Berlinale 75: Manipulative Partners and Matters of Motherhood

by Elisa Giudici

HOT MILK, Rebecca Lenkiewicz

Hot Milk is a hot mess, a disappointing misfire for all involved. 

Expectations were high for Rebecca Lenkiewicz's directorial debut. As an acclaimed screenwriter behind the brilliant Polish drama Ida and the emotionally charged Disobedience, she seemed poised to deliver a sensual and compelling contender for the Golden Bear. The film also featured a strong trio of actresses: Sex Education's breakout star Emma Mackey, the ever-impressive Fiona Shaw, and Vicky Krieps—renowned for her sophisticated choices in European cinema. Yet, despite this promising lineup, Hot Milk struggles to find its rhythm and tone, failing to engage its audience from the very beginning...

The story centers on a complicated mother-daughter relationship. Sofia, an anthropology student, has spent years caring for her mother, Rose, who is confined to a wheelchair. Sharp but domineering, Rose harbors a deep resentment toward men—understandable given that Sofia's father abandoned them for religion when she was just four years old. After trying countless treatments, they turn to the enigmatic Dr. Gómez (Vincent Perez), who runs a luxurious private clinic in Almería.

While her mother undergoes therapy, Sofia wanders through the Spanish town and beaches, where she encounters the mysterious Ingrid. A passionate affair sparks between them, unsettling Sofia, who already doubts Dr. Gómez's abilities. As he delves into the family's past, secrets unravel, adding to Sofia's turmoil.

From the outset, Hot Milk stumbles. Krieps' first appearance—riding a horse along the beach to a whimsical tune—feels oddly parodic, setting the tone for a film that struggles to establish credibility. The film attempts to explore themes of control, manipulation, and identity, but its execution is disjointed. Sofia is caught between her mother's elusive illness, conflicting stories about her father, and Ingrid's erratic behavior—one moment seducing her, the next flaunting a male partner.

Hot Milk aims to portray a young woman being manipulated by two older women, each entangled in their own web of lies and regrets. However, the narrative meanders, with poorly connected scenes that fail to build a coherent arc. Despite her strong screenwriting background, Lenkiewicz delivers frustrating character dynamics—Sofia's confrontations with Rose and Ingrid lack depth, reducing them to tiresome cycles of accusation and evasion. 

The film's direction also falters. Crucial moments are underplayed, while unnecessary scenes are given excessive weight. Shaw, in particular, veers into over-the-top territory, making her character feel exaggerated rather than compelling. 

This misalignment is most evident in the film's climax. In a well-crafted story, the ending would have been a powerful crescendo—Sofia, exhausted by the constant deception of the women she loves, takes drastic action. However, because the film fails to establish a solid foundation, the resolution feels unearned. During the press screening, a palpable tension filled the room, the kind that signals an audience losing faith in a film. 

Visually, Hot Milk lacks memorability. Worse still, it manages to elicit subpar performances from three usually outstanding actresses. What should have been an evocative, sun-soaked psychological drama ends up as a frustrating misfire—one that leaves its audience cold rather than captivated.

LIVING THE LAND, Huo Meng

This gem of Chinese cinema immediately elevates the competition, positioning itself as a strong contender for a prize in the palmarès. If there's a flaw to be found, it's that Living the Land excels at something Chinese cinema has already mastered countless times before. The film recalls the early (and arguably best) works of Zhang Yimou, but with the added brilliance of breathtaking direction and cinematography that captures the raw, unforgiving beauty of China's rural landscapes across all seasons.

If there's a flaw to be found, it's that Living the Land excels at something Chinese cinema has already mastered countless times before. The film recalls the early (and arguably best) works of Zhang Yimou, but with the added brilliance of breathtaking direction and cinematography that captures the raw, unforgiving beauty of China's rural landscapes across all seasons. 

Set in 1991, the film explores the devastating consequences of a series of government policies designed to drag the rural population into modernity at breakneck speed. At its heart is young Chuang, left in the care of relatives while his mother departs for the city in search of work. Through his eyes, we witness the struggles of the Li family and their neighbors as they navigate a world slipping from under them.

Two themes dominate: motherhood and death. Motherhood, here, is something often taken away—either through forced sterilization or meager financial incentives too tempting for those in desperate poverty. Early on, director Huo Meng skirts the edge of didacticism, but as the film unfolds, he steps back, allowing the story to reveal its truths without exposition. One particularly striking sequence repeats itself: first, a young woman undergoes sterilization, then, in an instant of visual storytelling, we realize that an older woman has willingly chosen the same fate—selling her ability to bear children for a handful of cash. Yet Huo Meng never falls into the trap of romanticizing tradition as an idyllic past. In one brutal sequence, a pig is castrated—its terrified screams and bloodied hindquarters a stark reminder that rural life carries its own quiet cruelties.

Marriage, too, is painted as another form of endurance. The wedding sequences are particularly haunting, laced with violence and vulgarity, their weight felt through passing, offhand remarks that hint at how, for most women, marriage is something to be suffered rather than celebrated. 

The other great theme is death—a battleground where state control collides with deeply rooted customs. The film opens and closes with villagers transporting a body home. The first instance, set in the vibrant bloom of spring, is surprisingly celebratory, even though they are exhuming the remains of a man executed by the police. Tradition offers a way to process loss, granting the elderly a peaceful acceptance of their fate. The final moments, by contrast, are devastating. Against a bleak landscape of snow and mud, the characters find themselves adrift in sterile institutions, where faceless officials strip them of the time and rituals needed to grieve. The film's closing long take is simply astonishing—easily among the most powerful endings of the year. It's hard to imagine Living the Land leaving Berlin empty-handed.

Berlinale 75 coverage: 

• Opening Film: DAS LICHT