Directed by Faraz Shariat, “Prosecution” is a deeply wounded courtroom drama steeped in legal jargon, but delivered with the gripping intensity of a vigilante thriller. The film follows a German-Korean woman who denounces far-right hate crimes, resists institutional closure, and becomes the victim of targeted assault. This causes her to lose sight of the hard work ahead of her, forcing her to push these limits even harder and circumvent them when necessary, even at the expense of her ethics.
Meticulously researched by co-authors Claudia Schaefer, Ji-eun Kim, and Seung-ju Choi, this story emerges in the wake of the recent rise in far-right hate crimes in Germany, an apparent universality that Shariat finds ground in the hyperspecificity of German law. At the center of the film is Seyo Kim (Chen Emily Yang), a meek state’s attorney trying to make a difference, but who reluctantly accepts the department’s 80% dismissal rate of hate crime charges as just part of the job.
While at home in their small apartment, she speaks to her father in German, and he responds in Korean. She appears cut off from everyone, except for the occasional girlfriend Min-soo (Kotbong Yang), whenever she finally answers the phone. During the tightly filmed and controlled courtroom argument scenes, Seyo remains as calm as possible despite the stares and occasional jeers of the neo-Nazi defendants and their supporters. After all, as the characters repeatedly state throughout “The Prosecution,” Germany claims the most objective legal system in the world, and maintaining objectivity is paramount. No wonder she was knocked off her bike in a public park and petrol bombed by masked men, but turned out to be a pressure cooker waiting to explode.
Se-yo’s immediate reaction is to throw himself into the investigation of his attempted murder even before he leaves the scene. But her bosses, many of whom are white, like Senior Prosecutor Folch (Arndt Kravitter), insist that she stay away from her. However, with the reluctant help of her non-white colleague Ayten (Alev Irmak), she begins a parallel investigation. They sneak into archives and pore over old cases, paste photos and news articles on the windows, and essentially cut themselves off from the world. When the trial finally begins, she takes on her own lawyer, not only questioning witnesses but also coaxing former victims, some of them vulnerable immigrants, out of hiding and risking their own safety to testify.
It would be no exaggeration to say that Se-yo is a self-centered protagonist, but her selfishness comes from a clear sense of self-preservation. But the film’s hyper-serious character drama is transformed into the most comically entertaining kind of pulp by Shariat’s taut visual flourishes, which imbue every dialogue scene with oppressive potency, and by the gradual transformation of the initially docile Sayo into an anti-heroine in the vein of Lisbeth Salander from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Her pseudo-goth hair and costume choices speak to an inner rebelliousness that leaves her with little choice but to step outside the law, rather than being unleashed by a system that values the appearance of mythical impartiality over her humanity.
The seemingly insurmountable task before her is reflected in the double meaning of the film’s German title, “Staatsschutz,” which loosely means “protection of the nation.” Who is the state truly protecting when institutions close ranks and downplay threats in the name of neutrality?
To be clear, Seyo is not an action heroine who uses gadgets and fistfights. She is physically too small for that, which only adds to her despair. Imagine if Marvel’s Daredevil was a lawyer by day and a lawyer by night who bent the rules a little. Except that Se-yo’s superhero suit is the everyday wear of a woman who, in a fit of anger, violently knocks on doors that are closed in front of her, kicking them in if necessary, even if it attracts real danger from hate groups and organizations. (But she does have her own Batmobile, in the form of a muscular, matte black Dodge Challenger, which makes for a great final shot.)
Much of the action involves Se-yo rummaging through dusty boxes in rooms she’s not supposed to be in, lest the guards peek in and reprimand her, or being forced into professional responsibilities. The slap on the wrist is hardly exciting on paper, but the stakes increase as the film progresses. These sequences and investigations are captured with the enthusiasm and nerve-wracking tension of a sophisticated spy thriller, and the detailed, roaring soundscapes ensure to keep you on your toes.
All of this is made even more convincing by Yang’s mesmerizing performance, appearing on the big screen for the first time. She adds great depth to the woman who is pushed back against the walls closing in around her. Despite Se-yo’s steely determination, Starr isn’t afraid to sketch moments of determination with slight self-doubts, as Se-yo becomes increasingly single-minded, perhaps losing sight of the difference between personal revenge and broader institutional justice, until he finally comes close to breaking down.
Although the resolution of this dilemma is ultimately somewhat brief, the film remains a fascinating liberal power fantasy about challenging the system from within. In other words, it’s more realistic in its aims than a blockbuster full of clichéd tropes, and while not everyone will be able to do kickflips or gain superpowers, it’s sure to elicit a particularly visceral response from a chorus of anti-racist sentiments in the process. It may not change the world (few movies do, after all), but it’s sure to excite you enough to make change seem far more unlikely.
