No matter how common the surroundings or how ordinary the story may be, a Christian Petzold film always catches the viewer by surprise. His films depict worlds where familiar colors, worn-out songs, and well-known emotions operate according to an entirely different logic — and as mesmerized passers-by that we are, the real pleasure lies in trying to find our way there. From one film to the next, we think we have finally grasped what the color red feels like, what emotions water can carry, or between whom love can truly exist. But it’s only to be fooled again, left dumbfounded — like a siren out of water, an amnesiac woman, or, as in Mirrors No. 3, a troubled car crash survivor.
With his new film premiering in the Directors’ Fortnight parallel section at Cannes this year, one might think the Berlinale regular Petzold would feel out of place too — but seemingly, he has never been more in his element (though, unlike Undine and Afire, not in a metaphorical sense!) to the point that Mirrors had many saying: “It’s just another Petzold film!” It is — and yet, it’s not. The first surprise in Mirrors No. 3 comes right at the start, where the beginning doesn’t actually feel like a beginning at all, but instead as if we’ve been dropped in the middle of something — namely, a troubled couple’s weekend getaway.
In her fourth collaboration with the German filmmaker, Paula Beer plays Laura, a piano student whose troubled mood casts a shadow over the plans her boyfriend Jakob has made with another couple — music industry professionals he hopes to impress. Laura wishes to return to Berlin, and Jakob reacts in the nastiest, most macho way possible — yet he nevertheless agrees to drive her to the train station. Their sullen, tension-filled car ride is abruptly interrupted by a violent, off-screen accident, revealed only in its aftermath. The red convertible they were in is now a total wreck, while Jakob’s lifeless limbs already appear stone-hard — like a statue cursed by providence. It’s striking how vividly Petzold channels both life and death within the same frame: the bright reds, light blues, and greens suggest the world has already resumed its normal course, while the image’s stillness hints at a life, prematurely frozen in time.
Slightly bruised and emotionally shaken, Laura survives the crash — and a middle-aged woman named Betty, who lives near the site of the accident, takes her in and looks after her during her recovery. Beer, ever the elusive, fluctuating, and energetic force in Petzold’s films, carries herself here with a contrastingly downcast, standoffish presence. If she was once a wild, fierce, fox-like animal in his earlier works, in Mirrors No. 3, with her curly hair and aloof eyes, she appears more like a wounded lamb. Yet whether this look works is debatable, as Petzold seems to be chasing a certain impression of youth in her features, while Beer already appears quite mature — her character resembling a piece of old clothing one keeps trying to wear, even if it no longer quite fits. But since Laura is meant to feel and appear out of place, the incongruity of her performance doesn’t stand out all that much.
During her first few days at Betty’s house, Laura remains largely passive, accepting her caretaker’s help with quiet compliance — settling in and adapting to the rhythm of Betty’s daily life. As they fall into this silent harmony — cooking, cleaning, biking, and painting the fence together — Laura’s mood begins to lift. It’s refreshing to see Petzold explore a different kind of relationship, one that moves away from the magnetic, desirous heterosexual push-and-pulls his recent films have leaned toward. The roles the two women adopt are drawn with subtle nuance. There is mutual affection between them, but Betty remains puzzled by Laura’s apparent lack of trauma, while Laura senses a deeper, perhaps stronger attachment that Betty harbors for her — one that transcends simple care. It’s when Betty introduces Laura to her husband Richard and their son Max — who run a nearby repair shop — that the film’s pace begins to quicken. In line with the male-deprecating humor he explored in Afire, Petzold here injects a comical tone into the picture. At first, both men strongly oppose Betty’s attachment to Laura, but they gradually warm to this strange, makeshift family dynamic.
Petzold is never short of surprises — in the case of Mirrors No. 3, it’s the predictability of the plot that comes as one. The transference of identity, the emotional and mental projections we cast onto others, have long been central to his films — and to cinema more broadly. Haunting, too, is the medium’s privileged sensation, with each film carrying the ghosts of countless forms, genres, and characters that came before. Among these many variations on illusion and the disillusionments that follow, Mirrors No. 3 offers a relatively quiet and unassuming resolution. It’s as if Petzold’s rejection of narrative climax mirrors Laura’s own refusal of performing the breakdown those around her seem to anticipate. And at the end, one can’t help but wonder what Petzold saw and heard in Ravel’s Miroirs No. 3 — also known as Une barque sur l’océan (A Boat on the Ocean) — the piece he chose as the namesake for his film. Perhaps it was the image of a modest film trying to stay afloat against violent narrative currents, climactic tides, and the ebb and flow of cinematic pathos.
Published as part of Cannes Film Festival 2025 — Dispatch 4.
Comments are closed.