One of the more unique traits of being a director who is often defined by his prolific output is that you are often responsible for some of the greatest films ever made, as well as some of the worst, which is especially true when another distinctive quality is that they were driven by the desire to revolt, socially and artistically, which only further complicates the relationship between an artist and their audience, who will likely be both enthralled and repulsed by their approach to certain subjects. No one would ever consider Rainer Werner Fassbinder to be a filmmaker that appeals to the masses – he is well-regarded and considered a master of his craft, but this only become a widespread opinion as a result of his revolutionary spirit, which saw him venture into the darkest recesses of the human condition, combining bleak dark comedy with deeply affecting melodrama, which has influenced just as many filmmakers as those who inspired Fassbinder himself. As is often the case with notoriously prolific directors, choosing the one work that best defines their style and approach to filmmaking is nearly impossible, and considering Fassbinder directed over forty films and television projects in the span of just under 15 years, there are an abundance of options. Yet, the popular choice has always been to look at one of four films, with the most notable being The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (German: Die bitteren Tränen der Petra von Kant), an adaptation of Fassbinder’s own stageplay, which follows the everyday routine of a hedonistic fashion designer who falls in love with a young woman, not realizing that her paramour doesn’t feel exactly the same, and that she herself has ulterior motives for remaining in what appears to be a deeply unorthodox relationship. As not only one of Fassbinder’s greatest works, but a landmark moment in European cinema, The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant has subsequently been appreciated as far more than just one of his many intensely emotional melodramas, but a major achievement at a time when cinema was undergoing a considerable shift in terms of both aesthetic and narrative focus, feeling truly ahead of its time, which is a common trait when examining any of his films.

One would normally make the logical assumption that when adapting a play, a director would at least put in some effort to expand on the world of the story, taking advantage of the limitless possibilities for locations by venturing outside of the smaller setting and exploring the broader world. However, this is only applicable when the setting itself doesn’t feel like a character on its own – and while it may seem overly simplistic and perhaps quite tedious to watch the trials and tribulations of a woman teetering dangerously close on a nervous breakdown solely from her bedroom, somehow Fassbinder makes it so effortlessly compelling. It never feels limited or restrictive, since the writing is so impeccable, and the acting is brilliant – but it’s the emotions that truly capture our interest and manage to hold it long enough to warrant our uninterrupted attention. The choice to limit the activity to the titular character’s bedroom was clearly a stylistic and narrative decision – it’s difficult to imagine how this story would have functioned had it expanded on the setting, since so much of what makes The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant so remarkable is how it manages to so effectively and creatively venture deep into the mind of this character as she navigates her own psychological turmoil, which we see through a series of interactions with various characters that weave in and out of her life. The setting stays the same, while Petra constantly changes (as demonstrated in each of the film’s five acts showing her with a different wig, each one bringing with it a range of bespoke characteristics) – and this adds a layer of dread as we follow the character dealing with the encroaching feels of seclusion and isolation, which becomes integral to her eventual descent into what appears to be a state of perpetual delusion, eventually being left alone in the room that was once the theoretical empire over which she ruled.

As part of the limited setting, we find The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant to be a film that depends quite significantly on its actors, which is parred for the course with Fassbinder, who seemed to always direct his films with the characters as the priority, either crafting roles for his friends and regular collaborators who formed part of his closely-knit coterie of performers, or casting new actors that join his coterie of creative individuals, ensuring that every character is meaningfully constructed, even if they are not particularly endearing or easy to embrace. A few of the director’s most important colleagues have vital roles in this film – the part of Petra von Kant is played by Margit Carstensen, who is perhaps the actor that understood Fassbinder’s style the most, each one of their collaborations allowing her the opportunity to take advantage of her chameleonic sensibilities, and her ability to transform into any character is an integral quality of this film. Petra is a challenging figure – we are never allowed into her mind, and everything we know about her comes through in her interactions with other characters. She changes her appearance frequently, which she explains as being the result of her desire to always be fashionable, whereas a deeper reading clearly demonstrates that these wigs and elaborate couture outfits she dons throughout the story (seemingly only to sit in her bedroom) are here attempts to mask her internal insecurities, hiding her clear descent into a state of misery and isolation. Carstensen is as incredible as usual, and her ability to oscillate between emotions is important to defining the tone of the film, which is part of the reason this is one of Fassbinder’s masterpieces. She is joined by Irm Hermann, Hanna Schygulla and Gisela Fackeldey, who all give exceptionally strong performances that dare to go up against as intimidating a portrayal, and help enrich this complex and poignant film.

It isn’t surprising that The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant has transcended from just being a film discussed within the realm of art, and has infiltrated other industries, being one of the few films from this era that has factored into psychological studies. Fassbinder’s work is precise and meaningful, and he constructs a character study that is complex beyond its requirements, which is likely the reason his work has developed a following even outside of the art world, with many academics finding value in his socio-cultural critiques, which are often drawn from his own experiences or interest in the world that surrounds him. This film is a slight deviation in that it isn’t nearly as socially-aware, by virtue of its storyline – but instead, it works as a daring and provocative psychological character study, focusing on the internal quandaries of the titular anti-hero as she grapples with reality, or what remains of it in her gradually declining psychological state. The film places a lot of emphasis on the theme of desire, exploring the connection formed between Petra and Karin, the object of her desires and the reason for her eventual downfall into complete psychosis. Their relationship is not at all traditional – we may not know the details of their companionship (in terms of whether it is physical or purely platonic), but there is a spark that exists between them, which each of the women in this film, including those that exist on the periphery, using Petra for different reasons. Their relationships are not driven by sexual intimacy or any kind of emotional connection, but rather a brutal form of psychological manipulation, each one of them engaging in a haunting game of cat-and-mouse, manipulating and distorting others in order to attain some reward or satiate a particular desire. It’s a dark, manipulative but deeply captivating film that explores the intersections between art and psychology with an enormous amount of dedication, making it one of Fassbinder’s most undeniably complex films.

There have been many brilliant critiques and discussions about The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant, as well as numerous adaptations, homages and works that show the most sincere reverence to a film that is both challenging and enticing. It has become a landmark of queer cinema, being one of the most potent examinations of female desire ever committed to film (and as controversial as he may have been, Fassbinder was always profoundly compassionate when writing female roles and giving these parts to actors who could handle the complex material), and a film that explores so many different facets of desire, it becomes almost intimidating to try and understand every nuance. It may take multiple viewings to fully grasp the brilliance of this film, and the insights and profound ideas that are embedded within it are sometimes difficult to fully understand until we take a few steps back – but the honest truth is that The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant is a film that needs to be experienced more than it needs to be understood. It operates on a very distinct wavelength, one that comes about through the collision of style and substance, rather than any kind of symbiosis between them, and Fassbinder seems to be the only filmmaker that can legitimately do this without it coming across as forced or lacking nuance. It isn’t subtle, but it never aimed to be, and some of its ideas are far darker than they needed to be. However, the pure exhilaration that comes from watching these events unfold, all within the same isolated, claustrophobic space, makes for a riveting, enthralling experience, drawing on our fundamental insecurities and deepest fears as we explore a different side of life, one much deeper and more psychologically profound than nearly anything else we are likely to encounter.