There are so many possible subjects that could be used as the foundation for works of art – why is it that one of the most popular (or at least widespread) is that of death, particularly the challenges that come in navigating the aftermath of losing a loved one? Is it because every one of us will, at some point in our lives, experience what we consider to be an unfathomable loss? Or perhaps is it based on the fact that we constantly have to reckon with the realisation that we will all eventually die, and that art becomes the most practical means to filter these existential thoughts without becoming too overly obsessed? The answer isn’t clear, but it hasn’t stopped countless artists from trying to express their own understanding of what grief entails – and one of the most inspired in recent years is Everytime, the second film from Sandra Wollner, who follows her controversial but fascinating The Trouble with Being Born with another provocative and daring drama in which she questions the boundaries that define everyday life, and how one unexpected event can cause everything to fall apart in a brief moment. The film follows Ella, who recently lost her oldest daughter after she fell to her death while being reckless on a rooftop with her friend Lux, who is wracked with guilt in the aftermath of such a tragic accident. After some time has passed, Ella and her younger daughter Melli, accompanied by Lux, decide to take a short holiday in Tenerife, where each one of them is quietly hoping to momentarily escape the constant memories of what had transpired only a year previously, but they discover that a change of scenery, while pleasant for a moment, does very little to distract from reality, and those dreadful thoughts gradually begin to make their way back into their minds, often becoming even more difficult to handle, making their efforts to process this loss all the more impossible. A shockingly challenging but beautifully poetic examination of grief and its many complexities, Everytime is far from an easy film, but it certainly feels like an essential one, especially in how it successfully manages to recreate the often unspeakable pain that comes with losing someone unexpectedly and prematurely.

Everytime is best described as a film that exists in that ambiguous space between life and death, particularly in that very difficult gap in which it feels like those who are left behind in the aftermath of a loss have been stripped of every emotion other than unbearable pain. The death of a loved one is never easy, but it is even more difficult to process the death of a child – it’s often described as the most unbearable pain imaginable, and something that no parent should ever have to experience (although the word “endure” is more commonly used as a more appropriate alternative, particularly since it’s not something that one necessarily experiences so much as has to survive with every ounce of strength that they possess), which is where Wollner takes root when crafting this film, which tackles a topic so intimidating that it becomes overwhelming to even watch it. The themes that are situated at the heart of Everytime are not solely based around the attempts of these characters to process this loss (with each of the three central characters working through it in their own way), but also to reintegrate themselves back into a society from which they initially retreated, believing that removing themselves from the presence of the rest of the world (at least emotionally) was the only way to protect what little sanity they have left, since it’s often difficult not to feel as if you are hanging on by the thinnest thread once you experience such a staggering loss. It’s a poignant character study built around looking at how each of these people – divided by age and perspective – handle the innermost existential quandaries that have quietly overtaken their lives, an uncomfortable reality from which they want to escape, but considering there is no guidebook on how to grieve, they find it far more difficult to handle these unwieldy thoughts without feeling like they are on the verge of collapsing entirely. The director uses all of this as a fascinating foundation for something genuinely engaging and deeply haunting, exploring the often tenuous psychological boundaries that only seem to emerge in the aftermath of losing someone unexpectedly.

The complexity of the subject matter is certainly not to be outdone by the manner in which the director brings these complex ideas to life on screen. Wollner has made it quite clear that not only is she capable of exploring very difficult and potentially quite thought-provoking subjects, but that her methods to render them, visually and emotionally, are intentionally quite unorthodox, which makes her work incredibly challenging and profoundly moving. Everytime is primarily driven by atmosphere, where the plot is purposefully quite narrow, since the focus is less on exploring the actual day-to-day experiences of these people, but rather on the challenges that they face through decidedly more unconventional means. There are generally two kinds of psychological character studies: those that look towards someone facing a crisis from the outside, and those that take place through the character’s eyes, where we see the world through their perspective. Somehow, Wollner quietly invents a third category, in which we are positioned in between the two – we are granted access into the minds of Ella, Melli and Lux, but not to their innermost thoughts, almost as if the director is allowing us to see the world from their perspective, but intentionally still keeping us at a distance, both because no work of art can ever truly accurately convey what they are feeling (and the only people who will understand it are those who have suffered a similar loss, and this film may be extraordinarily difficult for them, since it has an honesty to it that even those of us who are fortunate enough to not know how it feels can still understand some part of it), and because there needs to be some ambiguity, or else the film would serve no purpose other than to be two hours of quiet pondering as this trio of characters attempt to force themselves to feel like they belong in a society from which they intentionally tried to retreat. Tonally, Everytime is difficult to pin down, another very intentional choice from the director, who is evidently not even vaguely interested in taking the easier route, choosing instead to challenge the viewer to sit in the discomfort, in the hopes that at least a small fraction of this story may be able to resonate with us, perhaps not in terms of the subject matter, but rather the many existential questions that emerge in the process.

To fully engage with all of these difficult ideas, as well as the intentionally very challenging execution, Wollner enlists three exceptional actors, who are not only the anchor for the film, but the very reason every decision made in Everytime feels so incredibly natural. Grief is not an easy emotion to portray on screen – the initial devastation is perhaps slightly less difficult to plausibly convey, since it often just entails the broadest of emotions, which is why the director actually keeps the initial shock after the death of the young woman that occurs near the beginning of the film offscreen, since it is far more interesting to look at these characters in the months and years that follow the loss, which is where grief is at its most unwieldy. It’s a task that would challenge even the most skilled actors, which is what makes the trio of performances at the heart of this film so incredibly devastating and profoundly moving. Birgit Minichmayr is astonishing as the mother dealing with the death of her daughter – it’s a mostly stoic performance, which is a result of Ella being constructed as both a woman who is struggling to process the emotions herself, while also having to be the source of support for those around her, since their pain manifests far more openly than hers ever could, which aligns with the underlying idea that it is often the parents of a lost child who have to find the way to be the strongest and most resilient. However, Minichmayr has been acting for a while, which may not diminish the exceptional work she is doing, but only makes the performances of Tristán López and Lotte Shirin Keiling even more impressive, since they manage to match the depth of her portrayal, despite being newcomers to the industry, proving that there is always something so extraordinary about making a discovery, and that young actors, when cast correctly, can be the most heartbreaking. The film builds itself around all three perspectives, offering fascinating insights into their minds, without becoming too obtuse or intense beyond reason, and the performances reflect the complexities with which Wollner was working, creating a hauntingly beautiful and deeply compelling experience.

The idea that time heals all wounds, while a lovely sentiment, is not always particularly relevant or honest, since while it is true that the initial shock of losing a loved one does become less intense and unbearable after a while, the pain never truly goes away, and for many people it can actually grow worse, since many would prefer the sharp, piercing pain that occasionally re-emerges, rather than the duller, persistent kind that never entirely leaves. Everytime is a film that attempts to explore this idea, taking place at arguably the longest and most difficult stage of the mourning process, the time when the sympathetic voices begin to be drowned out by the surrounding world as everyone gets back to their regular life, which is where the most difficult feelings of isolation and despair tend to fester, and where it is far less convenient to find someone to whom you can express your deep, unhealable sorrow. It’s a challenging subject and one that required a filmmaker with a strong vision and the right balance of empathy and brutality, since even a slight movement towards unnecessary sentimentality would’ve derailed this film and made it a far less poignant experience. Wollner seems poised to become one of our major voices in contemporary cinema, and her willingness to have these difficult conversations means that she will undeniably be standing out as someone whose perspective is always going to be worth seeing, even if it may not always be quite as comfortable as we may expect, which seems to be entirely the purpose of the films she makes. Everytime is not a film that is going to be particularly accessible, since its complex narrative and difficult tonal approach can make it feel intimidating – but the quiet, poignant details draw us in, pulling us even closer into the minds of these characters as they attempt to process an impossibly difficult loss, and reveal the deeper truths about the human condition through telling a devastating but oddly quite moving story about the lengths to which we will go to protect the memory of those who have left us, since that is ultimately all we have left of them.