One of the more unheralded filmmakers of European cinema is Percy Adlon, who has made some of the most fascinating films in both German and American cinema, but who inexplicably has never gained the recognition he deserves, outside of a small group of dedicated supporters of his work, who actively celebrate his vision and ability to make the films that no one else could even conceptualize, since they are so bizarre yet so extraordinarily rich and detailed in their way. For nearly half a century, Adlon worked to create a significant body of work in both his native homeland and elsewhere, telling stories plucked from the furthest realms of the human psyche, turning them into magnificent and fascinating conceptual comedies and heartbreakingly beautiful dramas all about the human condition in one way or another. One of his greatest works – albeit not the one that is most celebrated, nor all that well-known outside of the few devotees he has amassed over the years – would be Sugarbaby (German: Zuckerbaby), which tells the story of a frumpish funeral parlour assistant that finds herself falling in love with a mysterious train conductor, plunging herself into a whirlwind romance built on the combination of her stunning obsession and her object of desire’s insecurities and domestic troubles, making them an unconventional couple who are driven by an unspoken spiritual and psychological connection that binds them together and helps them navigate a hostile world that simply has ceased to make sense to them. Sugarbaby is a film driven by a sense of desire, which has always been a fundamental theme of literature (since the whole concept of a happy ending usually hinges on whether the protagonist sets out to achieve what they desired), and through Adlon’s more bizarre, unsettling vision, it becomes a compelling but curious experience that is not always pleasant, but at least has enough complexity to have an abundance of meaningful commentary, even if it is on subjects that are not directly addressed throughout the narrative.

Despite his films being firmly set within the realm of reality, there is something so profoundly implausible about the stories that Adlon tells. These are films that take place in a very different version of our world – it resembles our environment, and there is nothing overly fantastical or all that challenging about the stories he tells. Instead, it’s the small details that make them so uncanny, both visually and narratively – and in both regards, certain elements don’t work in the way they should, with some of the more reliable aspects of everyday life being subjected to regular malfunction in his works, which are intentionally off-beat, unconventional narratives that don’t harbour much meaning on their own, but do have a very sincere sense of self-awareness about certain issues when we compare the various artistic and aesthetic components that drive this film. The Germany that Adlon normally uses as the stage for his stories is detached from reality in very creative ways, which is also coincidentally the same approach he takes for his American-based films, with their settings not being major cities or recognizable locations, but obscure hamlets that are entirely off the beaten path. He seems to have a sincere appreciation for the more absurd aspects of existence, and these always manifest in his films, visually and in terms of the stories that they tell. The use of jagged angles and unnatural colours (with this anonymous German city being bathed in a boorish green hue for the most part, almost as if it has been soaked in the now-faded neon lights that used to populate this environment) create an unsettling visual landscape, in which we initially feel objectively uncomfortable, but grow to appreciate more as the story progresses and we begin to understand how the director is finding humanity in the more abstract, disconcerting environments, which somehow manage to have more complexity and compassion than the most idyllic settings. Reality is not always reflected as expected in this film, which only makes the empathy contained within Sugarbaby all the more surprising and impressive.

Adlon worked with several very impressive actors across his career, but his muse has always been Marianne Sägebrecht, who may not be the most recognizable name but has proven herself to be one of the most impressive performers to ever come out of Germany. Adlon’s stories would not make much of an impact if they had traditional stars leading them, which is precisely why Sägebrechthas proved herself to be such a formidable performer, turning in work that is not only very strong on a technical level, but also feels so much more realistic, since her entire performance utilizes her ability to play a character who is far less remarkable than we may expect, but yet still manages to take us by surprise with the depth of her acting skills, and the fact that she can effectively riff on her conventional appearance, which conceals a volcanic set of talents that she patiently waits to introduce to us, much to our delight and absolutely astonishment. The character of Marianne in Sugarbaby is not particularly notable on a theoretical level – she is introverted, and as a result, most of the performance requires Sägebrecht to use only her movements and expressions to tell the story, delivering a very internal, complex performance that feels like it was being drawn from a place of deep and unflinching sincerity as if she genuinely believed in the character she was playing. Much like in her signature role as the shopping addicted housewife in Adlon’s Rosalie Goes Shopping, she shares the screen with another formidable and gifted actor (in this case Eisi Gulp), but who barely registers as anything more than a pawn in the game being played by the main character, an object of desire that she initially believes to be her soul mate, but who turns out to just be a tool she used to gain a sense of independence and self-worth, which is a valuable approach, and one that this film makes sure to emphasize without becoming too intrinsically tied to the more overwrought side of some of the themes being investigated, such as identity and sexual desire, which do form the foundation of the story.

This is essentially where Sugarbaby is at its most profound – it is a romantic film, but before we even see the main character achieve her goal of seducing the young woman with whom she has an obsession, we see her navigating a world that is not always receptive to people like her. Marianne is intentionally portrayed to be unattractive – physically and in terms of the role she plays in life, she is not someone to whom anyone gives a second thought, and the concept of being invisible is very appealing since it means that she would be able to avoid those hurtful comments and disdainful glances that have become part of her daily routine. The important element here is that Sugarbaby is never overwrought – it delivers these serious themes in a way that is never heavy-handed, but rather deeply thought-provoking. There is a deeper meaning to this film, and Adlon captures the working-class malaise better than just about any of his contemporaries, evoking that quiet sadness and melancholy that anyone who has ever felt the loneliness of regular commuting through an urban space has felt, that unmistakable sensation of moving slightly faster than normal through a city filled with people with whom we will never even have a moment’s interaction outside of those fleeting seconds when we pass one another. Sugarbaby is a resounding manifesto designed to explore the lives of those who feel isolated, whether physically or emotionally, and how they come to terms with their own identity, which is a far harder task than many of us may imagine. There are many questions that this film asks, but it intentionally doesn’t provide us with the answers – its off-kilter, slightly mysterious tone prevents us from ever getting strong solutions, and it is instead up to the viewer to make sense of some of the more unconventional aspects of the story, coming to our understanding of the material while going in this fascinating but also quite disconcerting journey.

Sugarbaby is a film undeniably driven by its peculiarities, and this will logically keep some viewers at arm’s length since so much of the emotional impact comes from surrendering to the the director’s forthright attempts to manipulate us to feel specific emotions – they aren’t artificial or manufactured in a way that feels inauthentic but rather tend to be provoked rather than occurring naturally, and with the material that is being used to explore this main character undergoing a very specific psychological journey, it seems appropriate that there would be something deeper than just a surface-level discussion embedded deep within this film. It’s not always a comfortable film, but Adlon’s style is far more aligned with creating something that is slightly more unsettling and then building from that, rather than spending too much time developing ideas that don’t lead anywhere – and considering the message at the heart of the film, a more unconventional approach was certainly appreciated. Beautifully poetic and often blisteringly funny, this film is an immersive exploration of a woman who is teetering dangerously close to giving up entirely (not in the sense of being self-destructive, but instead just surrendering to her loneliness – many people get to a point in their lives where they simply resign to the fact that they are meant to be alone, which is a sad but unfortunately frequent occurrence, especially for those who don’t quite fit into everyday society), but who is given a new lease on life after simply taking a risk and finding, to her great surprise and enormous delight, that it had positive results – but like anything in life, this joy is inevitably going to come to an end, and just like her daily train trips, this too will reach its terminal point after a while.