Sandra Hüller must have been amused to be called a “breakthrough performer” two years ago when she first burst onto the American awards season circuit with Anatomy of the Fall and Zone of Interest – as if the Toni Erdmann star hadn’t repeatedly proven himself to be one of the world’s great living actors ever since his explosive feature film debut in 2006’s Requiem. No one will be surprised that, as a 17th-century war veteran who hides many secrets (notably her gender) beneath her rugged work clothes, she once again becomes extraordinary in The Rose. But the acting itself is consistently subtly surprising. Quiet and careful when a polite uproar is expected, furious when a retreat is expected, and the characters are never opaque or complacent about their motivations or sense of self.
But despite all the acting skills of the Olympians featured in this production, “Rose” is more than just a performance vehicle. Radical Austrian formalist Markus Schleinzer’s latest work is so disciplined in every aspect, from the ghostly black-and-white lensing to the razor-hewn final edits to the sea of implicit political commentary that underpins the wordless script, that the slightest theatrical remark would shatter the perfect structure. Schleinzer, who was a casting director for the likes of Michael Haneke and Jessica Hausner before turning to filmmaking, needed and found a virtuoso who could fully submit to the film’s quietly complex themes of gender performance and privilege, past and present.
The precision of Schleinzer’s filmmaking doesn’t seem immediately obvious. Rose, his third feature in 16 years, came eight years after his stunning second film, Angelo, a thoroughly revisionist biopic of African-born slave-turned-Viennese courtier Angelo Soliman, but it was too starkly confrontational to secure distribution in many territories. (His solid debut, 2011’s pedophile portrait Michael, was also no picnic for potential audiences.) Uncompromising in its ability to tell the saddest, most socially unforgiving story, Rose ‘s linear elegance and delicate virtuosity work together with Hüller’s mesmerizing work to make it the director’s most accessible film, one that is sure to capture the interest of discerning arthouse buyers after its Berlin Competition premiere.
Rose (Hüller) didn’t give it up right away, but she briefly explains why she chose to live as a man for most of her adult life. “Pants have more freedom. Trousers are just cloth, so I wear them,” she says. But it’s no casual act in 17th-century Germany, especially in the ascetic Protestant village where she chooses to settle after a long and grueling stint as a soldier in the Thirty Years’ War.
The villagers are initially wary of this small, scarred, soft-spoken man, but he claims to be the long-absent heir to a local farm. But Rose gradually wins people’s approval with her work ethic and church attendance, to the point where a neighboring farmer offers her the hand of his eldest daughter Susannah (Caro Brown), although we never learn the male names she gives people, just as people never learn the female names, a geometric detail typical of Schleinzer and Alexander Blom’s screenplays. As part of a land swap deal, of course. Showing that women are literal currency in this world is a stark reminder of why Rose opted out of that identity.
Susannah is a taciturn, servile wife who complains less than her father about her husband’s reluctance to consummate the marriage, and eventually dotes on her mother when they have three babies – and most unexpectedly, at least to Rose. Exploring this absurd family environment, the film has a dry, combustible thin humor that portrays the harsh expectations of women and men in a punitive conservative society. Although a largely fictional story, “Rose” was built on Schleinzer’s extensive research into the various stories of women in the presence of men over the centuries. Although it leans toward melodrama, it has a ring of historical truth. (So is the film’s noticeably weathered presentation and costume design, with every patinated wooden beam and scuffed boot heel looking like it’s been dug out of the ground.)
Actor Marisa Growald’s narration, which takes on a kind of academic tone, provides access to the inner world of the strategically quiet and withdrawn protagonist, but it’s not entirely omniscient either. Schleinzer is satisfied that some ambiguity remains as the situation becomes tense and deteriorating, including the question of Rose’s own sexuality and, in some cases, asexuality. She does not identify as transgender or apathetic, and describes her presentation as a man simply as a practical means of navigating the world unhindered. Or almost unhindered. Marriage is also a purely pragmatic move, but as Rose and Susannah get to know each other better, a cautious tenderness develops between them, and there is a flicker of warmth at the heart of this lively movement.
At once armored, protective, and deeply vulnerable, Hüller’s performance is the human element here, volatile and unpredictable, yet in tune with the film’s meticulous construction and mise-en-scène. Editor Hansjörg Weisbrich (September 5th) cuts this whirling folk tale to a requisite 93 minutes, but Schleinzer’s regular cinematographer Gerald Kerkletz’s stark, darkly layered black-and-white lensing is focused and patient, often searching for just the right expression in thoughtful close-ups of Hüller’s face. Most effective of all is the a cappella vocal score by singer-songwriter Tara Norm Doyle, whose high-pitched moans capture all of Rose’s inner anguish despite his stoic masculinity.
