While it has received its fair share of acclaim and admiration, German cinema remains quite contentious in terms of a lot of contemporary filmmaking, primarily because it is usually occupied by filmmakers who intend to push boundaries further than ever before, and the storied history of the country, coupled with the fact that its reunification was less than forty years ago, has made the recent New Wave a much younger movement than we may expect, particularly in its fundamental theoretical framework. One director who has taken advantage of this situation far more than most of his peers is Christian Petzold, who has been working steadily for a few decades now, crafting masterful excursions into the human condition, navigating the ambigious space between reality and fantasy in ways that are surprising and artistically resonant, each one of his new endeavours being intriguing and captivating in terms of both the story and execution. He is also a filmmaker that works so sporadically, it seems like every new film is proclaimed as his best work, especially since he refuses to rest on his laurels and instead chooses to pursue different themes with every new project. He usually crafts films as components of unofficial trilogies, and we are currently witnessing him developing a series of films that focus on the natural elements – Undine was the first, in which he explored the theme of water, and it was subsequently followed by Afire (German: Rotter Himmel, translated as “The Red Sky”, an even more evocative title), in which he tells the story of a group of young adults living in a quaint house in the idyllic Baltic coastline, who find themselves isolated from the outside world as a result of a series of forest fires that blaze in the surrounding environment, and in the process they find themselves asking some of life’s most challenging questions. Strange but captivating, Afire is one of the year’s most deeply provocative works of fiction, and further proof that Petzold is one of our greatest living storytellers, both narratively and in terms of the visual landscapes he tenderly constructs throughout his films.

Nothing provokes artistic ambition quite like a major world event, and a global pandemic can do wonders for those looking for inspiration. Petzold is one of countless filmmakers who used the recent health crisis as a starting point for a cinematic endeavour, and while no one would ever categorize Afire under the sometimes tacky genre of “pandemic films” (which age poorly and don’t hold much artistic relevance), its roots in this period are very clear, especially since Petzold has spoken about how he was compelled to write this story after spending long days in solitude, which gave him insights into the psychology of loneliness, something that many of us experienced over the past few years. This is a film about isolation, both literal and metaphorical – we meet characters who are put together in a slightly confined space as a result of logistical issues with a supposed vacation, but are forced to make this more permanent when nature proves to have other plans for them. In the process, they find themselves spending more time with one another, and with themselves – for some, this is a chance to bond with those who share common interests, but for others, it is a reminder of the crippling loneliness felt by those who are not inclined towards social interaction. Instead of focusing on one of the upbeat, outgoing characters (who take up three-quarters of the cast), the director chooses to make the sole introvert the protagonist, and while this may be a strange decision, considering how the character of Leon is far from endearing, it is the correct one, since he is not making a film about the power of friendship or the development of a relationship, but rather telling a story about a profoundly lonely young man who navigates his remorse for his past, as well as his growing incredulity towards a potential happy future. He is stuck in a slump, writing subpar work and spending his time in a state of ambivalence, refusing to acknowledge the beauty that surrounds him. It is all worsened by the fact that he is isolated from the outside world, forced to spend his time with people whose company he detests, and thus turns to his depressive state, which is even more daunting to navigate. It’s a harsh narrative, but it’s one that Petzold uses in his examination of the physical and psychological consequences of isolation, the foundation of this film.

Petzold has been adamant in his desire to craft films that are not only narratively complex and visually stunning but contain fascinating characters that are nuanced, three-dimensional and meaningful. As a result, nearly every one of his films is a complex character study that plunges us into the heart of various captivating protagonists who are well-constructed and perfectly developed. Yet, it is Afire that perhaps contains his most intriguing character and one that the director has already established is partially based on himself, not necessarily in the sense that Leon is a biographical surrogate for the director, but rather that he is formed from Petzold’s insecurities and artistic quandaries, particularly in how he navigates the ambigious space between living up to his creative impulses and existing in a world he doesn’t understand. To bring the character to life, Thomas Schubert is hired, and while he may not have the hypnotic allure of the likes of Nina Hoss or Franz Rogowski (or any of the director’s prior muses), he has an unfiltered grit that makes the character so extraordinarily compelling. He is an ordinary man who navigates emotions that are haunting and harrowing, and we see the world through his perspective, which turns out to be a lot more bleak than we initially imagined. Petzold is not afraid to introduce a protagonist who is deeply unlikeable and pompous, nor is Schubert against playing the role at the same level – and in the process, they make Leon one of the most complex and unexpectedly sympathetic characters of the past few years, a young man who doesn’t quite know where he fits in socially, but who strives to feel some sense of belonging, even if his outward actions prove to say otherwise. Paula Beer, who has become a recurring muse for the director, takes on the female lead, and while she’s not quite as complex as she was in Undine, she proves to be a magnetic presence, becoming more than just the quirky love interest and instead positioning herself as an equally fascinating figure who catalyzes many of the film’s more intriguing moments.

A film like Afire is always going to be effective when it acknowledges that the best way to convey these messages is through allowing the deeper meaning to remain in the quieter moments, where the audience can unearth them for themselves. Part of the brilliance of what Petzold is doing here is his ability to develop many interesting ideas while keeping everything extremely simple and intimate, which is the key to the success of this entire film, and the main reason it has the potential to be seen as one of the great dramas of the decade. We usually tend to see similarly-themed films emerging quite often, and there is nothing theoretically revolutionary about what Afire is doing, but rather it emerges as extremely enticing purely because of the way these themes are explored. An intimate character study that skirts around the edges of abstraction, making use of metaphors that are deep and complex, to the point where multiple viewings are not only recommended but entirely necessary to capture every intimate detail and element of the plot that adds rich layers to an already astonishing narrative. We certainly don’t get all the answers that we seek, but this is never the purpose of the film – Petzold has always been a director more focused on asking the right questions rather than finding solutions, and we discover that the most meaningful moments in Afire emerge after we surrender to its peculiar charms and embrace the fact that there are some aspects of life we will never understand, whether it be the relationships we form with other people, or our internal quandaries that seemingly exist without any hope of resolution. Much of the film is kept ambigious, and the revelations are made in simple, forthright terms, which adds to the dramatic timbre of this film, which proves to be a lot more provocative when it is allowed to develop various ideas on its terms, which is done quietly and with a lot of sincerity, something that the director has mastered throughout his astonishing career.

A peculiar but deeply invigorating film, Afire is as close to a masterpiece as we are likely to get from a director who seems to trade exclusively in extraordinary works of fiction. This is the rare example of a film in which the ambiguities are not only excusable but they are intentionally woven into the narrative, enriching a story that is made all the more profound through their presence. This is a compelling story about the impact of isolation on both the social and psychological inventory of a character who has already had to endure living his life on the margins of society, albeit by choice rather than anything bestowed upon him, and takes us on a metaphysical journey into his life, which proves to be a truly engaging, captivating affair in which Petzold plumbs the emotional depths of these characters as they interact, forming new connections with one another, causing their dynamic to shift in several different ways. It is an emotionally resonant film, one in which every sensation is intentional and placed there for the reason of eliciting a particular response, or provoking thought, particularly in terms of what we are seeing on screen. It proves to be an unquestionably captivating film, a strange but profoundly moving depiction of a lonely young man trying to find his way through a world he simply doesn’t understand, all the while discovering new aspects of his mind, which prove to clarify certain questions, as well as complicate others. It’s offbeat and often quite vague in what it intends to say, but the combination of a strong story, a palpable set of emotions that establish a particular mood, and extraordinary performances all work together to create something profoundly moving and deeply sincere, which proves to be an absolute triumph and one of the decade’s greatest achievements, a film that dares to go in search of some of life’s most elusive questions, even when it is aware of the fact that finding solutions is a fool’s errand, particularly when it comes to the primordial understanding of what it means to be human.