A young couple in a big city. She is full of life and joie de vivre. All she wants is to be happy and have some fun. He is the father of their child. A writer, whose life has ground to a halt. Nobody wants to print his work; his hope of artistic success dwindles with every letter of rejection. He spends all day on the sofa, reading.
The young woman won’t let go; she wants more out of life. She encourages and cajoles him and tries to break out of the confines of her daily routine. Her parents-in-law announce their visit. They want to see their grandchild. And then they leave again, just as quickly as they appeared.
Partly because she is at a loss, but partly out of protest, the young woman spends the night roaming the city’s hotspots. She dances, flirts and has a good time. Everything she does barely conceals her desire for something more, something authentic and secure; for love, perhaps for security. She goes home again. Nothing has changed. And yet, everything is quite different. The night sings its own songs . . .
“This film is about a love that is no longer fulfilled; it is also about the absence of hope.” (Romuald Karmakar) —Berlinale
Born in Wiesbaden on 15.2.1965 of French- Persian parents, Romuald Karmakar lived in Athens from 1977-82. He graduated from high school Munich in 1984 and has been working as an independent filmmaker since 1985, first making shorts and documentaries. He directed his first feature film, “The Deathmaker”, in 1995. This drama received three German Film Awards in Gold; Götz George was also awarded a Silver Lion in Venice Best Actor for his performance in this film. Karmakar’s feature film “Manila” received Silver Leopard in Locarno in the year 2000. —filmportal.de
Frank Giering's death gives this film even more tragical dimensions. A psychological horror trip that reminds of "2/Duo" and "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?", likely the greatest German film of the 2000s which I've seen at this point.
"A Kammerspielfilm based on a play by Jon Fosse about a young couple's relationship reaching the end of the line, it's directed with patience, passion, and an artisanal rigor that puts its spiritual-materialist filmmaking on par with Dreyer's Ordet or Ford's Seven Women. An experience in endurance and humility, its perfectly calibrated aesthetics guard a raw soul full of pure, inconsolable pain." —Olaf Möller
Fortunately, we have Knight and Day behind us, but I'm glad to be updating that same entry still with fresh takes on Restrepo. In this