Das Mädchen und die Spinne

This one sentence says it all: "Nothing much happens and still there is always something going on." Seemingly contradictory, so I'll explain.

In the beginning, I had trouble pinpointing the two divorcees and isolating them from the semi-crowd that is usually helping someone when leaving their old house and moving to a new apartment, all of them busy with carrying furniture, (re)building cabinets, painting walls, and so on. But not everyone is helping, and gradually we observe a constantly present negative force, not contributing anything to the move, but generally busy with tiny obstinate actions. No yelling, no slamming doors nor broken chinaware, merely verbally distorting mutual relationships without really breaking things.

I did not find this movie compelling or otherwise a candidate for my list of favorites. The mini-cosmos is confusing when thrown into as an unprepared viewer, not knowing who-is-who nor whether who is important for the overarching plot, or just passing by like the neighbor's cat. I would have welcomed some sort of "establishing shot" to highlight at least the two divorcees. Surely, a second viewing will overcome this problem, but I don't care enough to undertake such an effort, due to lack of dramatic developments I'll miss even more on a second pass. The story (if any) confines itself to small interactions, the latter only relevant and surpassing normal domestic interactions when overseeing the complete scenario and connecting the dots of aforementioned negative force. Some announcements for this movie mentioned a rollercoaster experience, but I don't feel it that way.

All in all, an entertaining watch regardless the lack of dramatic developments. Well made, despite the missing introduction of main protagonists, though the latter may be my problem and mine alone. I still see no reason to recommend this movie to family, friends and neighbors.

The premise said it was "a tragicomic catastrophe film, a poetic ballad about change and transience." While sounds interesting, The Girl and the Spider were barely that poetic nor really tragicomic.

There are constant actions that happened throughout the film yet nothing significantly happens as well. There are tons of films with banality or trivialism as the plot, but mostly they were also keen on conveying something. The same case cannot be applied to this film.

It was exciting at first and then it got redundant and eventually simply became annoying.

There's not much to say about this movie other than yes, it's indeed a movie. Barely, but it is. This is what you get when artistic autofellatio and the perfect absence of content wants to make the viewer believe that it is more than itself. Aliens who have had no contact with humanity aside of Voyager's golden record, even they could make more lifelike characters than these outlandish cardboard figures. Honestly, it feels like a buggy theatrical AI scissored them together. The Girl and the Spider is a triumph of nonsensical filmmaking, which proves (to someone, somewhere... not me, mind you) that logic, a coherent plot and faithfulness to life are only loose suggestions rather than expectations. Is it a feature, or the lack of it? You decide. I, however, I'm going to dance a little on the roof in the rain. Because reasons. Because art.

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.

"We will show you some silly things, and as the audiences you must understand what do we mean, because this is high-art" type of film making must have gone to the trash of the cinema history.

This is not "telling something", tell us what you want to tell directly.