All is Well (Original title: Alles Ist Gut) sides away from all the stereotypes you might expect from a sexual assault film. For a film about such a serious issue, it never raises its tone. It is a silent film (although there is no dearth of dialogues and ambient noise) about our protagonist, Janne, played brilliantly by Aenne Schwarz. The film starts with Janne and her husband Piet, played by Andreas Doehler, moving to a new house in lower Bavaria from Munich. From the starting scene, we understand Janne is not a very vocal person; like many women, she bears the weight of the relationship without any decision-making power. Both Piet and Janne are writers, and it appears that it is Piet’s decision to uproot their life in Munich to start afresh. Janne nonchalantly complies with his choices. Quite early in the movie, we see Piet buying a second-hand piano for her. He asks if she likes it; she smiles, takes her time and then says No. Her no is not dismissive, but rather a soft, friendly no. It is one of the first glimpses of Janne’s quiet refusals.
Although stressful, everything is comparatively fine until Janne goes to her school reunion. There, on a night filled with alcohol, dancing and heavy music, she meets Martin. We see them dancing and having a good time. Director Eva Trobisch tricks us into thinking this will be a moment of adultery, but something worse conspires instead. Martin expects more from this night. He tries to make a move on Janne. What is horrifying is Martin’s advances seem flirtatious but not forceful. She laughs at his overtures and tries to shrug him off. But in a split second, things change. He is a big man who will not leave until he gets his wants. His ego surpasses his morality and he forgets what he is about to do. This is where the director Trobisch shocks us (most men at least) with her screenplay. Instead of shouting and kicking Janne says, “Are you serious”. The banality of the rape scene is jarring; it shocks you beyond expectation. A lot has been written about date rape and the silence of women about sexual assaults from trusted men. After a few thrusts, we see Martin shamefully pulling up his pants and leaving.
What disturbed me the most was Janne’s silence after this heinous act. She returns to her husband Piet, and tries to act as if nothing happened. There is a moment of vulnerability when Janne is in the sauna with her mother, but she starts but then diverts the topic. Her mother knows something is wrong, but Janne won’t say anything more. She goes to her new job as an editor and greets everyone with a smile. The audience shivers as this is so close to the truth. In the shadows, we accept her silence. She does not want to identify as a rape victim; justice in this case, if she wants, won’t come without shame. She tries to forget and leave it behind as one minute of bad sex.
In a perverse turn of events, she finds Martin is her new colleague at her new job. As the audience, it is discomforting to see Janne hug Martin. We see her growing anguish while maintaining the facade of normalcy. Martin comes to her and asks what he can do for her. Again, in an awkward conversation, she calls him sweet and asks him to get her a chocolate bar. There is certain absurdity in her behaviour, and as the audience who is the only other who knows her truth in the film, you want her to shout, scream or cry. We keep hoping she will burst out and ask for help, but Janne keeps quiet. She endures whatever pain her life gives because she feels that is the only way forward. At one point, I could empathise with Janne; she just wants to dissociate herself from the bad memory. But no matter what she tries, the ghost of that night keeps coming back. She finds out she is pregnant and decides to get an abortion. Trobisch again avoids the convention in her film; Janne never tries to find out whose child it is. At the abortion clinic, another sad trail of events follows. By the end of the film, I felt emotionally exhausted because as an audience you have to share her sorrows. Like many times in life, you and I both have asked God, why me? Why is it always me who has to bear your sorrows? You feel the same helplessness. You feel no matter what Janne tries, life has stacked its odds against her. Defeat is inevitable.
The talent of director Trobisch is that she steers away from stereotypes and paints the characters in grey. In the film, the reluctance of Janne to talk or seek any help confuses the audience. “Why is she doing this to herself?” was the question I kept asking throughout the film. I saw a few audience reviews who were dissatisfied with the film’s ending, but on the contrary, I felt it was probably the most justified end to the film. In the final scene, we see Janne travelling on a train, where officials confront her for not having a ticket. In that scene, Janne is turned into another individual on a train whose presence creates a nuisance for other passengers. The character we connected to for the entire film is reduced to a mere inconvenience. Her personal struggles don’t matter in this final act as the gaze of the film looks at Janne from a public eye. But Janne finally breaks her character; she refuses to get off the train in this act of defiance. As if her faith in silence has finally broken, she has finally realised concealing the truth never did her any good. As a viewer, I felt numb and almost heartbroken at this public humiliation. She does not deserve it, but I am helpless. I wry in agony as the credits roll down, and we keep hearing the train rumbling in the dark underground.