Rare is the film that ought to be longer; bad films are often too long and the greatest are able to stick the landing in exactly the right amount of time. On the scale between bad and great, Katharina Lüdin’s “Of Living Without Illusion,” making its North American premiere at Film at Lincoln Center’s New Directors/New Films festival, falls somewhere in the middle. But for such a busy, curious film, much of the narrative fault lines felt unresolved at the end. The multi-character study succeeds when it lets the people move freely and explain their pain or bliss with wordless rebellions, rather than hand-delivered exposition via sustained, static monologues. Lüdin’s got something here, though, ample material for a wider canvas which would allow her camera to observe instead of indict these flawed, fearful creatures of bad habits.
The betrayals, infidelities and high melodrama resembles Lüdin’s own take on Ingmar Bergman’s “Scenes from a Marriage,” which was both a 3-hour feature and six-part, six-hour Swedish TV series. And, ND/NF’s own description of the film suggests its “Bergman-like” intensity, cueing the idea that Lüdin’s work could work in a different format. Here, Merit (Jenny Schily) is the primary antagonist, a persistent bulldozer whose charm and talent keeps her friends and family loyal, despite the darkest shades of her personality that blow past straight bullying into actual abuse. In the opening scene, Merit is in tears, staring out the window while an out-of-focus man consoles her. Turns out it’s play within the film, in which Merit stars alongside her ex-husband David (Godehard Giese). A director interjects, cutting the scene to a close, allowing Merit the chance to breathe, and even smile, which proves to be the most challenging performance.
Observing instead of Indicting Lüdin’s Characters
The budding tension and Merit’s unstable temper keeps the mood on edge, with Lüdin dipping out of Merit’s view and into—or passing through—the perspectives of those in this force of nature’s orbit. Eva (Anna Bolk) is the dedicated and downgraded girlfriend, whose restraint and evident kindness (in her opening scene, she’s caring for Merit’s son, and delivering fresh-cut flowers to a bar) is an exact contrast to her smirking, selfish partner. Opposites attract until they don’t, but the wounds for both Merit and Eva cut deep, and yet so much conflict is elided over, or told to others, rather than revealed through their conversation, or naturally through action. In the most chilling scene, Eva is explaining to a man (Brother? Friend? Ex?) about why she’s left Merit this time. She felt like a doormat. But how could this man understand?
Eva goes on to say that, at the height of Merit’s unruly rage, she dumped an ashtray on Eva at a nightclub. Rock bottom for Eva was when she “smelled like an ashtray, and felt like a doormat.” It’s an startling moment, but it also creates a vacuum of understanding. A visual of this event might have been too jarring (there are no flashbacks throughout), but it would’ve exposed the emotional schism between this couple, while providing some guidance as to why these two put themselves through such extraordinary grief. Eva’s pain is so deep, and the closest—or most accessible—confidant is this man, who barely speaks in response. This small snapshot attests to the brutality that is living with and loving Merit, but it’s unsatisfying to the extent it tells us nothing more about Merit, who’s a one-note monster.
History Repeats
To guess at why Merit is so angry and tortured is to waste time projecting, and it’s a major shortcoming that Lüdin doesn’t at least hint at why Merit defaults to insults and violence. The best sequence in the film, however, shows Merit in a state of absolute glee, engaged in a joyful, extended dance—bodies flailing around and into each other, a drunken kiss and eventually, off-screen sex—with David, her former spouse and current co-star. The most anti-Bergman thing Ludin could’ve done would be to give Merit and Eva a happy end, which she doesn’t. Yes, Eva returns home, but as a ghost might, a wordless entrance through the front door and then sneaking up on them (David included) at the dinner table. Reuniting them isn’t a tidy resolution, though, instead it conveys the insanity of doing the same thing and expecting different results. History will repeat itself.
The New Directors/New Films Festival runs from April 3rd – April 14th.
