken ties between Lisa and Mara. It's not just a visual detail; it's a silent emblem of everything that's left unsaid.
In that sense, "The Girl and the Spider" may not follow traditional logic, but it makes its own kind of poetic, emotional sense. And for viewers open to that wavelength, it's a deeply rewarding experience.
- two-rivers
- 6 mai 2025