Des Teufels Bad

As the saying goes, nothing is more chilling than terrifying events based on true stories. The Devil's Bath is one such film that exemplifies this adage. This psychologically intense period piece, while not a bonafide horror film, will leave you deeply disturbed. For the fans of "Good Night Mommy" and "The Lodge" may find their expectations subverted, so let me tell you to keep your expectation low since this film is but rather a period piece rooted in psychological horror.

The film opens with a shocking scene that sets the tone for what will be fully explored in the climax. A woman throws an infant over a waterfall and then confesses to her crime and surrendering herself to authorities. Flash forward a few years, and we meet Agnes, a young bride full of hope for the future. However, her life quickly takes a dark turn when her husband, Wolf, proves to be both emotionally distant, financially irresponsible and her mother-in-law's domineering control add to the burden. Agnes's desire for love, companionship, and a child is thwarted, leading to a descent into despair. Despite her nightly longing for her husband, her desires remain unfulfilled, and she is denied the joy of motherhood. The film explores the psychological toll this takes on her, as she descends into madness. She falls victim to superstition, tradition, and the oppressive weight of patriarchal dominance.

Anja Plaschg (Agnes) performance is a standout. She's got this haunting way of drawing you into her character's world. The confession scene is particularly chilling, a real gut-punch of a performance. She's also the brains behind the film's score, which is totally eerie. You might know her band Soap&Skin from the song 'Me and the Devil'. Martin Gschlacht, the visionary behind Goodnight Mommy, crafts a bleak and unforgiving landscape. The film's 35mm aesthetic lends a timeless quality to the story, immersing the viewer in a world of hopelessness. Gschlacht's cinematography is a work of art, deserving of the Silver Bear he received at Berlinale.

In closing, The film's influence is evident in its slow-burn narrative with psychological undertone. The film's tone and themes reminded me of Lars von Trier's Melancholia (2011), Ursula Reuter Christiansen's Skarpretteren (1973), and the works of Jan Troell, Terrence Malick, Helma Sanders-Brahms, Cecilia Magni, and Robert Eggers. Regardless, the film's emotional impact is profound. Agnes Schickin's plight is heartbreaking, and those who stay till the end will feel a deep sympathy for her, Ewa Lizlfellner, and the many others, including the children.