It has often been said that the most sinister kind of evil is not found in the pages of any fictional text, but rather in reality –  the most malicious individuals are usually those that have existed in our own world, and we are often forced to grapple with the realization that we live in a world that can breed such insidiousness, especially when it comes to those who turned to it as a way to survive, rather than as the result of some inborn mechanism that made them predisposed to repulsive acts. One of the most unsettling figures in history is Dagmar Overbye, who seemed like an ordinary woman on the surface – a kind, maternal figure to the residents of her working-class Copenhagen neighbourhood, where she ran a sweet shop and was a valuable member of the community. What many did not know is that behind closed doors, Dagmar acted as the salvation for impoverished women who were not able to look after their children, helping them get rid of unwanted children by supposedly finding them new homes with those who were desperate to have children. In reality, while she did help ease the burden of motherhood from these women, her methods were concealed, since she rarely actually made the effort to rehome the children, instead brutally murdering them and disposing of the bodies, doing so under the belief that they were lost souls that had no place in society and would be cursed to live a life of suffering. Her story has been dramatised into The Girl with the Needle (Danish: Pigen med nålen), in which we encounter Dagmar as a major supporting player who enters the life of Karoline, a young woman whose husband has been mangled while away at war, and who accidentally fell pregnant as a result of an affair with her employer, who not only condemns the unborn child rather than taking responsibility as its father, he also rapidly ensures that she is removed from his factory, and forced into a life of even more dire poverty. It is in these moments where our young protagonist feels like the kindly older woman is her salvation, when in reality her intentions are far more wicked. Magnus Von Horn has made a couple of exceptional films, but The Girl with the Needle is perhaps his most ambitious to date, both formally and in terms of the concepts that drive the story forward, creating an intense, brooding psychological drama that is as unsettling as it is profoundly bleak.

The precise qualities that drew Von Horn to make The Girl with the Needle are not clear, but this is certainly a topic that he found profoundly fascinating, and based on his prior two films, there was certainly some correlation between these real-life events and certain themes that he explored previously. One of the most prominent is that of womanhood and how it functions within society – Sweat was a powerful statement on the nature of social media and how it can take a toll both physically and psychologically on young women who are coerced into believing that they have to achieve perfection or else be viewed as a pariah. This film doesn’t necessarily follow the same exact concept, but the idea of a young woman being adrift in society, viewed as an outsider based on factors that are mostly out of her control (such as her economic status and the fact that her husband was wounded in war to the point where he is not only unrecognizable but will likely never be able to provide for his family), which leads her down a dark path. The Girl with the Needle is primarily a very complex exploration of feminity as seen through the eyes of two different women as they attempt to navigate society, doing whatever it takes to simply survive in a community in which they are both viewed as outsiders. There was the possibility of this film being an exploitative, gruesome examination of the life of a serial killer, but Von Horn is far too interested in the underlying commentary rather than the thornier, more intense details, which are reserved primarily for the latter portions of the film, the majority of the story being focused on the growing relationship between these desperate women that find each other at an opportune moment, and set out to help one another, not being aware of the secrets both tightly conceal within themselves, but which nonetheless are revealed once they find themselves in a position where they can no longer hide. It’s certainly not the comforting, endearing view of motherhood that we are used to seeing, but rather an intentionally disquieting glimpse into the past, as seen through the eyes of two extremely desperate women seeking some reprieve from their suffering, but who soon learn that patience doesn’t always necessarily lead to victory, a harsh reality neither of them is entirely ready to confront, and which only drives them further into a state of violent madness and despair.

Based on the subject matter, The Girl with the Needle could have been made any number of different ways, since the material doesn’t lend itself to particularly strict confines in terms of tone and genre, a more flippant, lighthearted approach may have been inappropriate. Needless to say, part of the success of this film comes from Von Horn’s active decision to do something radically different with this story, which is reflected in the haunting first moments, where we are assaulted by a montage consisting of dozens of grotesque, contorted faces that snarl and smile, situating us right at the heart of a film that does not intend to be comfortable by any means. It seems that there is a movement towards taking these harrowing true crime stories and filtering them through the lens of horror, which extinguishes all sense of hope and instead replaces it with a sense of despair and cruelty that can only come in a genre designed to disturb and provoke in equal measure. The director has a knack for tone, and throughout this film, we find him making some decisions that seem peculiar at first, but gradually start to come together, particularly in the latter portions, in which the more unsettling and seemingly arbitrary diversions start to fit into the narrative, or at the very least carry some degree of artistic meaning. More than anything else, The Girl with the Needle is a film that sets out to terrify the audience through nothing but the most authentic depiction of the horrors inflicted by the subject, who viewed her work as essential, even if she knew it was destructive. The striking black-and-white cinematography recreates Copenhagen in the 1920s, which was viewed as being a much more miserable, difficult place in which to live, and far from the idyllic Nordic haven that we have come to see it as over the years. The compositions are haunting, while still being unconventionally beautiful – there are several moments in this film where we feel both entranced and repulsed by what we see transpiring on screen, which is a sign of the exceptional artistry that went into the creation of this profoundly macabre and challenging film.

While the filmmaking itself may be impeccable and contain an abundance of visually striking compositions that reflect the artistic ingenuity of the director, The Girl with the Needle is most effective when we look at the characterization of the two primary players in this story, with the film being crafted as essentially a two-hander between this pair of characters, both of whom are defined as deeply desperate women doing whatever it takes to survive. The lion’s share of dramatic tension in this film is therefore based around their relationship, and how it is both defined by being a cat-and-mouse game of manipulation, and a symbiotic companionship where both women put complete faith in the other, not being aware of the risks that surround their activities. The casting of the two parts was integral since not only did it require actors who could define the characters individually, but also required some degree of consistency when acting across from each other. Von Horn found the perfect collaborators in Vic Carmen Sonne and Trine Dyrholm, both of whom are extraordinary and bring such vivacity and complexity to these roles, making the film even more fascinating based on their acting choices. Sonne is excellent as the aimless young woman who has her entire life thrown into disarray when she discovers that her husband has not only survived the war (against her desires, since his death would mean she would be entitled to a widow’s pension) but has been wounded to the point where his only employment is in a circus sideshow, where his mangled face is the subject of mockery and a few measly alms, leading to the protagonist’s efforts to find a new means to survive, which drives her directly into the clutches of Dyrholm’s character, whose entry into the film shifts everything and makes it even more engaging. Dyrholm had the daunting challenge of playing the real-life serial killer around whom the story is based, and she had to find a very clear approach that did not simply rely on conventions. Dagmar is perhaps one of the most purely evil villains in recent film history, which becomes increasingly more obvious based on a particular trope this film examines perfectly – she is a truly malicious woman who genuinely believes that what she is doing is good, which is perhaps the most unsettling kind of evil since there is a lack of awareness of its malice. She never turns the character into a stereotype and instead relies on her grit and candour as an actor to create this complex, layered woman who may be deeply disturbed, but yet still straddles the line between empathy and revulsion, a bizarre but curious combination.

The Girl with the Needle is an absolute ordeal, and that is said not as a criticism but as the highest praise. Cinema is not always supposed to be comfortable and easy to embrace, and some films are intended to be bleak, thorny depictions of the harsh nature of the human condition, exploring those who carry the most darkened souls, allowing them to dictate their lives and how they view the world that surrounds them. This is a harrowing, difficult film to watch, and Von Horn does not avoid the disturbing elements – the more horrifying aspects are creatively used throughout the film, with the horror being persistent, but not to the point where it seems exploitative or inappropriately cruel. There is not an ounce of optimism in this film – it is entirely void of any joy or humour, which is shown to exist in the lives of other characters, but has proven to be entirely extinguished when it comes to our protagonists, who are holding onto their sanity by the thinnest of threads, teetering dangerously close on complete collapse. The narrative is extremely captivating, even at its most daunting, which is all part of the director’s wholehearted commitment to exploring this story, which is callous and disconcerting at the best of times, but yet still proves to be a thoroughly engaging depiction of life at a very particular point in the past, where women were merely objects that could be easily disposed of in situations where they were deemed either unnecessary or an active obstacle in the ambitions of those around them. Defiant in its vision, and more than willing to have difficult conversations, The Girl with the Needle is an extraordinarily unsettling but brilliant achievement, a chilling and disorienting blend of social realism and psychological horror that keeps us engaged by placing us right at the heart of this story and allowing us to peer voyeuristically into the daily routine of a pair of women struggling to survive, and who ultimately decide to dismiss any sense of moral grounding, realizing that survival is more important than social conventions, even if it means that they eventually journey down a path from which escape is unlikely and redemption is impossible, a message that is constantly reiterated throughout this haunting but astonishing work.