Dutch filmmaker Nanouk Leopold's third feature is an unnervingly calm study of a spectacularly dysfunctional family whose members have just heard that their patriarch Konraad intends to commit suicide...
Dutch filmmaker Nanouk Leopold's third feature, Wolfsbergen (after Îles flottantes in 2001, and Guernsey in 2005) is an unnervingly calm study of a painfully dysfunctional family, as depicted over the course of a few days between elderly patriarch Konraad's announcement that he intends to commit suicide on the anniversary of his wife's death, and the successful completion of his plan. Despite his central role, we don't meet Konraad until the film is half over - instead, the film begins with the reaction of his various family members to the letter that he sent to all but one of them. In most cases, they push it to the back of their minds, as their lives are otherwise fully occupied with their own problems.
His daughter Maria, an outwardly successful Europolitician, is obsessed with the thought of getting old, and tries to conquer it both via plastic surgery and completely freezing her white-bearded dentist husband Ernst out of her life (he's reduced to empty banter with anonymous patients, shot from behind). Their daughter Sabine is cheating on her husband Onno, who is himself carrying on with Sabine's neurotic sister Eva, who lives on a building site, is recovering from an abortion, and who bursts into tears at the slightest provocation (possibly significantly, she's the one relative who hasn't been contacted by Konraad directly). No wonder that Sabine and Onno's own daughter Hass is cracking up under the strain, progressing from random cutlery smashing to actual self-harm – and it's also worth noting that it's Konraad's direct female descendants who seem the least interested by his impending demise, leaving the male in-laws to carry most of the emotional burden.
So far, this sounds very much like a Mike Leigh creation along the lines of Abigail's Party, Meantime or Life is Sweet, but Leopold's style is something else again. Her camera barely moves throughout the entire running time, with each scene staged as a near-static Cinemascope tableau, with important action sometimes occurring slightly offscreen, or partially obscured. This ultra-cool, controlled approach, all glass, smooth surfaces, straight lines and meticulously calibrated set decoration, provides a striking contrast to the manic lives of her characters, and suggests a controlling hand (Konraad's?) that they're otherwise unaware of. By contrast, Konraad (the only truly contented character, despite his imminent demise) lives in comfortable chaos, unfazed by the fault in his record player that causes the sound to stutter – as he puts it, if he already knows the music well, it doesn't matter if it's occasionally interrupted. When the player is eventually fixed, it loses part of its character.
Leopold isn't afraid to devote considerable amounts of screen time to scenes where nothing is ostensibly happening, whether long, awkward silences between estranged family members (many of whom prefer to retreat to their bedrooms rather than risk a potential confrontation) or occasional cutaways to mysteriously beautiful images such as the opening shot in which light patterns subtly colour the branches of a pine forest. A former artist herself, Leopold is highly sensitive to colour, space and architecture, and Richard van Oosterhout's cinematography is one of the film's standout elements, culminating in a gravely moving final shot that's almost worthy of Bresson or Dreyer. Like the work of those masters, Wolfsbergen demands patience from its audience, but those who are prepared to meet Leopold halfway may well find themselves surprisingly moved. She's certainly a talent to watch.
Michael Brooke
Content Developer for Screenonline
Regular contributor to Sight and Sound, Vertigo and other publications