Universal Theory

Aspiring physicist "Johannes" (Jan Bülow) is traveling with his tutor "Strathen" (Hanns Zischler) to a conference in Switzerland, aware that his rather radical thinking has narked his professor who wishes him to conform to more established theories. Indeed things are distinctly tense between them when they encounter "Blumberg" (Gottfried Breitfuss) on their train. He has some past with "Strathen" which isn't exactly friendly, but they continue their journey together with the young man promised any help he needs to get his dissertation over the line. Once they arrive, "Johannes" gets caught up in one of the many storms that frequent their mountainside hotel and seeks refuge in a church. Likewise, a few moments later, does "Karin" (Olivia Ross). He's immediately smitten but she doesn't hang around for long enough to even exchange names. Luckily for him, she happens to play the piano in the hotel's jazz bar and so maybe a meeting can happen after all? It's almost simultaneous with their arrival that he starts to feel distinctively out-of-sorts. A sense of déjà-vu often seems to follow him as he feels he has met her before somewhere. Her bauhaus vacillates between the distant and (very) friendly, which he doesn't really comprehend either. Also, his timelines seem to be jumping about and when the avuncular "Blumberg" falls foul of a tragedy his befuddlement takes on an whole new life of it's own? What is going on here? It's as if the mountain has it's own secrets to keep? Is it all just too much wine? Or is there something more sinister going on? His is a mind of the rational and the scientific - ill equipped for matters ethereal or superstitious, so when the police come calling asking questions about the enigmatic "Karin", what can he make of it all? There are some quite intriguing threads to the story, here, as it tries to intertwine the factual with the less easily explicable and the snowscapes, frosty characterisation of "Strathen" and monochrome presentation add effectively chilling elements as the plot reveals a sense of the we know that we are missing something, but we don't know what it is, and we might never know. Unfortunately, Bülow is a bit weak to carry this off, and the annoyingly fragmented story flits about too much to give us chance to really get our teeth into it. Sure, it's quirky, unpredictable and requires us to think on more than one plain at a time, but I found it just didn't give me enough pitons to climb the mountain without sliding down far too often to square one. It does look good and does remind us that perhaps science hasn't all the answers, but I left feeling a little like "Johannes". Bemused.

The Universal Theory is a brooding and cerebral tale, blending mystery, science fiction, noir, and mad love. While it may disappoint genre fans seeking a pure science fiction experience, it excels as a haunting meditation on identity and desire. Rather than exploring scientific concepts in depth, it uses the aesthetic of science fiction to evoke pensive moods and profound existential questions. Though one of many recent multiverse movies, The Universal Theory stands apart, offering a unique and deeply emotional take on the concept.

Cultural touchpoints abound in reviews of the film, and rightfully so. Hitchcock, Truffaut, Lynch, Carol Reed, Dürrenmatt, and Maya Deren have all been referenced, and these comparisons feel apt. More surgically, I'd add Dead Mountaineer's Hotel (Grigori Kromanov's 1979 film and the 1970 novel by the Strugatsky Brothers) and Julien Duvivier's L'affaire Maurizius (1954). Dead Mountaineer's Hotel, another alpine-set sci-fi noir, seems like the film's clearest ancestor, while the paranoia, investigation, and shadows of Swiss-set L'affaire Maurizius resonate here too. And yet, for all its influences, The Universal Theory feels startlingly original, much like Alien-a film that, despite being a swag bag of looted stories and motifs, became its own iconic entity.

The story takes place in the 1950s, when a mysterious physics conference is arranged at a remote, snow-set Swiss hotel. Physics Professor Dr. Stratten and his doctoral student Johannes Leinert travel there, to find out more about the conference. However, the scientific gathering quickly fades into the background as strange occurrences and the enigmatic Karin capture Johannes' attention. Karin, with her jazz-inflected rendition of Couperin's Les Barricades Mystérieuses, embodies the film's central mystery: beautiful and endlessly elusive.

The Universal Theory uses its science fiction framework not for scientific exploration but to probe the fragility of human existence. There is a pervasive sense that something is slightly "off" about reality. A brilliant career reduced to mediocrity by an inexplicable obstacle. Profound declarations of love rebuffed by those we believed were our soulmates. Sliding-doors moments subtly alter the trajectories of lives: in one reality, a professor has ties to the Soviets; in another, he leans west. These questions linger: Could we be anyone? Are our identities largely circumstantial?

This is not a film for those who need clear answers or a neatly tied narrative. Like Couperin's piece, The Universal Theory is intricate and ambiguous, inviting viewers to reflect rather than resolve. Its particular cocktail of genres is niche, and its appeal may not be universal-as evidenced by the bemused silence of my fellow audience members as the credits rolled. Yet, I found myself deeply moved, clapping alone, the film's strange, shadowed beauty resonating long after the lights came back on.

The Universal Theory is a niche masterpiece of strangeness, shadows, and love-sickness. For those willing to embrace its haunting mystery, it offers an unforgettable cinematic experience.

Positive: Beautiful black and withe cinematography, mixing 50's -60's edition. Comparable to some Hollywood classics. The music also feeds the atmosphere with this noirish style.

Negative: The storytelling. From the first scene, the director gives away the ending. The viewer knows the conclusion, and not only because it's a well explored subject in recent times, but because the main character say it. There are also characters that are totally irrelevant to the story. The director decides to smash the relationship between the 2 "main characters", to then explore the final days of the protagonist, which is also irrelevant, because we know it from the beginning.

A good idea, poorly written/directed.

I loved this film. Beautifully shot in the Austrian Alps, with an ingenious script, excellent cast and absolutely superb score, the plot (taking place during a physicists' conference in Switzerland in 1962) plays with ideas about metaverses or alternative realities. The dominant, expressionist score (occasionally quoting Bernard Hermann's from Vertigo) reminds us that we are in a world of film, not reality. On the other hand, the opening scene tells us that the narrative is of real and not fictional events. This play on realities becomes overt towards the end, when we witness a 'film within a film'. A film has been made of the book on which our film is based - and it has changed key events in the story! This is a multi-layered film that intrigues without being confusing, delights and entertains while presenting profound ideas, and will live with you long after the closing credits have ended.

A spontaneous decision to squeeze in one more film at Film Fest Gent made for one of my most enjoyable discoveries of the festival. After watching this B&W German film noir hommage, at a film festival, on a Tuesday afternoon, I jokingly said to my girlfriend (who I had been dragging along from film to film for three days) that she had now officially become a cinephile. Surprisingly however, I seem to be part of a rather small minority that absolutely loved this film, be it amongst those cinephiles or more casual movie go-ers.

In my opinion, Die Theorie von Allem wonderfully combines influences from many different genres to become something entirely new and exciting in its own right. The film most obviously borrows elements from film noir for most of its runtime (both in terms of plot and aesthetics), before giving way to a more surreal, almost Lynchian atmosphere in its final act. There was just so much to like for me in this film, from the many noir references to the gripping sequence where the protagonist literally goes through the rabbit hole, but the one thing that stood out to me was the absolutely gorgeous B&W cinematography. Filming this in black and white was an obvious stylistic choice to fit the typical noir material, but it also turned out to be surprisingly well suited to the decor of the film. The B&W shots of the stunning Alpine landscapes offer an original, mysterious and equally ravishing perspective on the imposing beauty of those high Swiss mountains. From the first shot of the film (after a short prologue in color), with a completely black background and more and more small flakes of snow slowly falling down the screen, I was completely hooked.

In short: Die Theorie von Allem starts off as a pitch perfect film noir hommage set in the Swiss Alps, gradually mixes in some classic Hitchcock thriller elements, before ultimately slipping out of our reach like an elusive Tarkovsky dream. By the end it's more Meshes of the Afternoon or The Mirror than The Third Man or Vertigo (it's certainly no coincidence that the film is preceded by a quote from avant-garde legend Maya Deren about myths, fact and fiction). Given that I love all of these influences, I guess I was the perfect target audience for this film, which did effectively make for an immensely satisfying experience watching it on the big screen at Film Fest Gent. The odds are pretty big that I'll be rewatching this on some dark and cold winter evening to soak in its dreamlike atmosphere and take in its beautiful imagery once more.