We often tend to view the past as a place that was far more sanitised than it was in reality – there’s something that is instilled in us where we are forced to believe that it was far more pleasant and not nearly as grotesque as it actually was, which is the result of years of attempting to wash away all the unnecessarily gory and uncomfortable details, especially since the concept of people of yesteryear being somewhat more moral and decent than the libertines of today is a very profitable industry as far as morality goes. However, anyone who has spent even a brief moment trying to understand what it is that draws us towards the past will know that history is filled to the brim with the most macabre, grim details – and none of them is quite as enthralling as those which address social structure, from which some of the most harrowing details can be found. This is where we see Markus Schleinzer choosing his primary approach in the form of Rose, his third in-depth character study (evident by all of his films being named after their protagonist) and second historical feature, in which we are introduced to Rose, a mysterious woman who suddenly arrives in a village somewhere in Bavaria at some point in the 17th century. However, she presents herself as a man, claiming to be the heir to a plot of land and cites her intention to lay claim to what is hers (or rather his), even going so far as to take on a wife, who goes on to bear a child, all the while steadily climbing the social ladder, gradually and methodically revealing deeper intentions that no woman could ever realistically aspire to achieve. However, the townspeople grow more suspicious of the new addition to their community, and when Rose constantly refuses to abide by their vulgar but simple techniques, trouble starts to brew amongst the village, who show very little sign of restraint for anyone who would dare challenge the status quo. A dark and deceptive psychological drama that is equal parts provocative and unsettling, Rose is quite an achievement, a film pieced together from complex fragments that all come together to form the foundation for a far more curious examination of the human condition and how certain ideas were perceived in the past as opposed to the present, a tug-of-war from which the film springs some fascinating surprises.

When it comes to the subject of gender, particularly in terms of stories that attempt to subvert and redefine how we perceive it, there’s a tendency to view it as more of a contemporary issue, mostly because we can’t always fathom that communities from previous decades were quite as open to the idea of reworking gender roles as we are today. This is a fallacy, since there is a long lineage of examples of stories about social and cultural details on the subject of gender identity that prove it has always been a topic of discussion, if not outright contention. Rose is built almost entirely from the idea of redefining what gender represents, insofar as it centres around a woman who falls in love with a soldier during the Thirty Years’ War, and after he is killed, she decides to take on his identity, returning to the small village in which he was raised with the intention of pretending to be him, making a life for herself through deceiving those around her. This brings up some fascinating points of discussion, the simplest being around the fact that it was considered so wholeheartedly taboo for a woman to be a landowner that someone could actually be punished as a result of deceiving their community into believing that they were a man, since it was the only way to succeed in this industry – and Rose is aware that she has to do everything on her own terms, or else risk the consequences that eventually do end up catching up with her by the end. The director seems incredibly intrigued by the idea of unravelling the often dense, complex narrative layers that make up this film, especially in how the story gradually and methodically peers beneath the surface of the dynamic between Rose and the people in her community, following her efforts to become an upstanding member of society (which she achieves wholeheartedly – in fact, the only reason her deception is revealed is because she proves to be exceptionally resourceful, stirring discord amongst the envious villagers who look for any reason to challenge this enigmatic individual), revealing complex ideas that make for an enthralling and often quite unsettling portrait of the past, where the mentalities and systems of belief are more disturbing than anyone would be ready to acknowledge.

There are some actors who are so talented that everyone who has witnessed their work will be able to pinpoint the exact moment when they caught our attention. In the case of Sandra Hüller, the most common answers are the intense psychological drama Requiem twenty years ago, or Toni Erdmann, which was perhaps the first moment of global recognition beyond just the arthouse. In the years that have followed, she has worked laboriously to prove that her acclaim is not unfounded – absolutely everything she does just allows her to showcase her impeccable ability to get into the mind of just about any character. The protagonist of Rose is certainly not an easy one to play, especially since we come to realise that it requires Hüller to be operating on many different levels, toggling the line between despicable and endearing, while also presenting herself as entirely enigmatic to other characters, but also allowing the audience further access into her mind (which is one instance where the use of a narrator is not just superficial, but has real narrative purpose), which is a difficult balance to achieve, especially for such a complex character. Nevertheless, she is nothing but willing, capturing a complexity embedded in this character that is frequently very entertaining, even at her most intentionally impenetrable. Hüller is intimidatingly impressive in this film, and while it may find her at her thorniest and most unhinged, there’s a complex quality to what she is doing in this film that we simply cannot overlook – every moment she is on screen feels like she is showcasing precisely why she is one of her generation’s greatest actors, with her command of both the physical demands and dense dialogue being absolutely enthralling and deeply compelling in a way that should not be this surprising considering her body of work. It’s a transformative performance in every definition of the word – she’s almost unrecognisable, but solely through some very minor prosthetic work and a lot of work in how she moves her body, carrying herself in such a way that we can entirely understand how this character was able to successfully masquerade as a man for so long. It’s astonishing work that feels so much more complex and engaging than it may have been in the hands of a different actor who may not have been able to find all the peaks and valleys required to bring the part to life with this amount of deep complexity and sincerity.

While we may step away from the film being absolutely enthralled by what we had just witnessed from Hüller, so much of Rose is owed to Schleinzer as well, since his direction is what ties everything together, facilitating many of the film’s most challenging and unconventional moments. It proves to be exceptionally well-crafted storytelling, since the film that surrounds this story is as beautiful as it is disturbing. Throughout Rose, the director draws on imagery that feels plucked directly from the darkest nightmares, without actually relying on them to stir terror or discord amongst the viewer. Along with director of photography Gerald Kerkletz, whose stark cinematography is amongst the best of the year (where the bold use of black-and-white gives the illusion of all colour being extinguished from the world), Schleinzer works to evoke a version of the past that is intentionally discomforting and frustrating, where we can never feel at ease, and where every moment is layered with tensions that reflect the darker state of the human mind, as represented brilliantly in absolutely every frame of this film. The bold imagery contrasts with the tone of the film, which is austere and unfurnished to the extent where it actually becomes extremely daunting – very rarely have we seen a film that is quite as uncomfortably frank as this one, where every moment is tense to the point where the brief inclusion of moments of humour (which are surprisingly frequent, being scattered where we least expect it) feel actually confrontational, as if the director relishes in his ability to take the audience by surprise, often increasing the pressure rather than alleviating it, a rare skill that often defines some of the best moments in this story. It’s never anything short of impressive how Schleinzer balances so many different ideas, executing them with the kind of deep complexity that draws us in, allowing us to see a different side of the human condition, one that is much bolder and more complex, while also having a stark quality that feels so much more engaging than we may have expected at the outset of this story. Every composition is stunning, and tends to be accompanied by tonal complexities that feel so much richer than we may have expected based on a cursory glance. It makes for some enthralling, captivating viewing that often tends to be quite unpredictable, which is always ideal for this kind of offbeat drama.

Rose is not an easy film, but is instead a deeply hypnotic one, a bold and daring leap into the past that frequently challenges the viewer to peer beyond what is shown on screen, engaging more with the subtle, more complex ideas that are embedded deep in the heart of the story, from which it manages to be nothing if not wholeheartedly impressive. It’s an astonishing piece of filmmaking, with the collaboration between DIR and Hüller being one of the year’s most interesting pairings, since they bring out the best in one another – the director creates an incredible character who is filled to the brim with complexities, while the performance from the lead carries such immense narrative and emotional weight that we can’t help but predict that this is going to go on to be seen as one of Hüller’s defining performances, an opportunity for her to step outside of her comfort zone and play arguably her most challenging character since her incredible breakthrough in Requiem, another film that succeeds wholeheartedly because of her ability to play into both the physical and emotional nuances of the story. Not only is it built around arguably the year’s most creative performances, but Rose is also an incredible artistic achievement for its aesthetic and tonal qualities. It feels almost impossible to categorise the film, since it contains elements of historical epic, psychological drama and even a slight amount of dark comedy (but where the humour is cutting and harrowing, and does very little to get in the way of the bleak tone that lingers heavily over the film), which compound to create this provocative glimpse into the past, one that feels so much richer and more engaging as a result of the film’s refusal to provide easy solutions to the central conundrums that linger beneath the surface. It’s an astounding piece of historical fiction, one that takes a simple premise and explores every possible avenue, ultimately becoming an incredibly poetic and daring drama that knows how to draw the viewer in, but is most impressive in how it redefines the medium to deliver a message on gender that is unmistakably bold, but never overwrought, finding the right balance and ultimately becoming one of the year’s most staggering achievements in terms of both form and content, proving the importance of challenging how we perceive the past.