The Brilliance of Anatomy of A Fall
Great writing, impressive filmmaking and a monumental performance are at the core of what makes this award-winning French film so uniquely captivating.
Major spoiler warnings for Anatomy of a Fall.
Justine Triet’s 150-minute long drama Anatomy of a Fall follows the trial of Sandra Voyter, a woman suspected to have killed her husband, after he is mysteriously discovered dead by their son in a secluded chalet hidden away in the snowy peaks of Grenoble.
At face value, it seems like another one of the all too many courtroom thrillers that routinely make their way to theatres worldwide, yet it won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, arguably the most prestigious accolade in film.
How could Anatomy of a Fall, a courtroom drama, perhaps the most one-note, gluttonous and Hollywoody film genre (except for superhero movies), win an award that demands a genuinely unique story, told through excellent technical filmmaking?
Seeking the answer to this question is what drove me to watch this film as soon as it was released.
Of course, the fact that Anatomy of a Fall starred the excellent and underrated Sandra Hüller enticed me, but the fact that a film that is at its core merely a courtroom drama received immense critical acclaim and won the Palme d’Or is what made me experience it on the silver screen at the films London premiere on 10 November.
Late into the night, as the credits started to roll, it became clear to me why Anatomy of a Fall won the most esteemed award in film. It embodies exceptional filmmaking, storytelling, and a monumental performance by Sandra Hüller, all of which collaborate to maintain the intensity and suspense of the story and events as they unfold.
It is in Justine Triet’s brilliant script, the subtlety of Hüllers terrific performance and the notable use of focus in Anatomy of a Fall’s filmmaking which makes it categorically impossible to know whether Sandra Voyter killed her husband or not.
This is undoubtedly intentional and makes the film’s thematic depth blossom.
While we spend large swathes of the film following Sandra’s perspective and seeing the events that unfold from her lens, Triet constantly shifts perspective through the use of focus, often abruptly, to Sandra’s son Daniel, the judge and the prosecutor, to turn to sceptical, neutral and hostile viewpoints throughout the film.
This constant and effective use of focus, which always keeps the characters at the movie’s core, plays a significant role in our suspicion and apprehension of the events unfolding, even as we want Sandra to be innocent.
It is also significant in making the audience feel uneasy, torn between what we want to have happened and what actually happened. The sense of unease is, in turn, augmented by the film’s sensational script, brought to life by the best performance of Hüller’s accomplished career, particularly in how Sandra’s conduct and behaviour — desperate attempts to exonerate herself and plead her innocence — could be reasonably and objectively construed as both a widowed mother going through harrowing circumstances, as well as a killer desperate to get away with murder.
This is exemplified at various points: Sandra’s agitation whenever she detects even the slightest semblance of doubt in Daniel or her lawyer Vincent’s voice, or when she switches from French to English during the trial only to make an incoherent and muddled Bidenesque plea of innocence.
Additionally, while the content of her written stories, her infidelity and the coroner’s report all point towards Sandra having killed her husband, her husband’s instability, his suicide attempts and the lack of a discernable trigger moment point towards her innocence.
No indication makes one perspective more compelling than the other, and Hüller’s eerily mesmerising portrayal of a woman desperate for people to believe in her innocence ensures that Anatomy of a Fall’s brilliant script and exceptional filmmaking have the desired effect on audiences. To keep them engrossed in Sandra’s trial for two and a half disquieting hours, constantly on the fence about what happened and who is to blame.
Not only does this conflicting and uneasy sense of uncertainty add to the engrossing allure of the film, but it also adds to its thematic depth. The audience’s inability to know how Samuel Maleski died makes the notions of bias and perspective more potent as Triet brilliantly illustrates the role subjectivity plays in objective analysis.
Further, the notion of victimhood, specifically what makes someone a victim, is also explored in Anatomy of a Fall, particularly through the volatile nature of Sandra’s relationship with her husband, the capriciousness of which is presented in the disquieting audio recording played in court, imagined through Daniel’s eyes — who is also central in the film’s ideas and conversations around victimhood.
These ideas are mainstays in cinema. Many good films explore the aforementioned themes to some degree; however, what sets Anatomy of a Fall apart is how these themes operate under the confinements of not knowing whether Sandra is innocent of the crime she is being tried for and whether it really matters what the law decides.
In the time that has passed since I saw the film, I have reflected on it extensively. No matter how much I think about whether Sandra killed her husband or not, I cannot decide or even lean one way. I know that I did not want Sandra to be convicted, but I genuinely have no idea if she killed her husband or not. Herein lies the film’s brilliance, elevating it beyond other courtroom dramas.
Simply put, Anatomy of a Fall challenges our perceptions, biases, and ideas of justice through a linear yet potent story with its meticulously crafted script, which maintains its intensity throughout and leaves us with a satisfying yet melancholic end — one where we cannot know how Samuel Maleski died, even if we have our theories. That is precisely what Justine Triet intended and why this film was distinguished at the Cannes Film Festival, ahead of a host of other brilliant movies.
Thank you for reading, it means a lot to me! 🫶🫶
