"Anatomy of a Fall" inverses the formulaic whodunit and shows the "limitations of a courtroom"

“Anatomy of a Fall” is a penetrating study of a successful writer, Sandra Voyter (Sandra Hüller, from “Toni Erdmann”) on trial for her husband Samuel Maleski’s (Samuel Theis) murder — because an inconclusive autopsy suggests his death does not rule out third party involvement.

Did Samuel fall out a high window? Did he jump? Or was he pushed? Sandra claims she is innocent, despite evidence that she had motive, means and opportunity. The sole witness to the crime — if, indeed, it was a crime — is Daniel (Milo Machado Graner), the couple’s 11-year-old son, who is blind.

Director Justine Triet spends much of the film’s 150-minute running time in the courtroom, where Sandra is on trial. She is represented by Vincent (Swann Arlaud), who is facing an uphill battle to prove Sandra’s innocence. Her alibi, that she was sleeping when the fall happened, is perhaps flimsy. But the case against her means that Sandra has to prove she loved Samuel, and that she did not kill him. As discussions and depictions of the couple’s relationship are heard and shown, and Sandra’s writing is used against her, any outcome is possible.

The courtroom scenes are especially fascinating, because as the trial unfolds, Daniel’s testimony is crucial, and he needs to be protected so as not to be influenced by his mother or outside forces. (He is given a minder, and not allowed to converse with his mother in English.) Daniel also insists on knowing the unpleasant truths about his parents and their relationship, despite the judge’s efforts to protect him, which further complicates things.

“Anatomy of a Fall” pivots on the question of who (and what) you believe. With the assistance of interpreter Assia Turquier-Zauberman, Salon spoke with Triet about her film, which won the Palm d’Or at Cannes earlier this year.

The film pivots on the idea of who (and what) you believe. Is Sandra telling the truth? Is she lying to escape punishment? Is she protecting her son? The idea of Sandra killing her husband is said to be more interesting than his dying by suicide or slipping and falling. Can you talk about that? 

The possibility of murder is the window into the film. In some ways, it may be the most banal introduction — an inverse cliché with a slight reversal of gender roles. What I think is more interesting is that halfway through the film, with the argument scene, new possibilities emerge. We might speculate that if she didn’t kill him, she may have pushed him to do it or pushed him to exhaustion in a way that doesn’t make her directly guilty but does not make her blameless either. For his part, in dying, he finally manages to take up the space he felt she was not giving him in his life. These things open doors to show what is at stake here. In some ways, it’s the inverse of a formulaic whodunit where there is a logical sequence. Instead, it advances an idea that couples are not something that can be viewed from one angle only but rather create an impressionistic painting that represents the intimate life of two people.

You also show a flashback, late in the film, of a fight the couple had. Can you talk about including that scene? It shifts our understanding of the characters. To me, the film is about how do you prove, in a court of law, especially, that you love someone? Even though Sandra and Samuel fight, there is love, and she is on trial for that. The film is about perceptions and reality — the truth may be clouded by how others see you. Thoughts?

The limitations of a courtroom and a trial are that these are spaces where truth does not emerge, but a struggle over narrative does. It is where morals intervene on behalf of a society that opposes and accuses certain failings and mores. We see how the [prosecuting] lawyers are scrutinizing Sandra for every aspect of her life — her sexuality, her creative practice, etc. These things are being neatly boxed up by the lawyers. Love is more complex and interesting, and it is excluded from the picture the lawyers paint. We are always going through a prism of an [impression] that is outside of the couple. Rather than see the intimacy of this relationship, instead, we are engaged in a corrective dialogue of what is already being said about her, or them, from outside. It is a situation that is very violent and anxiety-inducing.

What can you say about how you filmed the courtroom scenes and kept this long, talky film, nimble? You zoom in on the judge, Sandra, even Daniel, which increases the intensity of things. Even if you don’t understand the French courts, the film is fascinating with the subplot about Daniel’s testimony being protected.

The trial room is a rectangle, so the geometric possibilities are limited. Courtroom scenes have been done so many times, and we are used to those images. The second you film language alone it can be boring or look like television. These were my worries. I drew on different police thriller genres. I needed more purity, so I went closer to documentary films about trials rather than fiction, which are too smooth for my liking. It was important that the camera espouses different points of view rather than in fiction when it is an omniscient camera with a God’s eye view that sees everything in an objective way. Instead, it was about how to deal with complexity of the subject with many camera angles that were foregrounded with the characters.

What can you say about Daniel. His accident, where he became blind certainly impacted Sandra and Samuel’s relationship. But he is put in a difficult position having to testify at his mother’s trial. What observations do you have about his character and the situation he faces? He is the film’s moral compass.

Daniel’s accident weighs heavily on the couple. It has something to do with them being creative artists and what one must sacrifice; there may be a cost to the creative process. It’s not for nothing that the accident that impaired Daniel’s sight is the moment his father got inspiration and he didn’t pick him up from school. The passion demands a sacrifice. There is also a relationship where two people share the same passions, and one is frustrated that he is not soaring like the other. The child is the crux for that balance. Making him the moral compass was one of the pillars of wanting to see a child in this infernal situation of having just lost his father and having to judge his mother. He is a witness to his parents’ relationship in this way. He is in the center of the couple and of the intrigue of the trial, but at the same time, he missed something, and so did we. It is difficult for me to say more.

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Is Sandra sympathetic? Does she need to be? I found it interesting that I was rooting for her, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I liked her. Then there is a shot of her crying in the car that knocked me out. What observations do you have about her character?

Sandra is uncompromising and unapologetic. Sandra [Hüller] and I worked on this modesty, both in her clothes and the makeup. We could have played into visual tropes to make her attractive in the tribunal. We kept her exposed and tapped into the paradox of her being sincerely opaque, a mother who would go to an unexpected emotional place. Sandra would say, if my child is in the room, I would never show this kind of weakness and fragility. Who she is showing up for, and who she is addressing in every moment brought her to this kind of humility and modesty and feelings of reservation. On a political note, something we were interested in was the idea that she refuses to be a good victim. She’s not very tearful.

One last question, which Sandra asks, “What makes you so mad you want to explode?”

[Laughs] I can’t answer that in two minutes.

“Anatomy of a Fall” is now playing in theaters nationwide.