Sound of Falling

Bertold Brecht said: a picture of the Krupp steel plant says nothing about the Krupp steel plant.

This pretentious piece of vanity is an overload of pictures and sounds, but it's hollow inside. It transports nothing than its own nothingness camouflaged as importance - with an exclamation mark. I am important! I am art !

But it isn't. Art isn't about barfing out all that comes to your mind. Or filming all that happens. It's about choosing, about selecting, about extracting. Extracting truth. About experiencing something, and then expressing it in the form of art you chose. I don't have the feeling that in this movie anything was felt and expressed by the authors and makers. They more like scientists, inspect, watch and depict animals in a laboratory. Staying neutral and detached.

There is no truth in this, as noise has no truth. You can't even make up your own truth, as your head is full of noise, no space or time for fantasising something up.

You leave the cinema with a headache and a desire to barf it all out again.

Three months later, I can remember maybe one or two scenes of the movie, and not a single emotion. The rest has anhiliated itself.

I had been genuinely looking forward to this film, as the core concept seemed so promising-and a Palme d'Or from Cannes has never let me down over the decades. Until now. This film, however, is unbearably pretentious and painfully slow, packed with hollow assertions that pile up in what feel like endless repetitions. At first, I switched to double speed, hoping for a shift in tone, rhythm, or substance. The next day, I tried starting over. No luck: not a single compelling human interaction in two and a half hours, just intrusive morbidity in every scene.

Then there are those self-important camera movements, paired with ominous soundscapes or abrupt silences, only to dissolve into aimless editing-cuts that seem to lack any forethought about where they're supposed to lead. It might impress some, but to me, it felt amateurish, and repetition only made it worse.

Otherwise, the film fixates obsessively on the body, suicide, mutilation, rural stupor, brickwork, Trabants, men and pigs-all strung together as if they were somehow equivalent. A dash of Tin Drum navel-gazing erotica and a sprinkle of fin-de-siècle Freudian hysteria-is this supposed to be a "female perspective" on things I'm failing to grasp? I sincerely hope not. Thankfully, there were recent films like Toni Erdmann, The Substance, Anatomy of a Fall, ...

It remains a complete mystery to me why this film is so celebrated and showered with awards-though, on closer inspection, the praise seems to hinge on a single phrase repeated ad nauseam: "the intergenerational perpetuation of trauma." Well, I had to write this review just to process the trauma of watching it. :)

.The storyboard is on paper great and exciting.

The outcome is a big disaster.

Creativity of the director is a focus on flies, belly hole, an amputed leg and a small River.

None of the relationships are put in deep. Focus simply on death, self killing and more.

It was a torture after one hour.

No idea why this movie is hyped.

Some of the actors are great foin their pitiful job. They deserve better.

It stands on place one as the most worst movies of 2025.

Critics in Germany were almost hysterically announcing this film as THE new exceptional Movie Event. That should have made me more suspicious before its official start. But my expectations were high, probably much too high. I simply can't agree on the enthusiastic hype which follows this movie.

I found it irritatingly overlong, too repetitive and what annoyed me the most, it's aestheticism stands too dominant in the forground and suffocates any believable content, storyline or relation between the actresses and their characters. Instead Schilinski confronts our patience with an endless atmospheric associative stream of consciousness through four generations of women, and nothing more to tell than 100 years of their suffering. Pain, grief, sorrow, suicide, abuse.

And by the way: 100 years of german history and not a single Nazi in sight. I just wonder.

Seriously? For my taste a ridiculous overload of wokeness, which causes the contrary effect to the intended sensitivity.

Not that I wouldn't respect her efforts, but for said reasons her characters left me extremely cold, i felt excluded and even bored most of the time. A major disappointment.

In die Sonne schauen is one of the most powerful German films in years. Mascha Schilinski weaves together four decades of women's lives in a nonlinear, dreamlike mosaic where memories, bodies, and experiences merge into something that transcends generations. With breathtaking visuals and extraordinary performances, the film is dark, poetic, and deeply moving. It lingers long after the credits roll.