Laurin (1988): A Luscious Piece of European Gothic Cinema (Review)

This new Blu-ray release of Laurin from Second Run highlights the debut of German director Robert Sigl, who made the feature when he was only 26 years old. Two accompanying short films provide some context for the preceding and following work to Laurin. Both star Sigl, with ‘Der Weihnachtsbaum/The Christmas Tree’ (1983) having him play the Son in a black-and-white tense family drama with a similar absurdist tone to Eraserhead. The other short film on this release, ‘Coronoia 21’ (2021), is also reminiscent of Lynch during his Inland Empire era when he was experimenting with digital media. There’s a lo-fi quality as would be expected for a short made under lockdown conditions, but it demonstrates that Sigl has not lost his visual skill and surreal sensibilities.

Laurin serves as the perfect showcase for Sigl’s talents with an immediately striking opening sequence as a little girl (the titular Laurin) watches people around her through a telescope only for this peaceful scene to be disturbed by a sudden gunshot. We are then told by a deep male voice-over that is March 1901 and death has struck for the first time in this idyllic harbour town. Even this early on though, something is off – Laurin, clearly around ten years old, still sleeps in a cot; her father Arne is introduced as he leaves the family once again which her mother, Flora, expects to be half a year like last time; and grandmother Olga lingers around the family home like an omen.

It is debatable whether Laurin can be called horror, but it is certainly Gothic in the classic sense with its melodramatic plot, heightened emotions and tragic twists. But Sigl creates a woozy, dream-like atmosphere that gives an uncanny edge to the story, such as the sequence that signifies something bad is actually happening: a boy with scars across his face runs through a wood and bangs on a window, crying for help as something approaches behind him to take him away.

It’s a tense, scary scene but the disturbance it has caused in the village is not immediately apparent. Children still go to school, routines carry on, and all fears and concerns are buried deep. Like the screams and lullabies that drift in and out of the score, the child killings become half-remembered memories; they linger but it seems nothing can be done. Laurin is left to deal with this newly dangerous world on her own.

In terms of modern comparisons, Laurin most resembles The Reflecting Skin or Ratcatcher as a heightened depiction of childhood tragedy. Horrific school bullies who hang fellow children upside down in cupboards and ominous black kites sit side by side, fantasy indistinguishable from reality. As the opening suggests, we are seeing the world through Laurin’s eyes as she learns about what grown-ups are really capable of and has to reckon with the fact that they don’t always care about the best interests of children.

James Oliver’s accompanying booklet provides great insight into the film, on a production and critical level, and is complemented by an archival documentary on The Making of ‘Laurin’. Though only ten minutes and evidently part of a larger television broadcast, it focuses on how young filmmakers raised money for the film and explains that Laurin was partly funded by a German television station with an agreement that the film would be broadcast on their channel eighteen months after its theatrical release. Similarly, commercial reasoning was behind the decision to shoot in Hungary with Hungarian actors as it was cheaper to produce, though they still shot in English for international appeal resulting in the actors requiring a dialect coach to get the pronunciations correct. Subsequently, the subtitles don’t match the English language version entirely correctly though a German dub is also available.

Further supplements include interviews with cast and crew conducted by Sigl and twenty minutes worth of deleted scenes (which seemed to be ripped straight from the celluloid based on the quality) that reassert how the film’s eighty-minute running time benefits it hugely. Film historian Jonathan Rigby’s rundown of the film and its thematic and visual depths highlights how this brevity demonstrates economic storytelling rather than a lack of ideas. Far from it, Laurin is a curious gem that deserves a moment in the spotlight and invites you to pick over its ideas. It has the timeless fairytale quality of The Company of Wolves, which came out a few years before Laurin, with a similarly dark tale and striking visuals that will hopefully garner wider attention and appraisal.

Mike’s Archive: Laurin (1988)