Film Review: Afire

Director: Christian Petzold
Starring: Thomas Schubert, Langston Uibel, Paula Beer
Running time: 112 minutes

In some ways Afire feels like a slight detour for the German director, whose films usually focus on the political atmosphere of post-WWII Germany, investigating the countries legacy of fascism and the devastating impact it continues to have. Afire immediately feels like a lighter film, both visually and thematically; two friends Leon (Thomas Schubert) and Felix (Langston Uibel) arrive at Felix’s family home on the Northern coast to work on individual projects. We immediately get a sense of each character’s personality when their car breaks down on route: the perpetually grumpy Leon begins moaning incessantly about walking the remaining way whereas Felix seems much more relaxed about the situation. The very differing personalities causes the dynamic of the two friends to feel strange, Petzold gives no backstory to their lives: all we know is Leon is writing his second novel, Felix is building an art portfolio and they seem close. Further disruption is caused to their idyllic trip when they learn the house is already occupied by the enigmatic and alluring Nadja (played by Petzold’s latest collaborator Paula Beer). A third disruption comes from a raging forest fire that ravages thirty kilometres West, which adds a slow building tension to the film despite allegedly posing no threat to the village.

Afire lacks any concrete overarching narrative, although one could maybe argue the development of Leon’s novel is the film’s defining story, and there is a clear lack of plot twists or traditional potboiler elements, yet it isn’t languid or listless in its construction. Instead, the film breezes through a myriad different character interactions such as: eating and cooking together, going for a swim in the Baltic Sea, or fixing a leak in the roof. It is through these interactions, and most importantly what characters are involved in them, that we dig deeper into the motivations and desires of each one. At the centre of the film is Leon and it mostly feels like Petzold uses the extra characters and locations to probe into his thoughts and feelings. His desire to create a career defining sophomore novel clashes with his desire to be intimate with Nadja; with this direct clash causing frequent outbursts of either snide comments or pure aggression. However, as much as Leon lashes out at the people around him and despite his obvious lack of charisma, they never totally reject him, in many ways they feel as drawn to him as the audience does – never really understanding what is going on inside his head but continually extending a hand to him.

Whilst the film feels whimsical on the surface the entirety of the film has a palpable tension that feels omnipresent, it bleeds out of every scene and is carried through the magnificent usage of sound; brief moments of silence that feel destined to break abruptly into a contemptuous battle of words as the characters clash over humdrum events. Many times, these moments of tensity are alleviated with comedic elements, mostly composed of Leon’s immediate horror at his own language, distraught at how he could possibly say something so cruel. This reaction is one of the small elements of Leon’s character that make him so interesting, in many ways he is a terrible person, frequently consumed by his own egotistical mindset and offers little companionship to anyone. However, these elements also coalesce into making him a horrifyingly relatable character in how he wears too many layers in the burning summer heat, refuses to accept joy in moments of stress, fails to recognise immediate facts and is atrocious at accepting any form of criticism against his work; it is within Leon’s scornful stare that every classical writer trope exists, causing him to be fundamentally relatable even if people refuse to admit it.

Petzold crafts the aforementioned tension not just through the dialogue, ironically given the film’s subject matter serves as its sole writer, but also through the eloquent framing and blocking used throughout. This framing helps display the emotions felt by the characters, who frequently avoid communicating it themselves; characters, mainly Leon, are constantly being placed alone in their environments as if they were being consumed by it, whether it is through an ominous doorway, the twisting forests or the endless beaches. It also shows how characters interact with each other. Leon is frequently placed away from his friends (if that is what we can call them), perpetually watching them from a distance. His first interaction with Nadja Is watching her from the house as she hangs out her washing and cycles away. We see snippets of Nadja as we if were Leon: voyeuristically through the kitchen window, or the wide-open door frame. Another fantastic scene is after a climatic show of verbal aggression he watches everyone play night-time tennis from his bedroom, creepily peering from his window, hiding when Nadja comes close. This continual distance relates to Leon’s character who continually feels at arm’s length away from not only his peers, but the luscious natural world around him. 

Afire is a film where every element is finely crafted: the dialogue feels purposefully naturalistic and engages you in every mundane conversation, the visuals are stunning with the power and allure of the Baltic Sea being ever present in the film’s crisp images, and the atmosphere of the film oscillates perfectly between simple Rohmerian comedy to nail biting tension in a way that never feels disjointed. Regardless of the film’s simplicity it lingers on the brain long after the last close-up fades away and the fatal tragedies of its characters have been blown away in the wind.

Afire is currently showing at Broadway Cinema.