After two hours and forty minutes, Das Licht's conclusion delivers a devastating blow, undoing much of what had been carefully built up. It's like a long, enjoyable flight that ends in a disastrous crash landing—an impact so severe that it forces a reassessment of the entire journey.
Tom Tykwer's latest work, chosen to open the 75th Berlinale, is ambitious and multilayered, yet excessive in its attempt to tackle everything—and its opposite—within a Berlin inhabited by both genuine victims and impostors who thrive on victimhood. Despite its considerable runtime, the film fails to develop any of its many narrative threads in a fully satisfying way...
Das Licht's strongest aspect is its portrayal of a deeply dysfunctional Berlin household: two parents in their forties, locked in a crumbling marriage, and their alienated 18-year-old twins. The daughter drifts through wild nights in a youthful, polyamorous commune devoted to green activism, while the son, holed up in his perpetually messy room, escapes into the world of VR gaming. They all live under the same roof yet remain isolated within their own spaces and lives, incapable of communicating—let alone truly caring for one another. Their family dynamic is one of reluctant cohabitation rather than genuine connection. The parents, both engaged in theoretically "noble" professions, prove ineffective in a world that functions just fine without them—perhaps even better in their absence.
Tim, the father, is the most emblematic figure, riddled with contradictions: a devout environmentalist who cycles everywhere, yet at home, he casually roams around naked. He reduces his daughter's raw, heartfelt, and furious outburst into a trite motivational hashtag (#wir) but then arrives late to the clinic when she is about to have an abortion. The film finds its sharpest moments in these biting, ironic depictions of privileged, progressive bourgeois figures—hypocritical, self-absorbed, and oblivious to their own contradictions.
Complicating the story further is Farrah (Tala Al-Deen), a Syrian refugee who introduces a surreal, almost supernatural element with her cryptic "para-medical" therapy based on a pulsating light. The title, Das Licht, alludes both to this light and to the rare, fleeting sunshine in a Berlin perpetually drenched in rain. Yet Farrah's role remains frustratingly undefined: is she a benevolent force, helping to mend the fractures in this liberal German family, or a calculating presence, orchestrating their downfall, starting with a pivotal death early in the film? Tykwer never fully commits to a direction, leaving her character suspended in an ambiguity that feels more muddled than intriguing.
Similarly, Das Licht touches on the topic of immigration but never explores it with real depth. It skims the surface of what is morally acceptable and broadly agreeable, without ever interrogating the complexities of the issue—despite an emotionally charged finale that attempts to inject gravitas. The film's non-German characters remain secondary, relegated to roles that oscillate between shallow tragedy and clumsy symbolism.
Das Licht refuses to settle within the confines of a family drama. Instead, it weaves in contemporary dance sequences, animated interludes, and moments of grotesque irony, resulting in a stylistic blend that often feels overwhelming. Even the soundtrack, meant to underscore the characters' journeys of self-discovery, relies on a choice so clichéd it borders on self-parody: a cover of Bohemian Rhapsody.
For all its flashes of brilliance, Das Licht ultimately collapses under the weight of its ambitions, culminating in a chaotic, unsatisfying resolution. What remains is the impression of a film that aimed for everything yet landed on nothing.