Magnus von Horn brings subtlety and empathy to the serial killer genre in this extraordinary true-life yarn.
It helps to have some vague stylistic or thematic justification for choosing to shoot your modern film in black and white. Magnus von Horn’s The Girl with the Needle thankfully has both, in its gothic, crepuscular depiction of World War One-era Copenhagen, as well as its rogues gallery of tortured miscreants who live by an aggressively binary and personally-ascribed form of morality. This is a story in which colour, radiance and vibrancy have purposefully been sapped from the menu, lest the resolute bleakness of the lives it captures be diluted in any way.
We meet Karoline (Vic Carmen Sonne), a ditsy but strongwilled seamstress, as she’s being tossed out of her single-room apartment for unpaid rent. It transpires that her husband went off to war and, due to an understandable communications breakdown, is now thought to be dead. A request for a supplement on her meagre income leads to a backstreet affair with the boss of the mill, yet her hopes of a new, affluent future in his arms are swiftly dashed. Her husband then returns, sporting a terrifying mask to cover newly acquired facial disfigurements. Yet she is pregnant with the boss’s child. At this point the film feels like a pointed Victoriana-gothic homage to David Lynch’s The Elephant Man, but the moment that you think it, things jackknife in an entirely different direction.
The above description covers maybe the first 30 minutes of plot, all of which is revealed to be necessary context for the film’s more baroque and harrowing second act in which Karoline seeks the services of backstreet facilitator Dagmar (a subtly imposing Trine Dyrholm), who makes ends meet by rehousing babies for a healthy fee. Though there’s certainly a tabloid intrigue to be found in its “inspired by true events” yarn, the real value of the film is to be found in its wider socio-political concern in questions surrounding female bodily autonomy and the responsibilities that are demanded from child-rearing. As such, there are nods to films such as Mike Leigh’s Vera Drake and Audrey Diwan’s Happening in how it presents a world in which a woman’s only real choice was to suffer the consequences of a man’s errant actions and a government’s violent indifference. Which, unfortunately, is very much back in the headlines.
Von Horn’s writing and direction are measured to fit the material, while the subtle, unshowy elegance of Michał Dymek’s cinematography are never ramped up to the point that they usurp the nuances of the drama. Yet it’s Sonne’s remarkable, multifarious performance that really lifts this one above the pack. She uses her face with the expressiveness of a silent film actress, so when the big emotions eventually come they hit especially hard.
Little White Lies is committed to championing great movies and the talented people who make them.
Published 9 Jan 2025
Director Von Horn is a bit of an unknown quantity.
A staggering lead performance from Vic Carmen Sonne – robbed at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival.
A desperately sad and politically-pertinent Gothic horror story.
Magnus von Horn’s character study of a Polish fitness influencer is an incisive comment on social media.
A stunning smalltown drama about grieving and forgiveness from first-time Swedish writer/director Magnus von Horn.
Audrey Diwan’s significant and unflinching adaptation of Annie Erneux’s memoir of a teen abortion is one of the year’s best films.
Little White Lies was established in 2005 as a bi-monthly print magazine committed to championing great movies and the talented people who make them. Combining cutting-edge design, illustration and journalism, we’ve been described as being “at the vanguard of the independent publishing movement.” Our reviews feature a unique tripartite ranking system that captures the different aspects of the movie-going experience. We believe in Truth & Movies.
