One of the most universal experiences is the challenges that come with navigating that space between adolescence and adulthood, a time in our lives when we are first trying to discover who we are and what our future will hopefully be, all the while handling major emotional and psychological changes that can be daunting and nearly impossible to endure without the right system of support. Hans-Christian Schmid uses this as the starting point for Requiem, in which he tells the story of Michaela, a young woman in working-class Germany struggling to find her place in the world since her family is mostly lacking when it comes to supporting her journey of self-discovery, and are actively quite harmful to her fragile state of mind, which is only made worse by an underlying health condition that is mistaken for something far more sinister. A beautiful but harrowing film that looks at the obstacles that stand in the way of many people as they try to make their way towards the future, Requiem is a challenging glimpse into one individual’s journey. The director weaves together several different ideas in his endeavour to present a multilayered story of the protagonist and her efforts to overcome these challenges, which proves to be nearly impossible given the constraints that come from her domestic life. Schmid, who is a very gifted filmmaker representing a specific kind of European cinema that has mostly gone out of fashion, uses these many challenging ideas to craft this delicate, earnest examination of a young woman trying her best to make a life for herself, but constantly encountering problems that keep her from fully developing into the person she intends to be, which has major ramifications on both her psychological state and the relationships she forms with those around her, which flourishes into a film that is as touching as it is unsettling, the two sensations working in tandem to create something unique and daring.

Requiem has been incorrectly marketed as a film about demonic possession – it is not completely inaccurate in the sense that it is a theme that factors into the story, but it is a brutal reduction of the more complex themes that sit at the foundation of the film. It doesn’t take too long for the film to establish what it intends to be, which is a social realist drama about a young woman facing her challenges, one of which is a medical condition (intended to be epilepsy, but the term is never directly used),  but which her overly religious family attributes to some kind of otherworldly, sinister entity occupying her body. At its heart, Requiem is a film about the very difficult relationship many people have with their faith, especially those whose entire lives have been shaped by their belief in some deity, which is challenged not through becoming more cynical of the idea that there is some omnipotent presence guiding our lives, but rather the realization that perhaps not everyone is allowed to take part in these practices. Faith is a complex theme, and it has had a difficult relationship with art in the last few decades, since the idea of fictional works that look critically at religion without being entirely against the idea of undying belief is quite rare, especially in an artistic landscape that is growing increasingly secular. Schmid does not intend to criticize religion, nor does he plan to necessarily praise it. Instead, he presents a neutral and earnest depiction of how faith influences people differently, with particular attention being given to how perceptions of religion change with different generations. Michaela is a character struggling to reconcile her undying devotion to God with the feeling that she is being ostracized by a family that views her condition as being indicative of some sinister entity within her, the medical diagnosis being inconsequential in their opinion. It leads to some fascinating and often quite harrowing conversations about how religion plays a role in the lives of these characters, especially in how it ultimately leads to the dismantling of a previously happy familial unit.

Requiem is a character-based film, and it only makes sense that the majority of this story would centre on the performances, which Schmid uses as the channel through which he can explore the underlying themes, all the while finding the space to showcase some incredible performances. Over the past decade, Sandra Hüller has risen to the status of being one of the most celebrated and well-liked actors in Europe, and her ability to morph into a range of characters, her command over several different languages and her unique style of acting have made her a truly remarkable performer and a singular talent. Requiem was one of her first notable on-screen performances, and even if we set aside the fact that it is quite peculiar to see her play such a young, impressionable character (compared to her more notable roles as a more self-aware, seasoned woman), its impossible to not be thoroughly impressed with the strength of what she is doing in this film. It’s a stark, harrowing performance in which Hüller leaves nothing to the imagination – raw, brutal and hauntingly effective, this is one of her greatest performances, not only because of her commitment to playing this disturbed young woman trying to find her place in the world but also the incredible intensity with which the handles this material. For most of the film, she is quite calm and stoic, but as the tension surrounding her begins to grow more unbearable, we start to see the cracks in the veneer forming, which ultimately coalesces into quite a harrowing descent into madness. Hüller walks a very narrow line between complex emotions and hysterical excess, and she delivers one of her most unsettling performances. A less-dedicated actor would have undeniably made the film far less effective, so mercifully Hüller is the one tasked with guiding this narrative, leading to one of her most brilliant portrayals that makes it very clear why she became such a stalwart of European cinema and inarguably one of its greatest proponents.

Perhaps it is not entirely aligned with the principles of the movement, but Requiem is starkly similar to the Dogme 95 style of filmmaking that was quite prominent at the time in Denmark, insofar as this was a bare-boned, unfurnished drama that rejected overtly stylised filmmaking techniques, and instead focused on the characters and the story, presenting them in a way that is direct and not concealed by layers of style. It isn’t clear whether Schmid was inspired by this movement towards more simple filmmaking (likely not, as he did have a few years of solid filmmaking under his belt by this point, all of his previous films being similarly very simple), but his intentions were certainly somewhat comparable, especially in how Requiem aims to follow a very specific kind of narrative, one in which the focus is on the most intricate, character-based details. Very rarely do we find a film that confronts the subject of demonic possession being presented as anything other than a dense supernatural horror, which is one of the primary reasons behind the radical success of this film in bringing up these ideas, doing so in a manner that is extremely simple but also very effective. This is not a story that needed layers of technique to be effective – if anything, the bleak, stripped-down style is one of the most notable aspects of the film, as there’s very little room for it to conceal its true intentions. There are a few bold swings taken throughout the film – we immediately recall the final few scenes, in which the quietness of the film disappears and is instead replaced with a harrowing series of moments in which everything breaks down as a result of the protagonist finally surrendering to the brewing madness – but for the most part, the entire film is kept quite subtle, to the point where, when we do reach these more unconventional moments, they come across as even more effective and unsettling, the entire purpose of a film that carefully curates its tone and style to tell the story, never relying too heavily on anything other than the strength of the narrative, which is more than enough to carry this film.

Requiem is not a particularly easy film – it is extremely bleak, both visually and narratively, with the cold, austere visuals being perfectly matched by the story and its thematic undercurrent, which touches on quite a few very raw, unsettling elements that make this quite a complex exercise in capturing the very essence of humanity and its relationship with faith. Anchored by a magnificent performance from Hüller while she was still relatively unknown, the film is a fascinating examination of family and faith, two themes that are usually considered to be the source of comfort, but here are proven to be the foundation for a brutal character study in which we see someone slowly fall apart as a result of her complicated relationship with both her family and God, having a difficult connection with them both, especially in the aftermath of continuously being told that she is not aligned with the values required to be a functional member of both. Deeply unsettling and extremely raw, Requiem is not a film that will appeal to those who can’t handle the bare-boned, unfurnished style of the film or its sometimes unsettling narrative components. However, for those who can see the value in such an approach, the film is remarkable. It is a curt, direct and unembellished glimpse into the life of a young woman as she voyages through these challenging years between adolescence and adulthood, which forms quite an unconventional but still very effective coming-of-age drama, one that presents a far more harsh and unsettling image of this journey. Beautifully complex and often quite disturbing, but in a way that is functional and meaningful, Requiem is an incredible work, and one of the most poignant explorations of faith to come out of this era of filmmaking, telling a story that is both poignant and unsettling, and allowing us to see a very different side of a very common subject.