Movie review: A Woman in Berlin

by John P. Meyer

The most chilling scene in director Max Färberböck's A Woman in Berlin is not a depiction of rape (of which there are several) or murder (also abundantly on display), but a conversation held among a half-dozen women who are sitting around a dining room table taking tea.

By this time in the cinematic narrative (based on the controversial book by a German author known only as "Anonyma"), things have more or less settled down in the East Berlin of April, 1945. The occupying Russian army (more a loose collective of armed thugs, we are led to believe) has matters under control as they complete the tedious process of wiping out the German defenders, capturing the Reichstag, and pillaging the already profoundly-deprived civilian population.

The women involved in the tea table conversation range from youthful to well beyond middle age (e.g. Irm Hermann, playing a formerly straitlaced widow whose apartment serves as their gathering place). To non-German speakers, the calmness of their demeanor might suggest that they're conversing about the weather, or perhaps the sad shortage of oregano; a reading of the subtitles, however, reveals that they are actually trading anecdotes about their various sexual assault experiences. One matron demonstrates (in jaw-dropping metaphorical detail) the manner in which her rapist complimented her; another younger woman inquires about the first signs of syphilis, which are enumerated for her by a compatriot in vivid detail. When the answer lady ends her description by stating that she read it in an encyclopedia, the table erupts in laughter.

Talk about your grim humor.

The story of A Woman in Berlin is told from the viewpoint of Anonyma herself, portrayed by lovely actress Nina Hoss -- who looks far from lovely during most of her onscreen time here, with dark circles beneath her eyes, hollow cheekbones, stringy hair, and sporting an abundance of bruises derived from being hurled against one variety of floor or another.

Still, she appears to be the prettiest woman on the block, and she more or less knows it, deciding in the face of reality's horrible arithmetic that the best way for her to survive the ongoing ordeal -- emotionally and physically -- will be for her to hook up with a high-ranking officer. She eventually connects with a Soviet major named Andreij Rybkin (stern-faced, soft-hearted Yevgeni Sidikhin). The major is initially trepidatious about their relationship, though he eventually settles into something like domesticity with his favorite local woman. (It helps that she speaks Russian.) This situation affords Anonyma at least a measure of protection -- although she continues to receive the occasional visit from a young lieutenant she recruited prior to her arrangement with the major.

A Woman is an example of how a gritty, realistic war picture can be made on an independent film budget through the simple methodology of limiting the scope of production to a single city block. Within the confines of this recreated Berlin residential street, the cinematographer and set dressers have done their best to make it look like war has paid a visit -- and their best is pretty damn good. Rubble seems to be the major decorative theme, with plenty of smoke and dust for atmosphere.

There's an ambush scene at the start of the film which proves the action-oriented equal of many a war movie, with the Russian invaders surprised (though not particularly so) by the chattering window-deployed machine guns of desperate German last-standers. The Soviets operate with grim determination to take hits while continuing the process of overwhelming the disbelieving Wehrmacht defenders with their relentless killing efficiency. It's sweet, heady revenge for a people who have spent the last four years at the pointy end of the massive Nazi poke-stick.

This early battle scene aside, the bulk of the film serves as a chronicle of the abuses doled out upon the population of the city, and the extremity of humiliation that women in particular were forced to endure in order to survive. After the numberless German depredations visited upon their homeland, cruelty has become a formality amongst the Russian troops -- it's as much a part of their survival gear as a helmet or a sidearm; they deploy it without conscious thought.

As Anonyma writes in her journal, the women of occupied Berlin were forced to keep quiet about their systematic abuse or risk being ostracized and disowned by their menfolk. It was a burden of silence they learned to internalize. It was another necessary evil to be abided amongst the many.

At 131 minutes, sitting through A Woman in Berlin is itself something of a grueling experience, though thankfully it proves to be an affecting and rewarding one. Hoss's portrayal is impressively complex, displaying dollops of despair, touches of remorse, shadings of anger, and surprising notes of affection -- all underlain by a foundation of emotional strength, self-confidence, and determination.

Sidikhin's portrayal of the sympathetic major is equally well done: He starts out as a semi-reluctant object of Anonyma's blatantly self-serving affections. After weeks of getting to know each other, both intellectually and physically, feelings on both sides deepen to the point of genuine caring. It's a miraculous transformation, and it takes a pair of outstanding performances to make it work.