The first thing we see is a tennis ball haphazardly tumbling down the stairs. We never see what caused it to tumble, who might have thrown it, dropped it, or perhaps accidentally knocked it. We accept the mystery because in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter. Anatomy of a Fall will ask us to accept the mystery many more times over the course of its story, and we will learn bitterly that some mysteries are easier to accept than others.
Director Justine Triet’s Palme d’Or-winning drama forces us to confront the way our culture has turned murder into a spectator sport by way of true crime podcasts, sensationalized media, and our own need for tidy endings and easy answers. It is a brilliant piece of work that instantly joins the pantheon of that ever-vaunted genre: the legal thriller.
And yet, it stands above such genre trappings. Triet employs a sense of style rare among courtroom dramas, and even the best American legal thrillers can tend toward formula. Anatomy of a Fall is anything but formulaic. Yes, it helps that to outsiders, such as myself, the French trial process will seem downright bizarre, but the film’s specialness goes beyond any cultural oddities. Its genius lies in the multitude of small, human interactions it gets right, in its deft handling of the subjective and objective points of view, and in the wonderful performances Triet gets from her actors.
Chief among these, of course, is German star Sandra Hüller, whom you may recognize from the international breakout hit Toni Erdmann or 2021’s lovely I’m Your Man. Here, Hüller is given the unenviable task of playing a woman so convinced of her own righteousness that she can seem aloof or unfeeling. In her most private moments, however, we can see that she is anything but. Rather, she simply seems tired of participating in the games so many others are committed to playing. Her Sandra wants what she wants, and right or not, she is willing to take it.
In a subtle bit of foreshadowing, we hear Sandra before we see her. Over images of that falling tennis ball we mentioned, we hear Sandra talking to a student who hopes to base her thesis at least in part on Sandra’s work. Sandra is an author who has based much of her fiction on circumstances from her own life, as many authors do, but she comes off as strangely unaware of the many parallels that exist.
Their conversation, which is being recorded for the student’s notes, can be read two ways, and Hüller plays that space between perfectly. On the one hand, Sandra is a German woman who has moved to her French husband’s small hometown, and with few, if any, friends, she could be seeking comfort in a genuine human connection. On the other hand, as she drinks what is not her first glass of wine this afternoon, the bi-sexual Sandra may be trying to seduce the student, literally right under the nose of her husband, who is working upstairs.
Friendship or seduction? It could be either, and this is the first time but not the last that we are asked to live in the mystery. This same tension underlies everything that follows, emphasizing just how ephemeral the idea of objective truth really is.
Triet drives this point home in the film’s standout scene, one of the best scenes in any movie this year. Sandra is on trial, accused of murdering her husband, Samuel (a superb Samuel Theis), and the prosecution reveals it has a secret recording of a fight between the couple that occurred the day before Samuel’s death. The fight takes place in English, so the members of the court are provided a French transcript so that they may follow along with the recording.
For the first time in the film, we get a true flashback. We finally get to meet Samuel, who has been a ghost haunting the film up until this point. We see the husband and wife argue. It starts off small, turns petty, then explodes, as arguments between long-term couples with simmering resentments are wont to do.
From a filmmaking standpoint, it is a bravura sequence, with Hüller and Theis delivering wonderfully lived-in performances, convincing as two exhausted people who have been through this before, too many times. The writing is a masterstroke of observation, exemplifying the ways small grievances fester and turn toxic, poisoning a relationship. In this one scene, we learn everything we could ever need to know about who these people were, who they are, and how they got this way.
It is absolutely devastating to witness these two people verbally tear each other to shreds. Then, at the peak of the emotional tension, just as it is about to boil over into physical violence, Triet cuts back to the courtroom. On the recording playing for the jury, we hear glass break, a slap, more breaking glass and possibly dishes, and more physical violence.
The director does not cut away here to shield us from the brutality that is evident. The film is unsparing in what it chooses to show us. Rather, once the confrontation turns physical, it exits the world of objective truth and becomes something subjective. The transcript, the recorded words, this is all that can be known for sure, so we are allowed to see it. What happens outside of that must be interpreted, guessed at. Sandra provides an explanation, but it is only her side. We are not allowed to see it because that would be the film showing us something that cannot be known.
The argument sequence is one of those rare, magical moments in cinema when everything – the writing, the themes, the performances, the filmmaking – comes together at once to crystallize whatever the filmmaker is trying to say. Every single person I have spoken to about the film has mentioned this scene. It has a way of sticking with you long after you leave the theater. You feel compelled to play it back in your mind, thinking through the twists and turns, looking for some clue that explains it all. I’ll save you the time: No such clue exists.
This is Triet’s and co-writer Arthur Harari’s final trick. The media are filled with lurid true-crime tales and murder-of-the-week stories that teach us to look for the signs, to be junior detectives, parsing every detail for information. Generally, at the end of these stories, the clues add up, the murderer is caught, and we are satisfied that wrongs have been righted and justice prevails. Anatomy of a Fall exposes these stories for what they are: wish fulfillment. Life is so often messier, and Triet and Harari understand this.
Sandra’s attorney has argued that Samuel killed himself, though Sandra herself doubts this theory. At one point, a TV commentator says plainly that a famous writer murdering her husband is a lot more interesting than a sad teacher killing himself. During the trial sequences, Triet often cuts to the gallery, filled with spectators who have no skin in the game but their own fascination with a dead man and an accused woman. They are invested in a story of a murder, not a story of facts and truth.
Among these spectators sits Daniel, Sandra and Samuel’s preteen son. Played by Milo Machado-Graner, in one of the greatest child actor performances you will ever see, Daniel is the collateral damage of a marriage turned sour, a culture turned cold. The final half-hour turns on what Daniel may or may not remember and what he chooses to do with that memory. His process is gut wrenching to witness, and we know that no matter what choice he makes, he will never be the same.
At the end of the day, when we cannot know the truth, all we are left with is a choice about what to think and whom to believe. In general, movies are a safe space because filmmakers are omnipotent. Even the best, most subtle films offer us objective stories wherein we can feel secure because we will be told what is real and what to feel. Anatomy of a Fall is anything but a safe movie, and therein lies its power.
