ANATOMY OF A FALL - Mark Reviews Movies

Anatomy of a Fall, Neon

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Review by Mark Dujsik | October 27, 2023

What is truth? We likely have been asking this for as long as human beings could rationalize our existence as individuals, in interactions with others, within a broader society, and as a part of this planet and the unfathomable universe beyond it. Anatomy of a Fall, a compellingly human and sneakily philosophical courtroom drama, asks that question, as well as many more about people and relationships and the very nature of how we perceive ourselves, each other, and the world around us.

It offers no answers to any of them, because the film knows—within every fiber of its being—that such questions cannot be answered in any certain or satisfying way. That's even—and, maybe, especially—the case in what seems to be a straightforward court proceeding.

A man—a husband and a father—has fallen to his death from an upper floor of the remote chalet in the French Alps where he lived with his wife and 11-year-old son. In the broadest of terms, that is what happened, but that cannot be all there is to it, right?

Was it an accident? Did the man intentionally fall or jump from the upper-most floor of his home? Was someone else involved, either a fight leading to this unexpected result or a deliberate act of murder? If there was someone else, who else could it be but the wife—the only person known to be in the house just before and up to an hour or so after the man's death?

Co-writer/director Justine Triet establishes all of facts we could possibly know, simply looking at this death from as objective a perspective as possible. It's fascinating and intentionally frustrating just how little is revealed from this point of view, but when it comes to a trial in which a woman's future is on the line or a cold-blooded killer could be released without any punishment, such facts are all anyone can know, really, in this particular case.

No one knows for sure what happened, except for a man who died immediately or shortly after falling. If the wife killed him, she knows what happened, obviously, but it's not as if she's going to offer or betray that information when her freedom is at stake. What's to be done here?

Triet and Arthur Harai's screenplay, then, begins as a fairly simple mystery—as simple as something with so many holes in it can be, of course. Quickly, though, it becomes something far more detailed, tricky, and even more mysterious. That's partly because it does revolve around a police investigation and the proceeding trial, where potential theories are tossed aside and reduced to a battle between two very different ideas about what happened. It's mostly because that court case exemplifies our limitations of truly understanding anyone or anything.

The idea that this man fell, on his own and by accident, is thrown out with very little discussion or debate—both by the police and by the wife's lawyer, mainly because the police seem to have done the same. From an objective perspective, it's still a possibility, of course, so what does that say about the law, judicial procedure, and people's ability to accept something so comparatively mundane.

That leaves Sandra (Sandra Hüller)—the now-widowed mother of Daniel (Milo Machado Graner), who has a visual impairment—under suspicion for the death of her husband Samuel (Samuel Theis), who was a teacher and struggling writer. This comes after a seemingly thorough investigation into Samuel's death.

Despite the fact that this film does call so much of how personal perception or opinion and half-heard or half-remembered events can color any account of what did or might have happened, the filmmakers go to great lengths to ensure that we understand each and every element of the investigation that leads to suspicion falling upon Sandra. There's Samuel's loud music, playing while she's being interviewed by a college student, which leads Daniel to not hear what might have been the final conversation between his parents. Was it loud but calm, or was it an argument?

Triet also, though, makes certain we have Sandra's perspective on the matter at hand, too, and in Hüller's precisely enigmatic performance, we're watching either an innocent woman trying to maintain her composure under unthinkable pressure or a guilty one trying to do the same. It's quite incredible, really, how much Hüller gives us about this character—from her cool demeanor, to her frustration with the proceedings, to her continued devotion to Daniel—without even hinting at what would seem to be the most important quality of Sandra: her innocence or guilt.

Much of the story is dedicated to the trial process, as Sandra's attorney Vincent (Swann Arlaud) and the prosecutor (played by Antoine Reinzartz) present experts with opposing theories about how Samuel died, debate how much Sandra's own novels present her life and the inner workings of her mind, dissect an argument that Samuel recorded the day before his death, and more. One audience member might come away with one viewpoint on who Sandra and Samuel are, as well as what happened and why, while another might reach an entirely different conclusion about the death, only to agree with the characterization of these two as individuals and a couple—or vice versa.

Because the film isn't just a dramatized court proceeding, the filmmakers compel us to ask these larger questions about the relationship. For that, perhaps, we have young Daniel's perspective, as he sits in the courtroom each day—imagining his father dying in each proposed way, listening to that argument (Triet pointedly shows the debate, so that we can see how things escalate and on whose part they do, but only up until the point that what happens becomes unclear), learning things about his mother and father that they tried to hide from him.

There's a degree of chaos in the boy's thinking, highlighted by a staccato piano piece he's teaching himself, as he grieves and confronts these secrets. At a certain point, the film's perspective shifts to Daniel, resulting in a heartbreaking and terrifying scene in which all of this new information and all of those doubts lead him to conduct an "experiment" to see if his mother's defense—that his father died by suicide—might be correct.

That scene also exemplifies how Anatomy of a Fall never loses track of or focus on the psychological and emotional tolls of this case—even if, in the case of Sandra, we're not entirely certain of what's spurring those reactions. Maybe the real question isn't what truth is or, from a more cynical perspective, if it even matters, because the conflict and confusion of the trial certainly points us in that way. It might just be, as the film's hauntingly ambiguous conclusion suggests, which truths help us to sleep at night.

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